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Title: Around the World in 80 Days

Author: Jules Verne

Release Date: May 15, 2008 [EBook #103]
Last updated: February 18, 2012
Last updated: May 5, 2012

Language: English


*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AROUND THE WORLD IN 80 DAYS ***













AROUND THE WORLD IN EIGHTY DAYS



CONTENTS


CHAPTER

I IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND PASSEPARTOUT ACCEPT EACH OTHER, THE
ONE AS MASTER, THE OTHER AS MAN

II IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT IS CONVINCED THAT HE HAS AT LAST FOUND
HIS IDEAL

III IN WHICH A CONVERSATION TAKES PLACE WHICH SEEMS LIKELY TO COST
PHILEAS FOGG DEAR

IV IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG ASTOUNDS PASSEPARTOUT, HIS SERVANT

V IN WHICH A NEW SPECIES OF FUNDS, UNKNOWN TO THE MONEYED MEN,
APPEARS ON 'CHANGE

VI IN WHICH FIX, THE DETECTIVE, BETRAYS A VERY NATURAL IMPATIENCE

VII WHICH ONCE MORE DEMONSTRATES THE USELESSNESS OF PASSPORTS AS
AIDS TO dETECTIVES

VIII IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT TALKS RATHER MORE, PERHAPS, THAN IS PRUDENT

IX IN WHICH THE RED SEA AND THE INDIAN OCEAN PROVE PROPITIOUS
TO THE DESIGNS OF PHILEAS FOGG

X IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT IS ONLY TOO GLAD TO GET OFF WITH THE LOSS
OF HIS SHOES

XI IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG SECURES A CURIOUS MEANS OF CONVEYANCE
AT A FABULOUS PRICE

XII IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND HIS COMPANIONS VENTURE ACROSS THE
INDIAN FORESTS, AND WHAT ENSUED

XIII IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT RECEIVES A NEW PROOF THAT FORTUNE FAVORS
THE BRAVE

XIV IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DESCENDS THE WHOLE LENGTH OF THE BEAUTIFUL
VALLEY OF THE GANGES WITHOUT EVER THINKING OF SEEING IT

XV IN WHICH THE BAG OF BANKNOTES DISGORGES SOME THOUSANDS OF POUNDS
MORE

XVI IN WHICH FIX DOES NOT SEEM TO UNDERSTAND IN THE LEAST WHAT IS
SAID TO HIM

XVII SHOWING WHAT HAPPENED ON THE VOYAGE FROM SINGAPORE TO HONG KONG

XVIII IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG, PASSEPARTOUT, AND FIX GO EACH ABOUT HIS
BUSINESS

XIX IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT TAKES A TOO GREAT INTEREST IN HIS MASTER,
AND WHAT COMES OF IT

XX IN WHICH FIX COMES FACE TO FACE WITH PHILEAS FOGG

XXI IN WHICH THE MASTER OF THE "TANKADERE" RUNS GREAT RISK OF LOSING
A REWARD OF TWO HUNDRED POUNDS

XXII IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT FINDS OUT THAT, EVEN AT THE ANTIPODES,
IT IS CONVENIENT TO HAVE SOME MONEY IN ONE'S POCKET

XXIII IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT'S NOSE BECOMES OUTRAGEOUSLY LONG

XXIV DURING WHICH MR. FOGG AND PARTY CROSS THE PACIFIC OCEAN

XXV IN WHICH A SLIGHT GLIMPSE IS HAD OF SAN FRANCISCO

XXVI IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND PARTY TRAVEL BY THE PACIFIC RAILROAD

XXVII IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT UNDERGOES, AT A SPEED OF TWENTY MILES AN
HOUR, A COURSE OF MORMON HISTORY

XXVIII IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT DOES NOT SUCCEED IN MAKING ANYBODY LISTEN
TO REASON

XXIX IN WHICH CERTAIN INCIDENTS ARE NARRATED WHICH ARE ONLY TO BE MET
WITH ON AMERICAN RAILROADS

XXX IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG SIMPLY DOES HIS DUTY

XXXI IN WHICH FIX, THE DETECTIVE, CONSIDERABLY FURTHERS THE INTERESTS
OF PHILEAS FOGG

XXXII IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG ENGAGES IN A DIRECT STRUGGLE WITH BAD
FORTUNE

XXXIII IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG SHOWS HIMSELF EQUAL TO THE OCCASION

XXXIV IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AT LAST REACHES LONDON

XXXV IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DOES NOT HAVE TO REPEAT HIS ORDERS TO
PASSEPARTOUT TWICE

XXXVI IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG'S NAME IS ONCE MORE AT A PREMIUM ON 'CHANGE

XXXVII IN WHICH IT IS SHOWN THAT PHILEAS FOGG GAINED NOTHING BY HIS TOUR
AROUND THE WORLD, UNLESS IT WERE HAPPINESS




Chapter I

IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND PASSEPARTOUT ACCEPT EACH OTHER,
THE ONE AS MASTER, THE OTHER AS MAN


Mr. Phileas Fogg lived, in 1872, at No. 7, Saville Row, Burlington
Gardens, the house in which Sheridan died in 1814. He was one of the
most noticeable members of the Reform Club, though he seemed always to
avoid attracting attention; an enigmatical personage, about whom little
was known, except that he was a polished man of the world. People said
that he resembled Byron--at least that his head was Byronic; but he was
a bearded, tranquil Byron, who might live on a thousand years without
growing old.

