Around the World in Eighty Days

At half-past eleven, Passepartout found himself alone in the Saville Row mansion. He immediately commenced its inspection, going over it from cellar to garret. This clean, well-ordered, austere, Puritan house, well organised for servants, pleased him. It produced the effect upon him of a fine snail-shell, but one lighted and heated by gas, for carburetted hydrogen answered both purposes here. Passepartout found without difficulty, in the second story, the room designed for him. It suited him. Electric bells and speaking-tubes put it in communication with the lower stories. On the mantel an electric clock corresponded with the one in Phileas Fogg’s bed-chamber, both beating the same second at the same instant. “That suits me, that suits me!” said Passepartout.

He observed also in his room a notice fastened above the clock. It was the programme for the daily service. It comprised—from eight o’clock in the morning, the regular hour at which Phileas Fogg rose, until half-past eleven, the hour at which he left his house to breakfast at the Reform Club—all the details of the service, the tea and toast at twenty-three minutes after eight, the shaving-water at thirty-seven minutes after nine, the toilet at twenty minutes before ten, etc. Then from half-past eleven in the morning until midnight, the hour at which the methodical gentleman retired—everything was noted down, foreseen, and regulated. Passepartout took a pleasure in contemplating this programme, and impressing upon his mind its various directions.

As to the gentleman’s wardrobe, it was in very good taste, and wonderfully complete. Each pair of pantaloons, coat or vest, bore a regular number, which was also entered upon a register, indicating the date at which, according to the season, these garments were to be worn in their turn. The same rule applied to his shoes.

In short, in this house in Saville Row—which, in the time of the illustrious but dissipated Sheridan, must have been the temple of disorder—its comfortable furniture indicated a delightful ease. There was no study, there were no books, which would have been of no use to Mr Fogg, since the Reform Club placed at his disposal two libraries, the one devoted to literature, the other to law and politics. In his bed-chamber there was a medium-sized safe, whose construction protected it from fire as well as from burglars. There were no weapons in the house, neither for the chase, nor for war. Everything there denoted the most peaceful habits.

After having minutely examined the dwelling, Passepartout rubbed his hands, his broad face brightened, and he repeated cheerfully: “This suits me! This is the place for me! Mr Fogg and I will understand each other perfectly. A home-body, and so methodical! A genuine automaton! Well, I am not sorry to serve an automaton!”

CHAPTER 3

In which a conversation takes place which may cost Phileas Fogg dearly

Phileas Fogg had left his house in Saville Row at half-past eleven, and after putting his right foot before his left foot five hundred and seventy-five times, and his left foot before his right foot five hundred and seventy-six times, he arrived at the Reform Club, a spacious and lofty building in Pall Mall, which cost not less than three millions to build.

Phileas Fogg repaired immediately to the dining-room, whose nine windows opened upon a fine garden with trees already gilded by autumn. There, he took his seat at his regular table where the plate was awaiting him. His breakfast consisted of a side-dish, a boiled fish with Reading sauce of first quality, a scarlet slice of roast beef garnished with mushrooms, a rhubarb and gooseberry tart, and a bit of Chester cheese, the whole washed down with a few cups of that excellent tea, specially gathered for the stores of the Reform Club.

At forty-seven minutes past noon, this gentleman rose and turned his steps towards the large hall, a sumptuous apartment, adorned with paintings in elegant frames. There, a servant handed him The Times uncut, the tiresome cutting of which he managed with a steadiness of hand which denoted great practice in this difficult operation. The reading of this journal occupied Phileas Fogg until a quarter before four, and that of the Standard, which succeeded it, lasted until dinner. This repast passed off in the same way as the breakfast, with the addition of “Royal British Sauce.”

At twenty minutes before six, the gentleman reappeared in the large hall, and was absorbed in the reading of the Morning Chronicle.

Half an hour later, various members of the Reform Club entered and came near the fireplace, in which a coal fire was burning. They were the usual partners of Phileas Fogg; like himself, passionate players of whist—the engineer, Andrew Stuart; the bankers, John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin; the brewer, Thomas Flanagan; Gauthier Ralph, one of the directors of the Bank of England—rich and respected personages, even in this Club, counting among his members the élite of trade and finance.

