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Passparto

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Raj Gill says a delay in receiving his child&#x27;s passport puts him in danger of breaking the law.

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The former I’m a Celebrity star was prevented from boarding an easyJet flight to Italy

This passport prevented Vicky Pattison from boarding her easyjet flight: How to avoid the same mistake | The Independent

HackerNoon Reporter: Please tell us briefly about your background. I was born and raised in Tel Aviv, Israel. After I completed my mandatory service in the army, I studied Accounting and Law at a university in Israel and Chinese at a college in Beijing, China. Before launching a startup, I owned and managed a restaurant. What's your startup called? And in a sentence or two, what does it do? Passparto automates marketing campaigns by using AI to tailor designs to businesses and organizations. Our clients should invest more time into improving their product or service, while we do the marketing for them. What is the origin story? I had to hire graphic designers and social media managers to market the product/service in all my projects. When the cost became too high, I wondered why there wasn’t an app that could create full social media campaigns and post them for me. After that initial spark, I couldn’t stop thinking about my idea, and Passparto was born. What do you love about your team, and why are you the ones to solve this problem? I love the intimacy and diversity between our team members. Since we are a small team, business and personal life overlap and I can proudly say that we are all friends, if not family. Despite only having a handful of employees, we work with people from around the world and all age groups. This diversity provides the different perspectives and skills to succeed. We are one of the first companies to solve the problem because we think two steps ahead. Many established small-to-middle-sized companies can hire expensive social media managers because they see the advantages of a social media presence. We combine the job of the graphic designer and social media manager and offer our service at a significantly lower price. This product can also target early and smaller businesses, which can profit more from social media presence than established companies. If you weren’t building your startup, what would you be doing? If I wouldn’t contribute to someone else’s startup and were skilled enough, I would be a doctor. Otherwise, I would be a local movie star. At the moment, how do you measure success? What are your core metrics? At the moment, I measure success by progress. Progress can be coming up with a new idea, implementing a new feature, improving an old feature, or having more people test our app. As long as we move forward, I see a bright future for our company. What’s most exciting about your traction to date? We recently launched our Alpha Version and published it on our website. Our platform generates custom designs that users can already post on their social media. Everyone can test it for free, and any feedback is encouraged and appreciated. What technologies are you currently most excited about, and most worried about? And why? I am most excited about the future of AI and machine learning, especially in Passparto’s software. Both technologies can solve minor issues (such as social media campaigns) and major issues (such as complicated surgical practices). However, “with great power comes great responsibility.” In a world where we find ways to militarize technologies, I am worried about the future of international conflict and human rights. Since I am working with both technologies, I hope that my contributions do more good than evil. What drew you to get published on HackerNoon? What do you like most about our platform? I love reading about different startups from around the world and how similar (or different) our ideas are. I would love to get Passparto to a larger audience and connect with other tech geeks. What advice would you give to the 21-year-old version of yourself? Listen to your gut, and don’t listen to people who don’t believe in dreams. What is something surprising you've learned this year that your contemporaries would benefit from knowing? I learned that celebrating successes is just as important as learning from failure. Throughout my entire life, especially in the first year of Passparto, I had the mindset to work on my weaknesses and learn from my failures. This is a great way of thinking, but I forgot to take a step back from my work and cherish my achievements. In a world where we praise “hustling” and 80-hour workweeks more than mental health, I am happy to have learned this skill the easy way. I also noticed increasing levels of productivity and creativity at work. I understand what strengths produced this success and can use them to my advantage in the future. Passparto is nominated as a . Go vote! startup of the year in Rishon Le Zion

Michael Barg, CEO of Passparto, On The Importance Of Leveraging AI For Good

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240 Stories To Learn About Startups Of The Year

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In 2021, hosted the first-ever awards!! HackerNoon Startup of the Year The goal of this campaign was to give recognition to the hardworking startups who pulled through the pandemic -- growing and thriving (despite all of the challenges). More than 44,000 startups were nominated all across the globe! They were selected from over 4,553 cities, with a total number of * cough * “4 billion” votes. Insane, right? To see who is a winner in each respective city, visit and pick a city. The name at the top of the list is the winner. (Compromised awards are under review. Cities with tie votes will be updated to have two winners!) startups.hackernoon.com The will announce the winners per region in their respective cities. Startups Winners Announcement series Here are the winners in the : Asia region Top Startup Cities in East Asia Seoul The Startup of the Year in is with 377 votes! Seoul dable Central is the Startup of the Year! It came out ahead with 121 votes. UpNow Central Sheung Wan came out as the Startup of the Year in with 154 votes. Votee Sheung Wan Tokyo The Startup of the Year in is with 41 votes! Tokyo ACES Wan Chai The Startup of the Year in is with 54 votes! Wan Chai Zetl Osaka, Japan In , is the winner! Osaka Nanophoton Taiwan came out as the Startup of the Year in ! Tico Taiwan Dongcheng, China In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Dongcheng Waiju Taipei came out as the Startup of the Year in ! Tico Taipei Akasaka In , is the winner! Akasaka WAKUWAKU Chuo In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Chuo GO-NET Ginza came out as the Startup of the Year in ! Netyear Ginza Kanazawa In , is the winner! Kanazawa Granzella Minami-aoyama In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Minami-aoyama Tokyo6 Entertainment Shibuya came out as the Startup of the Year in ! Hupro Japan Shibuya Toranomon In , is the winner! Toranomon Small Worlds Toshima In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Toshima Altplus Guangzhou, China came out as the Startup of the Year in ! Leyaoyao Guangzhou Hong Kong, Hong Kong In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Hong Kong Episode Six Kunming In , is the winner! Kunming Green A Sapporo In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Sapporo Polar Star Space Shirokanedai came out as the Startup of the Year in ! Nupp1 Shirokanedai Wuhan In , is the winner! Wuhan CSICEE Baoan, China In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Baoan Jumper Baoshan, China In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Baoshan Renren Games Chengdu, China came out as the Startup of the Year in ! Ju You Xi Chengdu Fujisawa, Japan In , is the winner! Fujisawa Scohia Pharma Fukuoka, Japan In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Fukuoka Kyulux Haidian, China came out as the Startup of the Year in ! 