Certainly an Englishman, it was more doubtful whether Phileas Fogg was
a Londoner. He was never seen on 'Change, nor at the Bank, nor in the
counting-rooms of the "City"; no ships ever came into London docks of
which he was the owner; he had no public employment; he had never been
entered at any of the Inns of Court, either at the Temple, or Lincoln's
Inn, or Gray's Inn; nor had his voice ever resounded in the Court of
Chancery, or in the Exchequer, or the Queen's Bench, or the
Ecclesiastical Courts. He certainly was not a manufacturer; nor was he
a merchant or a gentleman farmer. His name was strange to the
scientific and learned societies, and he never was known to take part
in the sage deliberations of the Royal Institution or the London
Institution, the Artisan's Association, or the Institution of Arts and
Sciences. He belonged, in fact, to none of the numerous societies
which swarm in the English capital, from the Harmonic to that of the
Entomologists, founded mainly for the purpose of abolishing pernicious
insects.

Phileas Fogg was a member of the Reform, and that was all.

The way in which he got admission to this exclusive club was simple
enough.

He was recommended by the Barings, with whom he had an open credit.
His cheques were regularly paid at sight from his account current,
which was always flush.

Was Phileas Fogg rich? Undoubtedly. But those who knew him best could
not imagine how he had made his fortune, and Mr. Fogg was the last
person to whom to apply for the information. He was not lavish, nor,
on the contrary, avaricious; for, whenever he knew that money was
needed for a noble, useful, or benevolent purpose, he supplied it
quietly and sometimes anonymously. He was, in short, the least
communicative of men. He talked very little, and seemed all the more
mysterious for his taciturn manner. His daily habits were quite open
to observation; but whatever he did was so exactly the same thing that
he had always done before, that the wits of the curious were fairly
puzzled.

Had he travelled? It was likely, for no one seemed to know the world
more familiarly; there was no spot so secluded that he did not appear
to have an intimate acquaintance with it. He often corrected, with a
few clear words, the thousand conjectures advanced by members of the
club as to lost and unheard-of travellers, pointing out the true
probabilities, and seeming as if gifted with a sort of second sight, so
often did events justify his predictions. He must have travelled
everywhere, at least in the spirit.

It was at least certain that Phileas Fogg had not absented himself from
London for many years. Those who were honoured by a better
acquaintance with him than the rest, declared that nobody could pretend
to have ever seen him anywhere else. His sole pastimes were reading
the papers and playing whist. He often won at this game, which, as a
silent one, harmonised with his nature; but his winnings never went
into his purse, being reserved as a fund for his charities. Mr. Fogg
played, not to win, but for the sake of playing. The game was in his
eyes a contest, a struggle with a difficulty, yet a motionless,
unwearying struggle, congenial to his tastes.

Phileas Fogg was not known to have either wife or children, which may
happen to the most honest people; either relatives or near friends,
which is certainly more unusual. He lived alone in his house in
Saville Row, whither none penetrated. A single domestic sufficed to
serve him. He breakfasted and dined at the club, at hours
mathematically fixed, in the same room, at the same table, never taking
his meals with other members, much less bringing a guest with him; and
went home at exactly midnight, only to retire at once to bed. He never
used the cosy chambers which the Reform provides for its favoured
members. He passed ten hours out of the twenty-four in Saville Row,
either in sleeping or making his toilet. When he chose to take a walk
it was with a regular step in the entrance hall with its mosaic
flooring, or in the circular gallery with its dome supported by twenty
red porphyry Ionic columns, and illumined by blue painted windows.
When he breakfasted or dined all the resources of the club--its
kitchens and pantries, its buttery and dairy--aided to crowd his table
with their most succulent stores; he was served by the gravest waiters,
in dress coats, and shoes with swan-skin soles, who proffered the
viands in special porcelain, and on the finest linen; club decanters,
of a lost mould, contained his sherry, his port, and his
cinnamon-spiced claret; while his beverages were refreshingly cooled
with ice, brought at great cost from the American lakes.

If to live in this style is to be eccentric, it must be confessed that
there is something good in eccentricity.

The mansion in Saville Row, though not sumptuous, was exceedingly
comfortable. The habits of its occupant were such as to demand but
little from the sole domestic, but Phileas Fogg required him to be
almost superhumanly prompt and regular. On this very 2nd of October he
had dismissed James Forster, because that luckless youth had brought
him shaving-water at eighty-four degrees Fahrenheit instead of
eighty-six; and he was awaiting his successor, who was due at the house
between eleven and half-past.

Phileas Fogg was seated squarely in his armchair, his feet close
together like those of a grenadier on parade, his hands resting on his
knees, his body straight, his head erect; he was steadily watching a
complicated clock which indicated the hours, the minutes, the seconds,
the days, the months, and the years. At exactly half-past eleven Mr.
Fogg would, according to his daily habit, quit Saville Row, and repair
to the Reform.

A rap at this moment sounded on the door of the cosy apartment where
Phileas Fogg was seated, and James Forster, the dismissed servant,
appeared.