“Well, Ralph,” asked Thomas Flanagan, “how about that robbery?”

“Why,” replied Andrew Stuart, “the bank will lose the money.”

“I hope, on the contrary,” said Gauthier Ralph, “that we will put our hands on the robber. Detectives, very skilful fellows, have been sent to America and the Continent, to all the principal ports of embarkation and debarkation, and it will be difficult for this fellow to escape.”

“But you have the description of the robber?” asked Andrew Stuart.

“In the first place, he is not a robber,” replied Gauthier Ralph seriously.

“How is he not a robber, this fellow who has abstracted fifty-five thousand pounds in bank-notes?”

“No,” replied Gauthier Ralph.

“Is he, then, a manufacturer?” said John Sullivan.

“The Morning Chronicle assures us that he is a gentleman.”

The party that made this reply was no other than Phileas Fogg, whose head then emerged from the mass of papers heaped around him. At the same time, he greeted his colleagues, who returned his salutation. The matter under discussion, and which the various journals of the United Kingdom were discussing ardently, had occurred three days before, on the 29th of September. A package of bank-notes, making the enormous sum of fifty-five thousand pounds, had been taken from the counter of the principal cashier of the Bank of England. The Under-Governor, Gauthier Ralph, only replied to anyone who was astonished that such a robbery could have been so easily accomplished, that at this very moment the cashier was occupied with registering a receipt of three shillings and sixpence, and that he could not have his eyes everywhere.

But it is proper to be remarked here—which makes the robbery less mysterious—that this admirable establishment, the Bank of England, seems to care very much for the dignity of the public. There are neither guards nor gratings; gold, silver, and bank-notes being freely exposed, and, so to speak, at the mercy of the first comer. They would not suspect the honour of anyone passing by. One of the best observers of English customs relates the following: He had the curiosity to examine closely, in one of the rooms of the bank, where he was one day, an ingot of gold, weighing seven to eight pounds, which was lying exposed on the cashier’s table; he picked up this ingot, examined it, passed it to his neighbour, and he to another, so that the ingot, passing from hand to hand, went as far as the end of a dark entry, and did not return to its place for half an hour, and the cashier had not once raised his head.

But on the twenty-ninth of September, matters did not turn out quite in this way. The package of bank-notes did not return, and when the magnificent clock, hung above the “drawing office” announced at five o’clock the closing of the office, the Bank of England had only to pass fifty-five thousand pounds to the account of profit and loss.

The robbery being duly known, agents, detectives, selected from the most skilful, were sent to the principal ports—Liverpool, Glasgow, Havre, Suez, Brindisi, New York, etc., with the promise, in case of success, of a reward of two thousand pounds and five per cent of the amount recovered. Whilst waiting for the information which the investigation, commenced immediately, ought to furnish, the detectives were charged with watching carefully all arriving and departing travellers.

As the Morning Chronicle said, there was good reason for supposing that the robber was not a member of any of the robber bands of England. During this day, the twenty-ninth of September, a well-dressed gentleman, of good manners, of a distinguished air, had been noticed going in and out of the paying room, the scene of the robbery. The investigation allowed a pretty accurate description of the gentleman to be made out, which was at once sent to all the detectives of the United Kingdom and of the Continent. Some hopeful minds, and Gauthier Ralph was one of the number, believed that they had good reason to expect that the robber would not escape.

As may be supposed, this affair was the talk of all London and throughout England.

It was discussed, and sides were taken vehemently for or against the probabilities of success of the city police. It will not be surprising, then, to hear the members of the Reform Club treating the same subject, all the more that one of the Under-Governors of the Bank was among them.

Honourable Gauthier Ralph was not willing to doubt the result of the search, considering that the reward offered ought to sharpen peculiarly the zeal and intelligence of the agents. But his colleague, Andrew Stuart, was far from sharing this confidence. The discussion continued then between the gentlemen, who were seated at a whist table, Stuart having Flanagan as a partner, and Fallentin Phileas Fogg. During the playing the parties did not speak, but between the rubbers the interrupted conversation was fully revived.

“I maintain,” said Andrew Stuart, “that the chances are in favour of the robber, who must be a skilful fellow!”

“Well,” replied Ralph, “there is not a single country where he can take refuge.”