51vv Haidian Hongkou, China In , is the winner! Hongkou Kidstone Jiading, China In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Jiading IMRobotic Kawasaki, Japan came out as the Startup of the Year in ! QD Laser, Inc. Kawasaki Kyoto, Japan In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Kyoto Hacarus Minato, Japan In , is the winner! Minato Visionary Fun Nagoya, Japan came out as the Startup of the Year in ! Prodrone Nagoya Ningbo, China The winner in is . Ningbo OlymTech Corporation Aomori In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Aomori Forte Japan Bandai-cho In , is the winner. Bandai-cho Delta-Fly Pharm Changchun In , the Startup of the Year is . Changchun Kaidi Animation Fuchu In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Fuchu TMS Fukuoka-shi The winner in is . Fukuoka-shi SkyDisc Fukushima In , the Startup of the Year is . Fukushima Matsuri Technologies Gotanda In , is the winner. Gotanda Basset Hachioji In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Hachioji Adriakaim Harbin The winner in is J . Harbin oining Technology Iwaki In , is the winner. Iwaki Tao Engineering Izumo In , the Startup of the Year is . Izumo PuREC Kagoshima In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Kagoshima Farmers Support Kamakura In , the Startup of the Year is . Kamakura KAYAC Kami-meguro The winner in is . Kami-meguro Buzzreach Kanagawa In , is the winner. Kanagawa LoiLo Kashiwa In , the Startup of the Year is . Kashiwa Intelligent Surfaces Kita In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Kita Ax Robotix Kobe The winner in is . Kobe Coconomi Koriyama In , the Startup of the Year is . Koriyama Tocoton Kumamoto In , is the winner. Kumamoto Bloom Technology Kunitachi In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Kunitachi Trys Liaocheng The winner in is . Liaocheng Jinzheng Animation Minami In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Minami ATLAB Miyazaki In , is the winner. Miyazaki Caster Nagano In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Nagano Precision Forestry Nagaoka The winner in is . Nagaoka Plant Form Nihombashi-hamacho In , the Startup of the Year is . Nihombashi-hamacho Shizen Energy Niigata In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Niigata UniBio Japan Nishi-shinagawa In , is the winner. Nishi-shinagawa Play Heart Okayama In , is the winner! Okayama Arch Farm Okinawa In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Okinawa BlogNinja Otemachi In , the Startup of the Year is . Otemachi beBit, Inc Qingdao Shi In , is the winner! Qingdao Shi Manyoubang Quanzhou In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Quanzhou KungFu Animation Group Roppongi The winner in is . Roppongi Holo-X Saitama In , the Startup of the Year is . Saitama GameTector Sendai In , is the winner! Sendai Sendai Smart Machines Setagaya In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Setagaya Skyestate Shenzhen In , the Startup of the Year is . Shenzhen Aiator Shinjuku In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Shinjuku Scalar Shizuoka In , is the winner! Shizuoka PiPhotonics Sumida The winner in is . Sumida Holotch Tachikawa In , the Startup of the Year is . Tachikawa PlusOne Takamatsu In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Takamatsu Ken Robotec Tokushima In , is the winner! Tokushima DennoKotsu Toyonaka In , the Startup of the Year is . Toyonaka FISH BIOTECH Tsukuba In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Tsukuba WARPSPACE Wakayama In , the Startup of the Year is . Wakayama 4D Sensor Xiangzhou In , is the winner! Xiangzhou ALLiN Edutech Group Xianyang The winner in is . Xianyang TONLY Xiaoshan In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Xiaoshan GONGHUI Yamaguchi In , the Startup of the Year is . Yamaguchi Archis Yangpu The winner in is . Yangpu Tmxmall Yau Tsim Mong In , is the winner! Yau Tsim Mong Airnugget Yeoksamdong In , the Startup of the Year is . Yeoksamdong WizSchool Yichang In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Yichang Hubei Kento Electronic Yokohama In , is the winner! Yokohama Next Innovation Yubei In , the Startup of the Year is . Yubei Ophiux Network Yueqing The winner in is . Yueqing Yueqing Easythink Media Zhuhai In , is the winner! Zhuhai Aijuba Hongo In , the Startup of the Year is . Hongo Smile Robotics, Inc Admiralty In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Admiralty BUNCH Southern In , the Startup of the Year is . Southern Retykle Yongdungpo In , is the winner! Yongdungpo Push News Taichung In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Taichung Wondercise Cyberport, Hong Kong In , the Startup of the Year is . Cyberport Animoca Brands Hefei, China In , is the winner! Hefei Tsinglink New Territories, Hong Kong The winner in is . New Territories, Hong Kong Zeek Dezhou In , the Startup of the Year is . Dezhou Dezhou Baji Kitakyushu In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Kitakyushu Reif Seongnam In , is the winner! Seongnam EOFlow Yanshi In , the Startup of the Year is . Yanshi CASI Vision Top Startup Cities in South Asia Hyderabad, India The Startup of the Year in is with 962 votes Hyderabad Quixy Lahore, Pakistan is the Startup of the Year! It came out ahead with 186 votes. SmartWindows Lahore Bangalore, India When it comes to , is the Startup of the Year with 210 votes! Bangalore vBridge Hub Pune, India couldn’t be beaten for Startup of the Year in , it won with 129 votes! InfraCloud Pune Jaipur, India The Startup of the Year in is with 166 votes Jaipur Emizen Tech Lucknow, India is the Startup of the Year! It came out ahead with 279 votes. Keeros Superfoods Lucknow Noida, India came out as the Startup of the Year in with 156 votes! Bagisto Noida Mumbai, India When it comes to , is the Startup of the Year with 96 votes! Mumbai Sequretek Sylhet couldn’t be beaten for Startup of the Year in , it won with 122 votes! DataXpie Sylhet Mylapore, India In , is the winner! Mylapore Yalimart Goa, India In , the Startup of the Year is Goa Filter Coffee Delhi, India In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Delhi EkAnek Networks Karachi, Pakistan The winner in is Karachi Bykea Ahmedabad, India In , is the winner Ahmedabad MageComp Dhaka, Bangladesh The winner in is Dhaka SOLshare Islamabad, Pakistan In Islamabad, is declared the Startup of the