"The new servant," said he.

A young man of thirty advanced and bowed.

"You are a Frenchman, I believe," asked Phileas Fogg, "and your name is
John? "

"Jean, if monsieur pleases," replied the newcomer, "Jean Passepartout,
a surname which has clung to me because I have a natural aptness for
going out of one business into another. I believe I'm honest,
monsieur, but, to be outspoken, I've had several trades. I've been an
itinerant singer, a circus-rider, when I used to vault like Leotard,
and dance on a rope like Blondin. Then I got to be a professor of
gymnastics, so as to make better use of my talents; and then I was a
sergeant fireman at Paris, and assisted at many a big fire. But I
quitted France five years ago, and, wishing to taste the sweets of
domestic life, took service as a valet here in England. Finding myself
out of place, and hearing that Monsieur Phileas Fogg was the most exact
and settled gentleman in the United Kingdom, I have come to monsieur in
the hope of living with him a tranquil life, and forgetting even the
name of Passepartout. "

"Passepartout suits me," responded Mr. Fogg. "You are well recommended
to me; I hear a good report of you. You know my conditions? "

"Yes, monsieur. "

"Good! What time is it? "

"Twenty-two minutes after eleven," returned Passepartout, drawing an
enormous silver watch from the depths of his pocket.

"You are too slow," said Mr. Fogg.

"Pardon me, monsieur, it is impossible--"

"You are four minutes too slow. No matter; it's enough to mention the
error. Now from this moment, twenty-nine minutes after eleven, a. m. ,
this Wednesday, 2nd October, you are in my service. "

Phileas Fogg got up, took his hat in his left hand, put it on his head
with an automatic motion, and went off without a word.

Passepartout heard the street door shut once; it was his new master
going out. He heard it shut again; it was his predecessor, James
Forster, departing in his turn. Passepartout remained alone in the
house in Saville Row.




Chapter II

IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT IS CONVINCED THAT HE HAS AT LAST FOUND HIS IDEAL


"Faith," muttered Passepartout, somewhat flurried, "I've seen people at
Madame Tussaud's as lively as my new master! "

Madame Tussaud's "people," let it be said, are of wax, and are much
visited in London; speech is all that is wanting to make them human.

During his brief interview with Mr. Fogg, Passepartout had been
carefully observing him. He appeared to be a man about forty years of
age, with fine, handsome features, and a tall, well-shaped figure; his
hair and whiskers were light, his forehead compact and unwrinkled, his
face rather pale, his teeth magnificent. His countenance possessed in
the highest degree what physiognomists call "repose in action," a
quality of those who act rather than talk. Calm and phlegmatic, with a
clear eye, Mr. Fogg seemed a perfect type of that English composure
which Angelica Kauffmann has so skilfully represented on canvas. Seen
in the various phases of his daily life, he gave the idea of being
perfectly well-balanced, as exactly regulated as a Leroy chronometer.
Phileas Fogg was, indeed, exactitude personified, and this was betrayed
even in the expression of his very hands and feet; for in men, as well
as in animals, the limbs themselves are expressive of the passions.

He was so exact that he was never in a hurry, was always ready, and was
economical alike of his steps and his motions. He never took one step
too many, and always went to his destination by the shortest cut; he
made no superfluous gestures, and was never seen to be moved or
agitated. He was the most deliberate person in the world, yet always
reached his destination at the exact moment.

He lived alone, and, so to speak, outside of every social relation; and
as he knew that in this world account must be taken of friction, and
that friction retards, he never rubbed against anybody.

As for Passepartout, he was a true Parisian of Paris. Since he had
abandoned his own country for England, taking service as a valet, he
had in vain searched for a master after his own heart. Passepartout
was by no means one of those pert dunces depicted by Moliere with a
bold gaze and a nose held high in the air; he was an honest fellow,
with a pleasant face, lips a trifle protruding, soft-mannered and
serviceable, with a good round head, such as one likes to see on the
shoulders of a friend. His eyes were blue, his complexion rubicund,
his figure almost portly and well-built, his body muscular, and his
physical powers fully developed by the exercises of his younger days.
His brown hair was somewhat tumbled; for, while the ancient sculptors
are said to have known eighteen methods of arranging Minerva's tresses,
Passepartout was familiar with but one of dressing his own: three
strokes of a large-tooth comb completed his toilet.

It would be rash to predict how Passepartout's lively nature would
agree with Mr. Fogg. It was impossible to tell whether the new servant
would turn out as absolutely methodical as his master required;
experience alone could solve the question. Passepartout had been a
sort of vagrant in his early years, and now yearned for repose; but so
far he had failed to find it, though he had already served in ten
English houses. But he could not take root in any of these; with
chagrin, he found his masters invariably whimsical and irregular,
constantly running about the country, or on the look-out for adventure.
His last master, young Lord Longferry, Member of Parliament, after
passing his nights in the Haymarket taverns, was too often brought home
in the morning on policemen's shoulders. Passepartout, desirous of
respecting the gentleman whom he served, ventured a mild remonstrance
on such conduct; which, being ill-received, he took his leave. Hearing
that Mr. Phileas Fogg was looking for a servant, and that his life was
one of unbroken regularity, that he neither travelled nor stayed from
home overnight, he felt sure that this would be the place he was after.
He presented himself, and was accepted, as has been seen.