“Pshaw!”

“Where do you suppose he might go?”

“I don’t know about that,” replied Andrew Stuart, “but after all, the world is big enough.”

“It was formerly,” said Phileas Fogg in a low tone. Then he added: “It is your turn to cut, sir,” presenting the cards to Thomas Flanagan.

The discussion was suspended during the rubber. But Andrew Stuart soon resumed it, saying:

“How, formerly? Has the world grown smaller perchance?”

“Without doubt,” replied Gauthier Ralph. “I am of the opinion of Mr Fogg. The world has grown smaller, since we can go round it now ten times quicker than one hundred years ago. And, in the case with which we are now occupied, this is what will render the search more rapid.”

“And will render more easy, also, the flight of the robber.”

“It is your turn to play, Mr Stuart,” said Phileas Fogg.

But the incredulous Stuart was not convinced, and when the hand was finished, he replied: “It must be confessed, Mr Ralph, that you have found a funny way of saying that the world has grown smaller! Because the tour of it is now made in three months—”

“In eighty days only,” said Phileas Fogg.

“Yes, gentlemen,” added John Sullivan, “eighty days, since the section between Rothal and Allahabad, on the Great Indian Peninsular Railway, has been opened. Here is the calculation made by the Morning Chronicle:

From London to Suez via Mont Cenis and Brindisi, by rail and steamers 7 days From Suez to Bombay, steamer 13 days From Bombay to Calcutta, rail 3 days From Calcutta to Hong-Kong (China) steamer 13 days From Hong-Kong to Yokohama (Japan) steamer 6 days From Yokohama to San Francisco, steamer 22 days From San Francisco to New York, rail 7 days From New York to London, steamer and rail 9 days 80 days”

“Yes, eighty days!” exclaimed Andrew Stuart, who, by inattention, made a wrong deal, “but not including bad weather, contrary winds, shipwrecks, running off the track, etc.”

“Everything included,” replied Phileas Fogg, continuing to play, for this time the discussion no longer respected the game.

“Even if the Hindus or the Indians tear up the rails!” exclaimed Andrew Stuart, “if they stop the trains, plunder the cars, and scalp the passengers!”

“All included,” replied Phileas Fogg, who, throwing down his cards, added: “Two trumps.”

Andrew Stuart, whose turn it was to deal, gathered up the cards, saying:

“Theoretically, you are right, Mr Fogg, but practically—”

“Practically also, Mr Stuart.”

“I would like very much to see you do it.”

“It depends only upon you. Let us start together.”

“Heaven preserve me!” exclaimed Stuart, “but I would willingly wager four thousand pounds that such a journey, made under these conditions, is impossible.”

“On the contrary, quite possible,” replied Mr Fogg.

“Well, make it, then!”

“The tour of the world in eighty days?”

“Yes!”

“I am willing.”

“When?”

“At once. Only I warn you that I shall do it at your expense.”

“It is folly!” cried Stuart, who was beginning to be vexed at the persistence of his partner. “Stop! let us play rather.”

“Deal again, then,” replied Phileas Fogg, “for there is a false deal.”

Andrew Stuart took up the cards again with a feverish hand; then suddenly, placing them upon the table, he said:

“Well, Mr Fogg, yes, and I bet four thousand pounds!”

“My dear Stuart,” said Fallentin, “compose yourself. It is not serious.”

“When I say—‘I bet,’” replied Andrew Stuart, “it is always serious.”

“So be it,” said Mr Fogg, and then, turning to his companions, continued: “I have twenty thousand pounds deposited at Baring Brothers. I will willingly risk them—”

“Twenty thousand pounds!” cried John Sullivan. “Twenty thousand pounds, which an unforeseen delay may make you lose.”

“The unforeseen does not exist,” replied Phileas Fogg quietly.

“But, Mr Fogg, this period of eighty days is calculated only as a minimum of time?”

“A minimum well employed suffices for everything.”

“But in order not to exceed it, you must jump mathematically from the trains into the steamers, and from the steamers upon the trains!”

“I will jump mathematically.”

“That is a joke.”