Year! TAG Gurgaon, India In , the Startup of the Year is Gurgaon ixigo Bengaluru, India In , is the winner! Bengaluru Prakshep Private Limited Haryana, India couldn’t be beaten for Startup of the Year in ! Footprints Childcare Haryana Kolkata, India In , is the winner! Kolkata Wow! Momo New Delhi, India In , is declared the Startup of the Year! New Delhi Rusk Media Indore, India The winner in is Indore Chattar Patar Kormangala In , is the winner Kormangala Sanctum Technologies Ghaziabad came out as the Startup of the Year in Craftfurnish.com Ghaziabad! Mohali In , the Startup of the Year is Mohali DataKund Mysore The Startup of the Year in is Mysore Excelsoft Karnal came out as the Startup of the Year in ! Dunar Karnal Kolhapur In , is the winner! Kolhapur Zanvar Group Patiya In , the Startup of the Year is Patiya Kloud Project Kathmandu In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Kathmandu Vairav Technology Bangalore City, India In is the winner! Bangalore City, PagarBook Ernakulam The winner in is Ernakulam Epixel Solutions Colombo, Sri Lanka couldn’t be beaten for Startup in the Year in MAs Foods Colombo Andheri, India When it comes to , is the Startup of the Year! Andheri DoorMint Kanpur, India came out as the Startup of the Year in ! ServiceWalaa Kanpur Faisalabad In , is the winner! Faisalabad DigiKhata Nasik The Startup of the Year in is Nasik Sahyadri Farms Patna came out as the Startup of the Year in ! Asvin Tech Patna Chennai, India In , is the winner! Chennai Agnikul Cosmos Faridabad, India In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Faridabad UClean Panjim, India The winner in is Panjim TempoGO Ranchi, India In , is the winner Ranchi Osam Dairy Surat, India In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Surat Wishbook Thane, India In , is the winner! Thane Delight Foods Trivandrum, India came out as the Startup of the Year in ! GenRobotic Trivandrum Vijayawada, India In , the Startup of the Year is Vijayawada Eruvaka Technologies Visakhapatnam, India In , Ltd is declared the Startup of the Year! Visakhapatnam Greenline Labs Pvt Ahmadabad In , is the winner! Ahmadabad KiwiQA Services Bandra came out as the Startup of the Year in ! Car Club Bandra Bombay In , is the winner! Bombay Locobuddy Mobile Technology (Sportobuddy) Cochin In , the Startup of the Year is Cochin Tuttifrutti Interactive Gandhinagar In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Gandhinagar Kroop AI Guwahati In , the Startup of the Year is Guwahati GNRC Hospitals Jamshedpur In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Jamshedpur Intelliber Kabul The winner in is Kabul Miracle Shop (Vocinno Technology) Karur In , is the winner Karur Karur Vysya Bank Kochi The winner in is Kochi BestDoc Kozhikode In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Kozhikode OfficeKit HR Ludhiana In , the Startup of the Year is Ludhiana Trendy Beat Network Madhapur In , is the winner! Madhapur Head Digital Works Mangalore When it comes to , is the Startup of the Year Mangalore Hangyo Nagpur came out as the Startup of the Year in ! UPrudence Agro Nagpur Rawalpindi The Startup of the Year in is Rawalpindi Pro Options Marketing Rishikesh came out as the Startup of the Year in ! Descatuk Rishikesh Secunderabad couldn’t be beaten for Startup of the Year in Prakriti Biosystems Engineering Secunderabad Tirupur In , is the winner! Tirupur Tubeknit Fashions Udupi The winner in is Udupi Krishitantra Top Startup Cities in Southeast Asia Singapore, Singapore The Startup of the Year in is with 6556 votes! Singapore Cake DeFi Hanoi, Vietnam is the Startup of the Year! It came out ahead with 683 votes. DeFi For You Hanoi Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia came out as the Startup of the Year in with 109 votes! Trambellir Kuala Lumpur Pasig, Philippines When it comes to , . is the Startup of the Year with 110 votes! Pasig Quickreach Inc Bangkok, Thailand couldn’t be beaten for Startup in the Year in , it won with 60 votes! Perception Codes Bangkok Johor Bahru In , the Startup of the Year is . Johor Bahru AGR1 Bandung, Indonesia In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Bandung Prosa Portugal The winner in is . Portugal SCEMAI Tangerang, Indonesia In , is the winner Tangerang Yummy Corp Jakarta, Indonesia In , is the winner! Jakarta Tokocrypto Dki Jakarta, Indonesia In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Dki Jakarta Limakilo Bangkok Metropolis In , is the winner! Bangkok Meticuly Medan The winner in is ! Medan DIKA Manila, Philippines In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Manila PawnHero Phnom Penh, Cambodia In , the Startup of the Year is Phnom Penh vKirirom Bali In , is the winner! Bali Radius App Penang When it comes to , is the Startup of the Year Penang EasyParcel Surabaya came out as the Startup of the Year in ! Super Surabaya Setiabudi, Indonesia The Startup of the Year in is Setiabudi Chilibeli Cebu City came out as the Startup of the Year in MiCab Cebu City! Jawa couldn’t be beaten for Startup in the Year in DAUR Jawa Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam In , is the winner! Ho Chi Minh City Pharmacity Selangor, Malaysia is the Startup of the Year! BabyDash Selangor Jakarta Pusat, Indonesia In , is the winner! Jakarta Pusat StickEarn Semarang When it comes to , is the Startup of the Year! Semarang Food Bear Petaling Jaya, Malaysia The winner in is . Petaling Jaya Deemples Kebayoran Baru, Indonesia couldn’t be beaten for Startup in the Year in ! Yogrt Kebayoran Baru Kuningan The winner in is . Kuningan Prinzio Bukit Merah came out as the Startup of the Year in ! DC Alliance Bukit Merah Huai Khwang In , the Startup of the Year is . Huai Khwang AppMan Co.,Ltd Kuta In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Kuta Gringgo Mandaluyong came out ahead as the Startup of the Year! Work Inspire Mandaluyong Midview City In , is the winner! Midview City BioMers Phuket The Startup of the Year in is ! Phuket Sapahn Yangon, Myanmar The winner in is . Yangon Wave Money Denpasar When it comes to , is the Startup of the Year! Denpasar Revasi Nakhon Ratchasima, Thailand The winner in is . Nakhon Ratchasima Siam Lottery co., Ltd Taguig, Philippines In , is the winner! Taguig PayMongo Bogor came out as the Startup of the Year in ! TIRANYX Bogor Senai, Malaysia won as the Startup of the Year. Nutrition Technologies Senai Bekasi Kota couldn’t be beaten for Startup in the Year in ! 