At half-past eleven, then, Passepartout found himself alone in the
house in Saville Row. He began its inspection without delay, scouring
it from cellar to garret. So clean, well-arranged, solemn a mansion
pleased him; it seemed to him like a snail's shell, lighted and warmed
by gas, which sufficed for both these purposes. When Passepartout
reached the second story he recognised at once the room which he was to
inhabit, and he was well satisfied with it. Electric bells and
speaking-tubes afforded communication with the lower stories; while on
the mantel stood an electric clock, precisely like that in Mr. Fogg's
bedchamber, both beating the same second at the same instant. "That's
good, that'll do," said Passepartout to himself.

He suddenly observed, hung over the clock, a card which, upon
inspection, proved to be a programme of the daily routine of the house.
It comprised all that was required of the servant, from eight in the
morning, exactly at which hour Phileas Fogg rose, till half-past
eleven, when he left the house for the Reform Club--all the details of
service, the tea and toast at twenty-three minutes past eight, the
shaving-water at thirty-seven minutes past nine, and the toilet at
twenty minutes before ten. Everything was regulated and foreseen that
was to be done from half-past eleven a. m. till midnight, the hour at
which the methodical gentleman retired.

Mr. Fogg's wardrobe was amply supplied and in the best taste. Each
pair of trousers, coat, and vest bore a number, indicating the time of
year and season at which they were in turn to be laid out for wearing;
and the same system was applied to the master's shoes. In short, the
house in Saville Row, which must have been a very temple of disorder
and unrest under the illustrious but dissipated Sheridan, was cosiness,
comfort, and method idealised. There was no study, nor were there
books, which would have been quite useless to Mr. Fogg; for at the
Reform two libraries, one of general literature and the other of law
and politics, were at his service. A moderate-sized safe stood in his
bedroom, constructed so as to defy fire as well as burglars; but
Passepartout found neither arms nor hunting weapons anywhere;
everything betrayed the most tranquil and peaceable habits.

Having scrutinised the house from top to bottom, he rubbed his hands, a
broad smile overspread his features, and he said joyfully, "This is
just what I wanted! Ah, we shall get on together, Mr. Fogg and I!
What a domestic and regular gentleman! A real machine; well, I don't
mind serving a machine. "




Chapter III

IN WHICH A CONVERSATION TAKES PLACE WHICH SEEMS LIKELY TO COST PHILEAS
FOGG DEAR


Phileas Fogg, having shut the door of his house at half-past eleven,
and having put his right foot before his left five hundred and
seventy-five times, and his left foot before his right five hundred and
seventy-six times, reached the Reform Club, an imposing edifice in Pall
Mall, which could not have cost less than three millions. He repaired
at once to the dining-room, the nine windows of which open upon a
tasteful garden, where the trees were already gilded with an autumn
colouring; and took his place at the habitual table, the cover of which
had already been laid for him. His breakfast consisted of a side-dish,
a broiled fish with Reading sauce, a scarlet slice of roast beef
garnished with mushrooms, a rhubarb and gooseberry tart, and a morsel
of Cheshire cheese, the whole being washed down with several cups of
tea, for which the Reform is famous. He rose at thirteen minutes to
one, and directed his steps towards the large hall, a sumptuous
apartment adorned with lavishly-framed paintings. A flunkey handed him
an uncut Times, which he proceeded to cut with a skill which betrayed
familiarity with this delicate operation. The perusal of this paper
absorbed Phileas Fogg until a quarter before four, whilst the Standard,
his next task, occupied him till the dinner hour. Dinner passed as
breakfast had done, and Mr. Fogg re-appeared in the reading-room and
sat down to the Pall Mall at twenty minutes before six. Half an hour
later several members of the Reform came in and drew up to the
fireplace, where a coal fire was steadily burning. They were Mr.
Fogg's usual partners at whist: Andrew Stuart, an engineer; John
Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, bankers; Thomas Flanagan, a brewer; and
Gauthier Ralph, one of the Directors of the Bank of England--all rich
and highly respectable personages, even in a club which comprises the
princes of English trade and finance.

"Well, Ralph," said Thomas Flanagan, "what about that robbery? "

"Oh," replied Stuart, "the Bank will lose the money. "

"On the contrary," broke in Ralph, "I hope we may put our hands on the
robber. Skilful detectives have been sent to all the principal ports
of America and the Continent, and he'll be a clever fellow if he slips
through their fingers. "

"But have you got the robber's description? " asked Stuart.

"In the first place, he is no robber at all," returned Ralph,
positively.