“A good Englishman never jokes when so serious a matter as a wager is in question,” replied Phileas Fogg. “I bet twenty thousand pounds against who will that I will make the tour of the world in eighty days or less—that is, nineteen hundred and twenty hours, or one hundred and fifteen thousand two hundred minutes. Do you accept?”

“We accept,” replied Messrs. Stuart, Fallentin, Sullivan, Flanagan, and Ralph, after having consulted.

“Very well,” said Mr Fogg. “The Dover train starts at eight forty-five. I shall take it.”

“This very evening?” asked Stuart.

“This very evening,” replied Phileas Fogg. Then he added, consulting a pocket almanac, “since to-day is Wednesday, the second of October, I ought to be back in London, in this very saloon of the Reform Club, on Saturday, the twenty-first of December, at eight forty-five in the evening, in default of which the twenty thousand pounds at present deposited to my credit with Baring Brothers will belong to you, gentlemen, in fact and by right. Here is a cheque of like amount.”

A memorandum of the wager was made and signed on the spot by the six parties in interest. Phileas Fogg had remained cool. He had certainly not bet to win, and had risked only these twenty thousand pounds—the half of his fortune—because he foresaw that he might have to expend the other half to carry out this difficult, not to say impracticable, project. As for his opponents, they seemed affected, not on account of the stake, but because they had a sort of scruple against a contest under these conditions.

Seven o’clock then struck. They offered to Mr Fogg to stop playing, so that he could make his preparations for departure.

“I am always ready,” replied this tranquil gentleman, and dealing the cards, he said: “Diamonds are trumps. It is your turn to play, Mr Stuart.”

CHAPTER 4

In which Phileas Fogg surprises

Passepartout, his Servant, beyond measure

At twenty-five minutes after seven, Phileas Fogg having gained twenty guineas at whist, took leave of his honourable colleagues, and left the Reform Club. At ten minutes of eight, he opened the door of his house and entered.

Passepartout, who had conscientiously studied his programme, was quite surprised at seeing Mr Fogg guilty of the inexactness of appearing at this unusual hour. According to the notice, the occupant of Saville Row ought not to return before midnight precisely.

Phileas Fogg first went to his bedroom. Then he called “Passepartout!”

Passepartout could not reply, for this call could not be addressed to him, as it was not the hour.

“Passepartout,” Mr Fogg called again without raising his voice much.

Passepartout presented himself.

“It is the second time that I have called you,” said Mr Fogg.

“But it is not midnight,” replied Passepartout, with his watch in his hand.

“I know it,” continued Phileas Fogg, “and I do not find fault with you. We leave in ten minutes for Dover and Calais.”

A sort of faint grimace appeared on the round face of the Frenchman. It was evident that he had not fully understood.

“Monsieur is going to leave home?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied Phileas Fogg. “We are going to make the tour of the world.”

Passepartout, with his eyes wide open, his eyebrows raised, his arms extended, and his body collapsed, presented all the symptoms of an astonishment amounting to stupor.

“The tour of the world!” he murmured.

“In eighty days,” replied Mr Fogg. “So we have not a moment to lose.”

“But the trunks?” said Passepartout, who was unconsciously swinging his head from right to left.

“No trunks necessary. Only a carpet-bag. In it two woollen shirts and three pairs of stockings. The same for you. We will purchase on the way. You may bring down my mackintosh and travelling cloak, also stout shoes, although we shall walk but little or not at all. Go.”

Passepartout would have liked to make reply. He could not. He left Mr Fogg’s room, went up to his own, fell back into a chair, and making use of a common phrase in his country, he said: “Well, well, that’s pretty tough. I who wanted to remain quiet!”

And mechanically he made his preparations for departure. The tour of the world in eighty days! Was he doing business with a madman? No. It was a joke, perhaps. They were going to Dover. Good. To Calais. Let it be so. After all, it could not cross the grain of the good fellow very much, who had not trod the soil of his native country for five years. Perhaps they would go as far as Paris, and, indeed, it would give him pleasure to see the great capital again. But, surely, a gentleman so careful of his steps would stop there. Yes, doubtless; but it was not less true that he was starting out, that he was leaving home, this gentleman who, until this time, had been such a homebody!

By eight o’clock, Passepartout had put in order the modest bag which contained his wardrobe and that of his master; then, his mind still disturbed, he left his room, the door of which he closed carefully, and he rejoined Mr Fogg.