8villages Bekasi Kota Top Startup Cities in Middle East Tel Aviv, Israel The Startup of the Year in is with 1,065 votes! Tel Aviv hyro Beirut, Lebanon is the Startup of the Year! It came out ahead with 1,276 votes. Hovi Digital Lab Beirut Riyadh, Saudi Arabia With 350 votes, came out as the Startup of the Year in ! Flicron Riyadh Tel Aviv-yafo, Israel When it comes to , is the Startup of the Year with 167 votes! Tel Aviv-yafo Cymbio Haifa, Israel couldn’t be beaten for Startup in the Year in , it won with 183 votes! Pico Haifa Amman, Jordan In , with 141 votes, is the winner! Amman Edexy Dubai, United Arab Emirates In , the Startup of the Year is with 74 votes. Dubai Ziina Doha, Qatar In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Doha SkipCash Tehran, Iran The winner in is . BeyondBoard AR Tehran Jerusalem, Israel In , is the winner! Jerusalem SolidBlock Rishon Le Zion The Startup of the Year in is ! Rishon Le Zion Passparto Ness Ziona, Israel is the Startup of the Year! Soapy Ness Ziona Kuwait, Kuwait came out as the Startup of the Year in ! Brapper Shop Kuwait Manama, Bahrain couldn’t be beaten for Startup in the Year in ! Doctori Manama Lod, Israel is the winner in ! Phinergy Lod Agudat Israel, Israel When it comes to is the Startup of the Year with [vote ] votes! Agudat Israel, Aqaurius Engines Beersheba, Israel In , the Startup of the Year is . Beersheba Visual Estate Ltd Giv'atayim, Israel In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Giv'atayim WSC Sports Modi'in, Israel The winner in is . Modi'in Loginno Nazareth, Israel In , is the winner! Nazareth AR Guide In Medical Ramat Gan, Israel The Startup of the Year in is . Ramat Gan Datos Health Baghdad When it comes to , is the Startup of the Year! Baghdad Mishwar Khobar In , the Startup of the Year is . Khobar Garage Misgav couldn’t be beaten for Startup in the Year in ! Eden Shield Misgav Sharjah came out as the Startup of the Year in ! Bookends Sharjah Affula In , the Startup of the Year is . Affula eMotion Technologies Bene Beraq, Israel In , is the winner Bene Beraq Reflectiz Caesarea, Israel In , the Startup of the Year is . Caesarea CardiacSense Dubayy In , is declared the Startup of the Year! Dubayy North Ladder Muscat couldn’t be beaten for Startup in the Year in ! iLab Marine Muscat Tirat Carmel In , the Startup of the Year is . Tirat Carmel PassCall Advanced Technologies Hod Hasharon, Israel The winner in is . Hod Hasharon Idomoo Holon, Israel came out ahead as the Startup of the Year! OptimalPlus Holon Jeddah, Saudi Arabia When it comes to , is the Startup of the Year! Jeddah Arabian Combustion Technologies Ramat Hasharon, Israel is the Startup of the Year! Lumen Ramat Hasharon Al Khobar came out as the Startup of the Year in ! Swyft Al Khobar Bet Shemesh In , is the winner! Bet Shemesh Degania Medical Binyamina When it comes to , is the Startup of the Year! Binyamina OncoHost Makkah In , the Startup of the Year is Makkah Scimagine Or Akiva Last but not least, couldn’t be beaten for Startup in the Year in the city of ! WMT Or Akiva More Information: If you’re a winner, please answer ! If you’re a reader, participant, just a curious individual, consider answering one of our interviews . this interview here Read the FAQs about or . Startups here here To see all of the winners you may visit , pick any city and view the name that appears at the top. this site If you’re interested in partnering with us, we invite you to look through some of these or reach out to our business department. unique sponsorship options Perhaps creating your very own tickles your fancy or maybe you have a whole new idea for how we can partner! writing contest Thank you to all of our sponsors! We truly appreciate your contribution to the tech world and thus the future! The Startups Awards are sponsored by: , , , , , , , , , , Blockster Brex FreeCodeCamp LaunchDarkly Coil Udacity Udemy Vercel Asia Pacific Transgender Network Bybit Everscale Network The post was written by Kushal Tamrakar and Valerie Ejegi, edited by Hang Ngo. If you have any questions or concerns or would like to report a discrepancy please email ellen@hackernoon.com.

Meet the Winners of Startups in Asia

Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DOES NOT HAVE TO REPEAT HIS ORDERS TO PASSEPARTOUT TWICE here CHAPTER XXXV. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DOES NOT HAVE TO REPEAT HIS ORDERS TO PASSEPARTOUT TWICE The dwellers in Saville Row would have been surprised the next day, if they had been told that Phileas Fogg had returned home. His doors and windows were still closed, no appearance of change was visible. After leaving the station, Mr. Fogg gave Passepartout instructions to purchase some provisions, and quietly went to his domicile. He bore his misfortune with his habitual tranquillity. Ruined! And by the blundering of the detective! After having steadily traversed that long journey, overcome a hundred obstacles, braved many dangers, and still found time to do some good on his way, to fail near the goal by a sudden event which he could not have foreseen, and against which he was unarmed; it was terrible! But a few pounds were left of the large sum he had carried with him. There only remained of his fortune the twenty thousand pounds deposited at Barings, and this amount he owed to his friends of the Reform Club. So great had been the expense of his tour that, even had he won, it would not have enriched him; and it is probable that he had not sought to enrich himself, being a man who rather laid wagers for honour’s sake than for the stake proposed. But this wager totally ruined him. Mr. Fogg’s course, however, was fully decided upon; he knew what remained for him to do. A room in the house in Saville Row was set apart for Aouda, who was overwhelmed with grief at her protector’s misfortune. From the words which Mr. Fogg dropped, she saw that he was meditating some serious project. Knowing that Englishmen governed by a fixed idea sometimes resort to the desperate expedient of suicide, Passepartout kept a narrow watch upon his master, though he carefully concealed the appearance of so doing. First of all, the worthy fellow had gone up to his room, and had extinguished the gas burner, which had been burning for eighty days. He had found in the letter-box a bill from the gas company, and he thought it more than time to put a stop to this expense, which he had been doomed to bear. The night passed. Mr. Fogg went to bed, but did he sleep? Aouda did not once close her eyes. Passepartout watched all night, like a faithful dog, at his master’s door. Mr. Fogg called him in the morning, and told him to get Aouda’s breakfast, and a cup of tea and a chop for himself. He desired Aouda to excuse him from breakfast and dinner, as his time would be absorbed all day in putting his affairs to rights. In the evening he would ask permission to have a few moment’s conversation with the young lady. Passepartout, having received his orders, had nothing to do but obey them. He looked at his imperturbable master, and could scarcely bring his mind to leave him. His heart was full, and his conscience tortured by remorse; for he accused himself more bitterly than ever of being the cause of the irretrievable disaster. Yes! if he had warned Mr. Fogg, and had betrayed Fix’s projects to him, his master would certainly not have given the detective passage to Liverpool, and then— Passepartout could hold in no longer. “My master! Mr. Fogg!” he cried, “why do you not curse me? It was my fault that—” “I blame no one,” returned Phileas Fogg, with perfect calmness. “Go!” Passepartout left the room, and went to find Aouda, to whom he delivered his master’s message. “Madam,” he added, “I can do nothing myself—nothing! I have no influence over my master; but you, perhaps—” “What influence could I have?” replied Aouda. “Mr. Fogg is influenced by no one. Has he ever understood that my gratitude to him is overflowing? Has he ever read my heart? My friend, he must not be left alone an