"What! a fellow who makes off with fifty-five thousand pounds, no
robber? "

"No. "

"Perhaps he's a manufacturer, then. "

"The Daily Telegraph says that he is a gentleman. "

It was Phileas Fogg, whose head now emerged from behind his newspapers,
who made this remark. He bowed to his friends, and entered into the
conversation. The affair which formed its subject, and which was town
talk, had occurred three days before at the Bank of England. A package
of banknotes, to the value of fifty-five thousand pounds, had been
taken from the principal cashier's table, that functionary being at the
moment engaged in registering the receipt of three shillings and
sixpence. Of course, he could not have his eyes everywhere. Let it be
observed that the Bank of England reposes a touching confidence in the
honesty of the public. There are neither guards nor gratings to
protect its treasures; gold, silver, banknotes are freely exposed, at
the mercy of the first comer. A keen observer of English customs
relates that, being in one of the rooms of the Bank one day, he had the
curiosity to examine a gold ingot weighing some seven or eight pounds.
He took it up, scrutinised it, passed it to his neighbour, he to the
next man, and so on until the ingot, going from hand to hand, was
transferred to the end of a dark entry; nor did it return to its place
for half an hour. Meanwhile, the cashier had not so much as raised his
head. But in the present instance things had not gone so smoothly.
The package of notes not being found when five o'clock sounded from the
ponderous clock in the "drawing office," the amount was passed to the
account of profit and loss. As soon as the robbery was discovered,
picked detectives hastened off to Liverpool, Glasgow, Havre, Suez,
Brindisi, New York, and other ports, inspired by the proffered reward
of two thousand pounds, and five per cent. on the sum that might be
recovered. Detectives were also charged with narrowly watching those
who arrived at or left London by rail, and a judicial examination was
at once entered upon.

There were real grounds for supposing, as the Daily Telegraph said,
that the thief did not belong to a professional band. On the day of
the robbery a well-dressed gentleman of polished manners, and with a
well-to-do air, had been observed going to and fro in the paying room
where the crime was committed. A description of him was easily
procured and sent to the detectives; and some hopeful spirits, of whom
Ralph was one, did not despair of his apprehension. The papers and
clubs were full of the affair, and everywhere people were discussing
the probabilities of a successful pursuit; and the Reform Club was
especially agitated, several of its members being Bank officials.

Ralph would not concede that the work of the detectives was likely to
be in vain, for he thought that the prize offered would greatly
stimulate their zeal and activity. But Stuart was far from sharing
this confidence; and, as they placed themselves at the whist-table,
they continued to argue the matter. Stuart and Flanagan played
together, while Phileas Fogg had Fallentin for his partner. As the
game proceeded the conversation ceased, excepting between the rubbers,
when it revived again.

"I maintain," said Stuart, "that the chances are in favour of the
thief, who must be a shrewd fellow. "

"Well, but where can he fly to? " asked Ralph. "No country is safe for
him. "

"Pshaw! "

"Where could he go, then? "

"Oh, I don't know that. The world is big enough. "

"It was once," said Phileas Fogg, in a low tone. "Cut, sir," he added,
handing the cards to Thomas Flanagan.

The discussion fell during the rubber, after which Stuart took up its
thread.

"What do you mean by `once'? Has the world grown smaller? "

"Certainly," returned Ralph. "I agree with Mr. Fogg. The world has
grown smaller, since a man can now go round it ten times more quickly
than a hundred years ago. And that is why the search for this thief
will be more likely to succeed. "

"And also why the thief can get away more easily.
He was recommended by the Barings, with whom he had an open credit.
His cheques were regularly paid at sight from his account current,
which was always flush.

Was Phileas Fogg rich? Undoubtedly. But those who knew him best could
not imagine how he had made his fortune, and Mr. Fogg was the last
person to whom to apply for the information. He was not lavish, nor,
on the contrary, avaricious; for, whenever he knew that money was
needed for a noble, useful, or benevolent purpose, he supplied it
quietly and sometimes anonymously. He was, in short, the least
communicative of men. He talked very little, and seemed all the more
mysterious for his taciturn manner. His daily habits were quite open
to observation; but whatever he did was so exactly the same thing that
he had always done before, that the wits of the curious were fairly
puzzled.

Had he travelled? It was likely, for no one seemed to know the world
more familiarly; there was no spot so secluded that he did not appear
to have an intimate acquaintance with it. He often corrected, with a
few clear words, the thousand conjectures advanced by members of the
club as to lost and unheard-of travellers, pointing out the true
probabilities, and seeming as if gifted with a sort of second sight, so
often did events justify his predictions. He must have travelled
everywhere, at least in the spirit.

It was at least certain that Phileas Fogg had not absented himself from
London for many years. Those who were honoured by a better
acquaintance with him than the rest, declared that nobody could pretend
to have ever seen him anywhere else. His sole pastimes were reading
the papers and playing whist. He often won at this game, which, as a
silent one, harmonised with his nature; but his winnings never went
into his purse, being reserved as a fund for his charities. Mr. Fogg
played, not to win, but for the sake of playing. The game was in his
eyes a contest, a struggle with a difficulty, yet a motionless,
unwearying struggle, congenial to his tastes.