Mr Fogg was ready. He carried under his arm Bradshaw’s Continental Railway Steam Transit and General Guide, which was to furnish him all the necessary directions for his journey. He took the bag from Passepartout’s hands, opened it, and slipped into it a heavy package of those fine bank-notes which are current in all countries.

“You have forgotten nothing?” he asked.

“Nothing, monsieur.”

“My mackintosh and cloak?”

“Here they are.”

“Good; take this bag,” and Mr Fogg handed it to Passepartout. “And take good care of it,” he added, “there are twenty thousand pounds in it.”

The bag nearly slipped out of Passepartout’s hands, as if the twenty thousand pounds had been in gold, and weighed very heavy.

The master and servant then descended, and the street door was double-locked. At the end of Saville Row there was a carriage stand. Phileas Fogg and his servant got into a cab, which was rapidly driven towards Charing Cross Station, at which one of the branches of the South Eastern Railway touches. At twenty minutes after eight the cab stopped before the gate of the station. Passepartout jumped out. His master followed him, and paid the driver. At this moment a poor beggar woman, holding a child in her arms, her bare feet all muddy, her head covered with a wretched bonnet, from which hung a tattered feather, and a ragged shawl over her other torn garments, approached Mr Fogg, and asked him for help.

Mr Fogg drew from his pocket the twenty guineas which he had just won at whist, and giving them to the woman, said: “Here, my good woman, I’m glad to have met you.” Then he passed on.

Passepartout had something like a sensation of moisture about his eyes. His master had made an impression upon his heart.

Mr Fogg and he went immediately into the large sitting-room of the station. There Phileas Fogg gave Passepartout the order to get two first-class tickets for Paris. Then returning, he noticed his five colleagues of the Reform Club.

“Gentlemen, I am going,” he said, “and the various visés put upon a passport which I take for that purpose will enable you on my return, to verify my journey.”

“Oh! Mr Fogg,” replied Gauthier Ralph, “that is useless. We will depend upon your honour as a gentleman.”

“It is better so,” said Mr Fogg.

“You do not forget that you ought to be back—” remarked Andrew Stuart.

“In eighty days,” replied Mr Fogg. “Saturday, December 21, 1872, at quarter before nine p.m. Au revoir, gentlemen.”

At forty minutes after eight, Phileas Fogg and his servant took their seats in the same compartment. At eight forty-five the whistle sounded, and the train started.

The night was dark. A fine rain was falling. Phileas Fogg, leaning back in his corner, did not speak. Passepartout, still stupefied, mechanically hugged up the bag with the bank-notes.

But the train had not passed Sydenham, when Passepartout uttered a real cry of despair!

“What is the matter?” asked Mr Fogg.

“Why—in—in my haste—my disturbed state of mind, I forgot—”

“Forgot what?”

“To turn off the gas in my room.”

“Very well, young man,” replied Mr Fogg coldly, “it will burn at your expense.”

CHAPTER 5

In which a new Security appears on the London Exchange

Phileas Fogg, in leaving London, doubtless did not suspect the great excitement which his departure was going to create. The news of the wager spread first in the Reform Club, and produced quite a stir among the members of the honourable circle. Then from the Club it went into the papers, through the medium of the reporters, and from the papers to the public of London and the entire United Kingdom. The question of “the tour of the world” was commented upon, discussed, dissected, with as much passion and warmth as if it were a new Alabama affair. Some took sides with Phileas Fogg, others—and they soon formed a considerable majority—declared against him. To accomplish this tour of the world otherwise than in theory and upon paper, in this minimum of time, with the means of communication employed at present, it was not only impossible, it was visionary. The Times, the Standard, the Evening Star, the Morning Chronicle, and twenty other papers of large circulation, declared against Mr Fogg. The Daily Telegraph alone sustained him to a certain extent. Phileas Fogg was generally treated as a maniac, as a fool, and his colleagues were blamed for having taken up this wager, which impeached the soundness of the mental faculties of its originator. Extremely passionate, but very logical, articles appeared upon the subject. The interest felt in England for everything concerning geography is well known. So there was not a reader, to whatever class he belonged, who did not devour the columns devoted to Phileas Fogg.