instant! You say he is going to speak with me this evening?” “Yes, madam; probably to arrange for your protection and comfort in England.” “We shall see,” replied Aouda, becoming suddenly pensive. Throughout this day (Sunday) the house in Saville Row was as if uninhabited, and Phileas Fogg, for the first time since he had lived in that house, did not set out for his club when Westminster clock struck half-past eleven. Why should he present himself at the Reform? His friends no longer expected him there. As Phileas Fogg had not appeared in the saloon on the evening before (Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter before nine), he had lost his wager. It was not even necessary that he should go to his bankers for the twenty thousand pounds; for his antagonists already had his cheque in their hands, and they had only to fill it out and send it to the Barings to have the amount transferred to their credit. Mr. Fogg, therefore, had no reason for going out, and so he remained at home. He shut himself up in his room, and busied himself putting his affairs in order. Passepartout continually ascended and descended the stairs. The hours were long for him. He listened at his master’s door, and looked through the keyhole, as if he had a perfect right so to do, and as if he feared that something terrible might happen at any moment. Sometimes he thought of Fix, but no longer in anger. Fix, like all the world, had been mistaken in Phileas Fogg, and had only done his duty in tracking and arresting him; while he, Passepartout. . . . This thought haunted him, and he never ceased cursing his miserable folly. Finding himself too wretched to remain alone, he knocked at Aouda’s door, went into her room, seated himself, without speaking, in a corner, and looked ruefully at the young woman. Aouda was still pensive. About half-past seven in the evening Mr. Fogg sent to know if Aouda would receive him, and in a few moments he found himself alone with her. Phileas Fogg took a chair, and sat down near the fireplace, opposite Aouda. No emotion was visible on his face. Fogg returned was exactly the Fogg who had gone away; there was the same calm, the same impassibility. He sat several minutes without speaking; then, bending his eyes on Aouda, “Madam,” said he, “will you pardon me for bringing you to England?” “I, Mr. Fogg!” replied Aouda, checking the pulsations of her heart. “Please let me finish,” returned Mr. Fogg. “When I decided to bring you far away from the country which was so unsafe for you, I was rich, and counted on putting a portion of my fortune at your disposal; then your existence would have been free and happy. But now I am ruined.” “I know it, Mr. Fogg,” replied Aouda; “and I ask you in my turn, will you forgive me for having followed you, and—who knows?—for having, perhaps, delayed you, and thus contributed to your ruin?” “Madam, you could not remain in India, and your safety could only be assured by bringing you to such a distance that your persecutors could not take you.” “So, Mr. Fogg,” resumed Aouda, “not content with rescuing me from a terrible death, you thought yourself bound to secure my comfort in a foreign land?” “Yes, madam; but circumstances have been against me. Still, I beg to place the little I have left at your service.” “But what will become of you, Mr. Fogg?” “As for me, madam,” replied the gentleman, coldly, “I have need of nothing.” “But how do you look upon the fate, sir, which awaits you?” “As I am in the habit of doing.” “At least,” said Aouda, “want should not overtake a man like you. Your friends—” “I have no friends, madam.” “Your relatives—” “I have no longer any relatives.” “I pity you, then, Mr. Fogg, for solitude is a sad thing, with no heart to which to confide your griefs. They say, though, that misery itself, shared by two sympathetic souls, may be borne with patience.” “They say so, madam.” “Mr. Fogg,” said Aouda, rising and seizing his hand, “do you wish at once a kinswoman and friend? Will you have me for your wife?” Mr. Fogg, at this, rose in his turn. There was an unwonted light in his eyes, and a slight trembling of his lips. Aouda looked into his face. The sincerity, rectitude, firmness, and sweetness of this soft glance of a noble woman, who could dare all to save him to whom she owed all, at first astonished, then penetrated him. He shut his eyes for an instant, as if to avoid her look. When he opened them again, “I love you!” he said, simply. “Yes, by all that is holiest, I love you, and I am entirely yours!” “Ah!” cried Aouda, pressing his hand to her heart. Passepartout was summoned and appeared immediately. Mr. Fogg still held Aouda’s hand in his own; Passepartout understood, and his big, round face became as radiant as the tropical sun at its zenith. Mr. Fogg asked him if it was not too late to notify the Reverend Samuel Wilson, of Marylebone parish, that evening. Passepartout smiled his most genial smile, and said, “Never too late.” It was five minutes past eight. “Will it be for to-morrow, Monday?” “For to-morrow, Monday,” said Mr. Fogg, turning to Aouda. “Yes; for to-morrow, Monday,” she replied. Passepartout hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (1994). Around the World in Eighty Days. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/103/103-h/103-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

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

Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT DOES NOT SUCCEED IN MAKING ANYBODY LISTEN TO REASON here CHAPTER XXVIII. IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT DOES NOT SUCCEED IN MAKING ANYBODY LISTEN TO REASON The train, on leaving Great Salt Lake at Ogden, passed northward for an hour as far as Weber River, having completed nearly nine hundred miles from San Francisco. From this point it took an easterly direction towards the jagged Wahsatch Mountains. It was in the section included between this range and the Rocky Mountains that the American engineers found the most formidable difficulties in laying the road, and that the government granted a subsidy of forty-eight thousand dollars per mile, instead of sixteen thousand allowed for the work done on the plains. But the engineers, instead of violating nature, avoided its difficulties by winding around, instead of penetrating the rocks. One tunnel only, fourteen thousand feet in length, was pierced in order to arrive at the great basin. The track up to this time had reached its highest elevation at the Great Salt Lake. From this point it described a long curve, descending towards Bitter Creek Valley, to rise again to the dividing ridge of the waters between the Atlantic and the Pacific. There were many creeks in this mountainous region, and it was necessary to cross Muddy Creek, Green Creek, and others, upon culverts. Passepartout grew more and more impatient as they went on, while Fix longed to get out of this difficult region, and was more anxious than Phileas Fogg himself to be beyond the danger of delays and accidents, and set foot on English soil. At ten o’clock at night the train stopped at Fort Bridger station, and twenty minutes later entered Wyoming Territory, following the valley of Bitter Creek throughout. The next day, 