Phileas Fogg was not known to have either wife or children, which may
happen to the most honest people; either relatives or near friends,
which is certainly more unusual. He lived alone in his house in
Saville Row, whither none penetrated. A single domestic sufficed to
serve him. He breakfasted and dined at the club, at hours
mathematically fixed, in the same room, at the same table, never taking
his meals with other members, much less bringing a guest with him; and
went home at exactly midnight, only to retire at once to bed. He never
used the cosy chambers which the Reform provides for its favoured
members. He passed ten hours out of the twenty-four in Saville Row,
either in sleeping or making his toilet. When he chose to take a walk
it was with a regular step in the entrance hall with its mosaic
flooring, or in the circular gallery with its dome supported by twenty
red porphyry Ionic columns, and illumined by blue painted windows.
When he breakfasted or dined all the resources of the club--its
kitchens and pantries, its buttery and dairy--aided to crowd his table
with their most succulent stores; he was served by the gravest waiters,
in dress coats, and shoes with swan-skin soles, who proffered the
viands in special porcelain, and on the finest linen; club decanters,
of a lost mould, contained his sherry, his port, and his
cinnamon-spiced claret; while his beverages were refreshingly cooled
with ice, brought at great cost from the American lakes.

If to live in this style is to be eccentric, it must be confessed that
there is something good in eccentricity.

The mansion in Saville Row, though not sumptuous, was exceedingly
comfortable. The habits of its occupant were such as to demand but
little from the sole domestic, but Phileas Fogg required him to be
almost superhumanly prompt and regular. On this very 2nd of October he
had dismissed James Forster, because that luckless youth had brought
him shaving-water at eighty-four degrees Fahrenheit instead of
eighty-six; and he was awaiting his successor, who was due at the house
between eleven and half-past.

Phileas Fogg was seated squarely in his armchair, his feet close
together like those of a grenadier on parade, his hands resting on his
knees, his body straight, his head erect; he was steadily watching a
complicated clock which indicated the hours, the minutes, the seconds,
the days, the months, and the years. At exactly half-past eleven Mr.
Fogg would, according to his daily habit, quit Saville Row, and repair
to the Reform.

A rap at this moment sounded on the door of the cosy apartment where
Phileas Fogg was seated, and James Forster, the dismissed servant,
appeared.

"The new servant," said he.

A young man of thirty advanced and bowed.

"You are a Frenchman, I believe," asked Phileas Fogg, "and your name is
John? "

"Jean, if monsieur pleases," replied the newcomer, "Jean Passepartout,
a surname which has clung to me because I have a natural aptness for
going out of one business into another. I believe I'm honest,
monsieur, but, to be outspoken, I've had several trades. I've been an
itinerant singer, a circus-rider, when I used to vault like Leotard,
and dance on a rope like Blondin. Then I got to be a professor of
gymnastics, so as to make better use of my talents; and then I was a
sergeant fireman at Paris, and assisted at many a big fire. But I
quitted France five years ago, and, wishing to taste the sweets of
domestic life, took service as a valet here in England. Finding myself
out of place, and hearing that Monsieur Phileas Fogg was the most exact
and settled gentleman in the United Kingdom, I have come to monsieur in
the hope of living with him a tranquil life, and forgetting even the
name of Passepartout. "

"Passepartout suits me," responded Mr. Fogg. "You are well recommended
to me; I hear a good report of you. You know my conditions? "

"Yes, monsieur. "

"Good! What time is it? "

"Twenty-two minutes after eleven," returned Passepartout, drawing an
enormous silver watch from the depths of his pocket.

"You are too slow," said Mr. Fogg.

"Pardon me, monsieur, it is impossible--"

"You are four minutes too slow. No matter; it's enough to mention the
error. Now from this moment, twenty-nine minutes after eleven, a. m. ,
this Wednesday, 2nd October, you are in my service. "

Phileas Fogg got up, took his hat in his left hand, put it on his head
with an automatic motion, and went off without a word.

Passepartout heard the street door shut once; it was his new master
going out. He heard it shut again; it was his predecessor, James
Forster, departing in his turn. Passepartout remained alone in the
house in Saville Row.




Chapter II

IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT IS CONVINCED THAT HE HAS AT LAST FOUND HIS IDEAL


"Faith," muttered Passepartout, somewhat flurried, "I've seen people at
Madame Tussaud's as lively as my new master! "

Madame Tussaud's "people," let it be said, are of wax, and are much
visited in London; speech is all that is wanting to make them human.

During his brief interview with Mr. Fogg, Passepartout had been
carefully observing him. He appeared to be a man about forty years of
age, with fine, handsome features, and a tall, well-shaped figure; his
hair and whiskers were light, his forehead compact and unwrinkled, his
face rather pale, his teeth magnificent. His countenance possessed in
the highest degree what physiognomists call "repose in action," a
quality of those who act rather than talk. Calm and phlegmatic, with a
clear eye, Mr. Fogg seemed a perfect type of that English composure
which Angelica Kauffmann has so skilfully represented on canvas. Seen
in the various phases of his daily life, he gave the idea of being
perfectly well-balanced, as exactly regulated as a Leroy chronometer.
Phileas Fogg was, indeed, exactitude personified, and this was betrayed
even in the expression of his very hands and feet; for in men, as well
as in animals, the limbs themselves are expressive of the passions.

He was so exact that he was never in a hurry, was always ready, and was
economical alike of his steps and his motions. He never took one step
too many, and always went to his destination by the shortest cut; he
made no superfluous gestures, and was never seen to be moved or
agitated. He was the most deliberate person in the world, yet always
reached his destination at the exact moment.

He lived alone, and, so to speak, outside of every social relation; and
as he knew that in this world account must be taken of friction, and
that friction retards, he never rubbed against anybody.

