Around the World in 80 Days [Junior Edition]
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Jules Verne >> Around the World in 80 Days [Junior Edition]
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15 Prepared by:
Bill Stoddard
hscrr@vgernet.net
AROUND THE WORLD IN EIGHTY DAYS
By JULES VERNE
Junior Deluxe Edition
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
In Which Phileas Fogg and Passepartout Accept Each Other,
the One as Master, the Other as Man
Chapter 2
In Which Passepartout Is Convinced That He Has
at Last Found His Ideal
Chapter 3
In Which a Conversation Takes Place Which Seems
Likely to Cost Phileas Fogg Dearly
Chapter 4
In Which Phileas Fogg Astounds Passepartout
Chapter 5
In Which a New Security Appears on the London Exchange
Chapter 6
In Which Fix, the Detective, Betrays a Very Natural Impatience
Chapter 7
Which Once More Demonstrates the Uselessness
of Passports as Aids to Detectives
Chapter 8
In Which Passepartout Talks Rather More,
Perhaps, than Is Prudent
Chapter 9
In Which the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean Prove
Propitious to the Designs of Phileas Fogg
Chapter 10
In Which Passepartout Is Only Too Glad
to Get off with the Loss of His Shoes
Chapter 11
In Which Phileas Fogg Buys a Curious
Means of Conveyance at a Fabulous Price
Chapter 12
In Which Phileas Fogg and His Companions Venture
across the Indian Forests, and What Follows
Chapter 13
In Which Passepartout Receives a New Proof
That Fortune Favors the Brave
Chapter 14
In Which Phileas Fogg Descends the Whole Length of the
Beautiful Valley of the Ganges without Ever Thinking of Seeing It
Chapter 15
In Which the Bag of Banknotes Disgorges
Some Thousands of Pounds More
Chapter 16
In Which Fix Does Not Seem to Understand
in the Least What is Said to Him
Chapter 17
Showing What Happened on the Voyage from Singapore to Hong Kong
Chapter 18
In Which Phileas Fogg, Passepartout and Fix
Go Each about His Business
Chapter 19
In Which Passepartout Takes a Too Great Interest in His Master,
and What Comes of It
Chapter 20
In Which Fix Comes Face to Face with Phileas Fogg
Chapter 21
In Which the Master of the Tankadere Runs Great Risk
of Losing a Reward of Two Hundred Pounds
Chapter 22
In Which Passepartout Finds Out That, Even at the Antipodes,
It Is Convenient to Have Some Money in One's Pocket
Chapter 23
In Which Passepartout's Nose Becomes Outrageously Long
Chapter 24
During Which Mr. Fogg and Party Cross the Pacific Ocean
Chapter 25
In Which a Slight Glimpse Is Had of San Francisco
Chapter 26
In Which Phileas Fogg and Party Travel by the Pacific Railroad
Chapter 27
In Which Passepartout Undergoes, at a Speed of
Twenty Miles an Hour, a Course of Mormon History
Chapter 28
In Which Passepartout Does Not Succeed
in Making Anybody Listen to Reason
Chapter 29
In Which Certain Incidents Are Narrated Which
Are Only to Be Met with on American Railroads
Chapter 30
In Which Phileas Fogg Simply Does His Duty
Chapter 31
Fix the Detective Considerably Furthers
the Interests of Phileas Fogg
Chapter 32
In Which Phileas Fogg Engages in a
Direct Struggle with Bad Fortune
Chapter 33
In Which Phileas Fogg Shows Himself Equal to the Occasion
Chapter 34
In Which Phileas Fogg at Last Reaches London
Chapter 35
In Which Phileas Fogg Does Not Have to
Repeat His Orders to Passepartout Twice
Chapter 36
In Which Phileas Fogg's Name Is Once More
at a Premium on the Market
Chapter 37
In Which It Is Shown That Phileas Fogg Gained Nothing
by His Tour around the World Except Happiness
Chapter 1
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. He was one of the most noticeable members of the Reform
Club, though he seemed always to avoid attracting attention. This
Phileas Fogg was a puzzling gentleman, about whom little was
known, except that he was a polished man of the world. People
said that he resembled the poet Byron - at least that his head
was Byronic; but he was a bearded, peaceful Byron, who might live
on a thousand years without growing old.
Certainly Phileas Fogg was an Englishman, but it was more
doubtful whether he 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 he ever pleaded 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.
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 checks 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 go for the information. He was not
lavish, nor, on the contrary, avaricious; for, whenever be 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 traveled? 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
travelers, 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 traveled everywhere, at least in
the spirit.
It was at least certain that Phileas Fogg had not been away from
London for many years. Those who were honored 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 quiet one, harmonized 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; neither relatives nor near
friends, which is certainly more unusual. He lived alone in his
house in Saville Row, where none ever entered. A single servant
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. He went home at exactly midnight, only to retire
at once to bed. He never used the cosy chambers which the Reform
provides for its favored 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 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 foods. He was served by the
gravest waiters, in dress coats, and shoes with swan-skin soles,
who presented 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 servant, 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 eleven.
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 go 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 left 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, the 2nd of 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 2
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 skillfully 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 ofhis 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
Mohliere, 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 rosy, his figure full 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 way of fixing 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 annoyance, he found his masters invariably
whimsical and irregular, constantly running about the country, or
on the lookout 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 remark on such conduct;
but when it was 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 traveled 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
recognized 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. 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 program 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 completely 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. 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 idealized. There was no study, nor were there books, which
would have been quite useless to Mr. Fogg; for at the Reform Club
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 peaceful habits.
Having examined the house from top to bottom, he rubbed his
hands, a broad smile spread over 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 3
In Which a Conversation Takes Place Which Seems
Likely to Cost Phileas Fogg Dearly
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
opened upon a tasteful garden, where the trees were already
gilded with an autumn coloring; 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 walked towards the large
hall, a sumptuous apartment adorned with lavishly framed
paintings. A porter handed him an uncut Times, which he proceeded
to cut with a skill which betrayed familiarity with this delicate
operation. The reading of this paper absorbed Phileas Fogg until
a quarter before four, while the Standard, his next task,
occupied him till the dinner hour. Dinner passed as breakfast had
done, and Mr. Fogg reappeared 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 Club 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 persons,
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. Skillful 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, while he was 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 has
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, scrutinized it, passed it to his neighbor, he to the next
man, and so on until the ingot, going from hand to hand, was
transferredto 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 promised 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. 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 favor 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, he 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 -"
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