7th December, they stopped for a quarter of an hour at Green River station. Snow had fallen abundantly during the night, but, being mixed with rain, it had half melted, and did not interrupt their progress. The bad weather, however, annoyed Passepartout; for the accumulation of snow, by blocking the wheels of the cars, would certainly have been fatal to Mr. Fogg’s tour. “What an idea!” he said to himself. “Why did my master make this journey in winter? Couldn’t he have waited for the good season to increase his chances?” While the worthy Frenchman was absorbed in the state of the sky and the depression of the temperature, Aouda was experiencing fears from a totally different cause. Several passengers had got off at Green River, and were walking up and down the platforms; and among these Aouda recognised Colonel Stamp Proctor, the same who had so grossly insulted Phileas Fogg at the San Francisco meeting. Not wishing to be recognised, the young woman drew back from the window, feeling much alarm at her discovery. She was attached to the man who, however coldly, gave her daily evidences of the most absolute devotion. She did not comprehend, perhaps, the depth of the sentiment with which her protector inspired her, which she called gratitude, but which, though she was unconscious of it, was really more than that. Her heart sank within her when she recognised the man whom Mr. Fogg desired, sooner or later, to call to account for his conduct. Chance alone, it was clear, had brought Colonel Proctor on this train; but there he was, and it was necessary, at all hazards, that Phileas Fogg should not perceive his adversary. Aouda seized a moment when Mr. Fogg was asleep to tell Fix and Passepartout whom she had seen. “And, besides,” added Passepartout, “I’ll take charge of him, colonel as he is.” “Mr. Fix,” resumed Aouda, “Mr. Fogg will allow no one to avenge him. He said that he would come back to America to find this man. Should he perceive Colonel Proctor, we could not prevent a collision which might have terrible results. He must not see him.” “You are right, madam,” replied Fix; “a meeting between them might ruin all. Whether he were victorious or beaten, Mr. Fogg would be delayed, and—” “And,” added Passepartout, “that would play the game of the gentlemen of the Reform Club. In four days we shall be in New York. Well, if my master does not leave this car during those four days, we may hope that chance will not bring him face to face with this confounded American. We must, if possible, prevent his stirring out of it.” The conversation dropped. Mr. Fogg had just woke up, and was looking out of the window. Soon after Passepartout, without being heard by his master or Aouda, whispered to the detective, “Would you really fight for him?” “I would do anything,” replied Fix, in a tone which betrayed determined will, “to get him back living to Europe!” Passepartout felt something like a shudder shoot through his frame, but his confidence in his master remained unbroken. Was there any means of detaining Mr. Fogg in the car, to avoid a meeting between him and the colonel? It ought not to be a difficult task, since that gentleman was naturally sedentary and little curious. The detective, at least, seemed to have found a way; for, after a few moments, he said to Mr. Fogg, “These are long and slow hours, sir, that we are passing on the railway.” “Yes,” replied Mr. Fogg; “but they pass.” “You were in the habit of playing whist,” resumed Fix, “on the steamers.” “Yes; but it would be difficult to do so here. I have neither cards nor partners.” “Oh, but we can easily buy some cards, for they are sold on all the American trains. And as for partners, if madam plays—” “Certainly, sir,” Aouda quickly replied; “I understand whist. It is part of an English education.” “I myself have some pretensions to playing a good game. Well, here are three of us, and a dummy—” “As you please, sir,” replied Phileas Fogg, heartily glad to resume his favourite pastime even on the railway. Passepartout was dispatched in search of the steward, and soon returned with two packs of cards, some pins, counters, and a shelf covered with cloth. The game commenced. Aouda understood whist sufficiently well, and even received some compliments on her playing from Mr. Fogg. As for the detective, he was simply an adept, and worthy of being matched against his present opponent. “Now,” thought Passepartout, “we’ve got him. He won’t budge.” At eleven in the morning the train had reached the dividing ridge of the waters at Bridger Pass, seven thousand five hundred and twenty-four feet above the level of the sea, one of the highest points attained by the track in crossing the Rocky Mountains. After going about two hundred miles, the travellers at last found themselves on one of those vast plains which extend to the Atlantic, and which nature has made so propitious for laying the iron road. On the declivity of the Atlantic basin the first streams, branches of the North Platte River, already appeared. The whole northern and eastern horizon was bounded by the immense semi-circular curtain which is formed by the southern portion of the Rocky Mountains, the highest being Laramie Peak. Between this and the railway extended vast plains, plentifully irrigated. On the right rose the lower spurs of the mountainous mass which extends southward to the sources of the Arkansas River, one of the great tributaries of the Missouri. At half-past twelve the travellers caught sight for an instant of Fort Halleck, which commands that section; and in a few more hours the Rocky Mountains were crossed. There was reason to hope, then, that no accident would mark the journey through this difficult country. The snow had ceased falling, and the air became crisp and cold. Large birds, frightened by the locomotive, rose and flew off in the distance. No wild beast appeared on the plain. It was a desert in its vast nakedness. After a comfortable breakfast, served in the car, Mr. Fogg and his partners had just resumed whist, when a violent whistling was heard, and the train stopped. Passepartout put his head out of the door, but saw nothing to cause the delay; no station was in view. Aouda and Fix feared that Mr. Fogg might take it into his head to get out; but that gentleman contented himself with saying to his servant, “See what is the matter.” Passepartout rushed out of the car. Thirty or forty passengers had already descended, amongst them Colonel Stamp Proctor. The train had stopped before a red signal which blocked the way. The engineer and conductor were talking excitedly with a signal-man, whom the station-master at Medicine Bow, the next stopping place, had sent on before. The passengers drew around and took part in the discussion, in which Colonel Proctor, with his insolent manner, was conspicuous. Passepartout, joining the group, heard the signal-man say, “No! you can’t pass. The bridge at Medicine Bow is shaky, and would not bear the weight of the train.” This was a suspension-bridge thrown over some rapids, about a mile from the place where they now were. According to the signal-man, it was in a ruinous condition, several of the iron wires being broken; and it was impossible to risk the passage. He did