As for Passepartout, he was a true Parisian of Paris. Since he had
abandoned his own country for England, taking service as a valet, he
had in vain searched for a master after his own heart. Passepartout
was by no means one of those pert dunces depicted by Moliere with a
bold gaze and a nose held high in the air; he was an honest fellow,
with a pleasant face, lips a trifle protruding, soft-mannered and
serviceable, with a good round head, such as one likes to see on the
shoulders of a friend. His eyes were blue, his complexion rubicund,
his figure almost portly and well-built, his body muscular, and his
physical powers fully developed by the exercises of his younger days.
His brown hair was somewhat tumbled; for, while the ancient sculptors
are said to have known eighteen methods of arranging Minerva's tresses,
Passepartout was familiar with but one of dressing his own: three
strokes of a large-tooth comb completed his toilet.

It would be rash to predict how Passepartout's lively nature would
agree with Mr. Fogg. It was impossible to tell whether the new servant
would turn out as absolutely methodical as his master required;
experience alone could solve the question. Passepartout had been a
sort of vagrant in his early years, and now yearned for repose; but so
far he had failed to find it, though he had already served in ten
English houses. But he could not take root in any of these; with
chagrin, he found his masters invariably whimsical and irregular,
constantly running about the country, or on the look-out for adventure.
His last master, young Lord Longferry, Member of Parliament, after
passing his nights in the Haymarket taverns, was too often brought home
in the morning on policemen's shoulders. Passepartout, desirous of
respecting the gentleman whom he served, ventured a mild remonstrance
on such conduct; which, being ill-received, he took his leave. Hearing
that Mr. Phileas Fogg was looking for a servant, and that his life was
one of unbroken regularity, that he neither travelled nor stayed from
home overnight, he felt sure that this would be the place he was after.
He presented himself, and was accepted, as has been seen.

At half-past eleven, then, Passepartout found himself alone in the
house in Saville Row. He began its inspection without delay, scouring
it from cellar to garret. So clean, well-arranged, solemn a mansion
pleased him; it seemed to him like a snail's shell, lighted and warmed
by gas, which sufficed for both these purposes. When Passepartout
reached the second story he recognised at once the room which he was to
inhabit, and he was well satisfied with it. Electric bells and
speaking-tubes afforded communication with the lower stories; while on
the mantel stood an electric clock, precisely like that in Mr. Fogg's
bedchamber, both beating the same second at the same instant. "That's
good, that'll do," said Passepartout to himself.

He suddenly observed, hung over the clock, a card which, upon
inspection, proved to be a programme of the daily routine of the house.
It comprised all that was required of the servant, from eight in the
morning, exactly at which hour Phileas Fogg rose, till half-past
eleven, when he left the house for the Reform Club--all the details of
service, the tea and toast at twenty-three minutes past eight, the
shaving-water at thirty-seven minutes past nine, and the toilet at
twenty minutes before ten. Everything was regulated and foreseen that
was to be done from half-past eleven a. m. till midnight, the hour at
which the methodical gentleman retired.

Mr. Fogg's wardrobe was amply supplied and in the best taste. Each
pair of trousers, coat, and vest bore a number, indicating the time of
year and season at which they were in turn to be laid out for wearing;
and the same system was applied to the master's shoes. In short, the
house in Saville Row, which must have been a very temple of disorder
and unrest under the illustrious but dissipated Sheridan, was cosiness,
comfort, and method idealised. There was no study, nor were there
books, which would have been quite useless to Mr. Fogg; for at the
Reform two libraries, one of general literature and the other of law
and politics, were at his service. A moderate-sized safe stood in his
bedroom, constructed so as to defy fire as well as burglars; but
Passepartout found neither arms nor hunting weapons anywhere;
everything betrayed the most tranquil and peaceable habits.

Having scrutinised the house from top to bottom, he rubbed his hands, a
broad smile overspread his features, and he said joyfully, "This is
just what I wanted! Ah, we shall get on together, Mr. Fogg and I!
What a domestic and regular gentleman! A real machine; well, I don't
mind serving a machine. "




Chapter III

IN WHICH A CONVERSATION TAKES PLACE WHICH SEEMS LIKELY TO COST PHILEAS
FOGG DEAR


Phileas Fogg, having shut the door of his house at half-past eleven,
and having put his right foot before his left five hundred and
seventy-five times, and his left foot before his right five hundred and
seventy-six times, reached the Reform Club, an imposing edifice in Pall
Mall, which could not have cost less than three millions. He repaired
at once to the dining-room, the nine windows of which open upon a
tasteful garden, where the trees were already gilded with an autumn
colouring; and took his place at the habitual table, the cover of which
had already been laid for him. His breakfast consisted of a side-dish,
a broiled fish with Reading sauce, a scarlet slice of roast beef
garnished with mushrooms, a rhubarb and gooseberry tart, and a morsel
of Cheshire cheese, the whole being washed down with several cups of
tea, for which the Reform is famous. He rose at thirteen minutes to
one, and directed his steps towards the large hall, a sumptuous
apartment adorned with lavishly-framed paintings. A flunkey handed him
an uncut Times, which he proceeded to cut with a skill which betrayed
familiarity with this delicate operation. The perusal of this paper
absorbed Phileas Fogg until a quarter before four, whilst the Standard,
his next task, occupied him till the dinner hour. Dinner passed as
breakfast had done, and Mr. Fogg re-appeared in the reading-room and
sat down to the Pall Mall at twenty minutes before six. Half an hour
later several members of the Reform came in and drew up to the
fireplace, where a coal fire was steadily burning. They were Mr.
Fogg's usual partners at whist: Andrew Stuart, an engineer; John
Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, bankers; Thomas Flanagan, a brewer; and
Gauthier Ralph, one of the Directors of the Bank of England--all rich
and highly respectable personages, even in a club which comprises the
princes of English trade and finance.