not in any way exaggerate the condition of the bridge. It may be taken for granted that, rash as the Americans usually are, when they are prudent there is good reason for it. Passepartout, not daring to apprise his master of what he heard, listened with set teeth, immovable as a statue. “Hum!” cried Colonel Proctor; “but we are not going to stay here, I imagine, and take root in the snow?” “Colonel,” replied the conductor, “we have telegraphed to Omaha for a train, but it is not likely that it will reach Medicine Bow in less than six hours.” “Six hours!” cried Passepartout. “Certainly,” returned the conductor, “besides, it will take us as long as that to reach Medicine Bow on foot.” “But it is only a mile from here,” said one of the passengers. “Yes, but it’s on the other side of the river.” “And can’t we cross that in a boat?” asked the colonel. “That’s impossible. The creek is swelled by the rains. It is a rapid, and we shall have to make a circuit of ten miles to the north to find a ford.” The colonel launched a volley of oaths, denouncing the railway company and the conductor; and Passepartout, who was furious, was not disinclined to make common cause with him. Here was an obstacle, indeed, which all his master’s banknotes could not remove. There was a general disappointment among the passengers, who, without reckoning the delay, saw themselves compelled to trudge fifteen miles over a plain covered with snow. They grumbled and protested, and would certainly have thus attracted Phileas Fogg’s attention if he had not been completely absorbed in his game. Passepartout found that he could not avoid telling his master what had occurred, and, with hanging head, he was turning towards the car, when the engineer, a true Yankee, named Forster called out, “Gentlemen, perhaps there is a way, after all, to get over.” “On the bridge?” asked a passenger. “On the bridge.” “With our train?” “With our train.” Passepartout stopped short, and eagerly listened to the engineer. “But the bridge is unsafe,” urged the conductor. “No matter,” replied Forster; “I think that by putting on the very highest speed we might have a chance of getting over.” “The devil!” muttered Passepartout. But a number of the passengers were at once attracted by the engineer’s proposal, and Colonel Proctor was especially delighted, and found the plan a very feasible one. He told stories about engineers leaping their trains over rivers without bridges, by putting on full steam; and many of those present avowed themselves of the engineer’s mind. “We have fifty chances out of a hundred of getting over,” said one. “Eighty! ninety!” Passepartout was astounded, and, though ready to attempt anything to get over Medicine Creek, thought the experiment proposed a little too American. “Besides,” thought he, “there’s a still more simple way, and it does not even occur to any of these people! Sir,” said he aloud to one of the passengers, “the engineer’s plan seems to me a little dangerous, but—” “Eighty chances!” replied the passenger, turning his back on him. “I know it,” said Passepartout, turning to another passenger, “but a simple idea—” “Ideas are no use,” returned the American, shrugging his shoulders, “as the engineer assures us that we can pass.” “Doubtless,” urged Passepartout, “we can pass, but perhaps it would be more prudent—” “What! Prudent!” cried Colonel Proctor, whom this word seemed to excite prodigiously. “At full speed, don’t you see, at full speed!” “I know—I see,” repeated Passepartout; “but it would be, if not more prudent, since that word displeases you, at least more natural—” “Who! What! What’s the matter with this fellow?” cried several. The poor fellow did not know to whom to address himself. “Are you afraid?” asked Colonel Proctor. “I afraid? Very well; I will show these people that a Frenchman can be as American as they!” “All aboard!” cried the conductor. “Yes, all aboard!” repeated Passepartout, and immediately. “But they can’t prevent me from thinking that it would be more natural for us to cross the bridge on foot, and let the train come after!” But no one heard this sage reflection, nor would anyone have acknowledged its justice. The passengers resumed their places in the cars. Passepartout took his seat without telling what had passed. The whist-players were quite absorbed in their game. The locomotive whistled vigorously; the engineer, reversing the steam, backed the train for nearly a mile—retiring, like a jumper, in order to take a longer leap. Then, with another whistle, he began to move forward; the train increased its speed, and soon its rapidity became frightful; a prolonged screech issued from the locomotive; the piston worked up and down twenty strokes to the second. They perceived that the whole train, rushing on at the rate of a hundred miles an hour, hardly bore upon the rails at all. And they passed over! It was like a flash. No one saw the bridge. The train leaped, so to speak, from one bank to the other, and the engineer could not stop it until it had gone five miles beyond the station. But scarcely had the train passed the river, when the bridge, completely ruined, fell with a crash into the rapids of Medicine Bow. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (1994). Around the World in Eighty Days. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/103/103-h/103-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

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

Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT UNDERGOES, AT A SPEED OF TWENTY MILES AN HOUR, A COURSE OF MORMON HISTORY here CHAPTER XXVII. IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT UNDERGOES, AT A SPEED OF TWENTY MILES AN HOUR, A COURSE OF MORMON HISTORY During the night of the 5th of December, the train ran south-easterly for about fifty miles; then rose an equal distance in a north-easterly direction, towards the Great Salt Lake. Passepartout, about nine o’clock, went out upon the platform to take the air. The weather was cold, the heavens grey, but it was not snowing. The sun’s disc, enlarged by the mist, seemed an enormous ring of gold, and Passepartout was amusing himself by calculating its value in pounds sterling, when he was diverted from this interesting study by a strange-looking personage who made his appearance on the platform. This personage, who had taken the train at Elko, was tall and dark, with black moustache, black stockings, a black silk hat, a black waistcoat, black trousers, a white cravat, and dogskin gloves. He might have been taken for a clergyman. He went from one end of the train to the other, and affixed to the door of each car a notice written in manuscript. Passepartout approached and read one of these notices, which stated that Elder William Hitch, Mormon missionary, taking advantage of his presence on train No. 48, would deliver a lecture on Mormonism in car No. 117, from eleven to twelve o’clock; and that he invited all who were desirous of being instructed concerning the mysteries of the religion of the “Latter Day Saints” to attend. “I’ll go,” said Passepartout to himself. He knew nothing of Mormonism except the custom of polygamy, which is its foundation. The news quickly spread through the