"Well, Ralph," said Thomas Flanagan, "what about that robbery? "

"Oh," replied Stuart, "the Bank will lose the money. "

"On the contrary," broke in Ralph, "I hope we may put our hands on the
robber. Skilful detectives have been sent to all the principal ports
of America and the Continent, and he'll be a clever fellow if he slips
through their fingers. "

"But have you got the robber's description? " asked Stuart.

"In the first place, he is no robber at all," returned Ralph,
positively.

"What! a fellow who makes off with fifty-five thousand pounds, no
robber? "

"No. "

"Perhaps he's a manufacturer, then. "

"The Daily Telegraph says that he is a gentleman. "

It was Phileas Fogg, whose head now emerged from behind his newspapers,
who made this remark. He bowed to his friends, and entered into the
conversation. The affair which formed its subject, and which was town
talk, had occurred three days before at the Bank of England. A package
of banknotes, to the value of fifty-five thousand pounds, had been
taken from the principal cashier's table, that functionary being at the
moment engaged in registering the receipt of three shillings and
sixpence. Of course, he could not have his eyes everywhere. Let it be
observed that the Bank of England reposes a touching confidence in the
honesty of the public. There are neither guards nor gratings to
protect its treasures; gold, silver, banknotes are freely exposed, at
the mercy of the first comer. A keen observer of English customs
relates that, being in one of the rooms of the Bank one day, he had the
curiosity to examine a gold ingot weighing some seven or eight pounds.
He took it up, scrutinised it, passed it to his neighbour, he to the
next man, and so on until the ingot, going from hand to hand, was
transferred to the end of a dark entry; nor did it return to its place
for half an hour. Meanwhile, the cashier had not so much as raised his
head. But in the present instance things had not gone so smoothly.
The package of notes not being found when five o'clock sounded from the
ponderous clock in the "drawing office," the amount was passed to the
account of profit and loss. As soon as the robbery was discovered,
picked detectives hastened off to Liverpool, Glasgow, Havre, Suez,
Brindisi, New York, and other ports, inspired by the proffered reward
of two thousand pounds, and five per cent. on the sum that might be
recovered. Detectives were also charged with narrowly watching those
who arrived at or left London by rail, and a judicial examination was
at once entered upon.

There were real grounds for supposing, as the Daily Telegraph said,
that the thief did not belong to a professional band. On the day of
the robbery a well-dressed gentleman of polished manners, and with a
well-to-do air, had been observed going to and fro in the paying room
where the crime was committed. A description of him was easily
procured and sent to the detectives; and some hopeful spirits, of whom
Ralph was one, did not despair of his apprehension. The papers and
clubs were full of the affair, and everywhere people were discussing
the probabilities of a successful pursuit; and the Reform Club was
especially agitated, several of its members being Bank officials.

Ralph would not concede that the work of the detectives was likely to
be in vain, for he thought that the prize offered would greatly
stimulate their zeal and activity. But Stuart was far from sharing
this confidence; and, as they placed themselves at the whist-table,
they continued to argue the matter. Stuart and Flanagan played
together, while Phileas Fogg had Fallentin for his partner. As the
game proceeded the conversation ceased, excepting between the rubbers,
when it revived again.

"I maintain," said Stuart, "that the chances are in favour of the
thief, who must be a shrewd fellow. "

"Well, but where can he fly to? " asked Ralph. "No country is safe for
him. "

"Pshaw! "

"Where could he go, then? "

"Oh, I don't know that. The world is big enough. "

"It was once," said Phileas Fogg, in a low tone. "Cut, sir," he added,
handing the cards to Thomas Flanagan.

The discussion fell during the rubber, after which Stuart took up its
thread.

"What do you mean by `once'? Has the world grown smaller? "

"Certainly," returned Ralph. "I agree with Mr. Fogg. The world has
grown smaller, since a man can now go round it ten times more quickly
than a hundred years ago. And that is why the search for this thief
will be more likely to succeed. "

"And also why the thief can get away more easily. "

"Be so good as to play, Mr. Stuart," said Phileas Fogg.

But the incredulous Stuart was not convinced, and when the hand was
finished, said eagerly: "You have a strange way, Ralph, of proving that
the world has grown smaller. So, because you can go round it in three
months--"

"In eighty days," interrupted Phileas Fogg.

"That is true, gentlemen," added John Sullivan. "Only eighty days, now
that the section between Rothal and Allahabad, on the Great Indian
Peninsula Railway, has been opened. Here is the estimate made by the
Daily Telegraph:

From London to Suez via Mont Cenis and
Brindisi, by rail and steamboats . . . . . . . . . . . .