train, which contained about one hundred passengers, thirty of whom, at most, attracted by the notice, ensconced themselves in car No. 117. Passepartout took one of the front seats. Neither Mr. Fogg nor Fix cared to attend. At the appointed hour Elder William Hitch rose, and, in an irritated voice, as if he had already been contradicted, said, “I tell you that Joe Smith is a martyr, that his brother Hiram is a martyr, and that the persecutions of the United States Government against the prophets will also make a martyr of Brigham Young. Who dares to say the contrary?” No one ventured to gainsay the missionary, whose excited tone contrasted curiously with his naturally calm visage. No doubt his anger arose from the hardships to which the Mormons were actually subjected. The government had just succeeded, with some difficulty, in reducing these independent fanatics to its rule. It had made itself master of Utah, and subjected that territory to the laws of the Union, after imprisoning Brigham Young on a charge of rebellion and polygamy. The disciples of the prophet had since redoubled their efforts, and resisted, by words at least, the authority of Congress. Elder Hitch, as is seen, was trying to make proselytes on the very railway trains. Then, emphasising his words with his loud voice and frequent gestures, he related the history of the Mormons from Biblical times: how that, in Israel, a Mormon prophet of the tribe of Joseph published the annals of the new religion, and bequeathed them to his son Mormon; how, many centuries later, a translation of this precious book, which was written in Egyptian, was made by Joseph Smith, junior, a Vermont farmer, who revealed himself as a mystical prophet in 1825; and how, in short, the celestial messenger appeared to him in an illuminated forest, and gave him the annals of the Lord. Several of the audience, not being much interested in the missionary’s narrative, here left the car; but Elder Hitch, continuing his lecture, related how Smith, junior, with his father, two brothers, and a few disciples, founded the church of the “Latter Day Saints,” which, adopted not only in America, but in England, Norway and Sweden, and Germany, counts many artisans, as well as men engaged in the liberal professions, among its members; how a colony was established in Ohio, a temple erected there at a cost of two hundred thousand dollars, and a town built at Kirkland; how Smith became an enterprising banker, and received from a simple mummy showman a papyrus scroll written by Abraham and several famous Egyptians. The Elder’s story became somewhat wearisome, and his audience grew gradually less, until it was reduced to twenty passengers. But this did not disconcert the enthusiast, who proceeded with the story of Joseph Smith’s bankruptcy in 1837, and how his ruined creditors gave him a coat of tar and feathers; his reappearance some years afterwards, more honourable and honoured than ever, at Independence, Missouri, the chief of a flourishing colony of three thousand disciples, and his pursuit thence by outraged Gentiles, and retirement into the Far West. Ten hearers only were now left, among them honest Passepartout, who was listening with all his ears. Thus he learned that, after long persecutions, Smith reappeared in Illinois, and in 1839 founded a community at Nauvoo, on the Mississippi, numbering twenty-five thousand souls, of which he became mayor, chief justice, and general-in-chief; that he announced himself, in 1843, as a candidate for the Presidency of the United States; and that finally, being drawn into ambuscade at Carthage, he was thrown into prison, and assassinated by a band of men disguised in masks. Passepartout was now the only person left in the car, and the Elder, looking him full in the face, reminded him that, two years after the assassination of Joseph Smith, the inspired prophet, Brigham Young, his successor, left Nauvoo for the banks of the Great Salt Lake, where, in the midst of that fertile region, directly on the route of the emigrants who crossed Utah on their way to California, the new colony, thanks to the polygamy practised by the Mormons, had flourished beyond expectations. “And this,” added Elder William Hitch, “this is why the jealousy of Congress has been aroused against us! Why have the soldiers of the Union invaded the soil of Utah? Why has Brigham Young, our chief, been imprisoned, in contempt of all justice? Shall we yield to force? Never! Driven from Vermont, driven from Illinois, driven from Ohio, driven from Missouri, driven from Utah, we shall yet find some independent territory on which to plant our tents. And you, my brother,” continued the Elder, fixing his angry eyes upon his single auditor, “will you not plant yours there, too, under the shadow of our flag?” “No!” replied Passepartout courageously, in his turn retiring from the car, and leaving the Elder to preach to vacancy. During the lecture the train had been making good progress, and towards half-past twelve it reached the northwest border of the Great Salt Lake. Thence the passengers could observe the vast extent of this interior sea, which is also called the Dead Sea, and into which flows an American Jordan. It is a picturesque expanse, framed in lofty crags in large strata, encrusted with white salt—a superb sheet of water, which was formerly of larger extent than now, its shores having encroached with the lapse of time, and thus at once reduced its breadth and increased its depth. The Salt Lake, seventy miles long and thirty-five wide, is situated three miles eight hundred feet above the sea. Quite different from Lake Asphaltite, whose depression is twelve hundred feet below the sea, it contains considerable salt, and one quarter of the weight of its water is solid matter, its specific weight being 1,170, and, after being distilled, 1,000. Fishes are, of course, unable to live in it, and those which descend through the Jordan, the Weber, and other streams soon perish. The country around the lake was well cultivated, for the Mormons are mostly farmers; while ranches and pens for domesticated animals, fields of wheat, corn, and other cereals, luxuriant prairies, hedges of wild rose, clumps of acacias and milk-wort, would have been seen six months later. Now the ground was covered with a thin powdering of snow. The train reached Ogden at two o’clock, where it rested for six hours, Mr. Fogg and his party had time to pay a visit to Salt Lake City, connected with Ogden by a branch road; and they spent two hours in this strikingly American town, built on the pattern of other cities of the Union, like a checker-board, “with the sombre sadness of right-angles,” as Victor Hugo expresses it. The founder of the City of the Saints could not escape from the taste for symmetry which distinguishes the Anglo-Saxons. In this strange country, where the people are certainly not up to the level of their institutions, everything is done “squarely”—cities, houses, and follies. The travellers, then, were promenading, at three o’clock, about the streets of the town built between the banks of the Jordan and the spurs of the Wahsatch Range. They saw few or no churches, but the prophet’s mansion, the court-house, and the arsenal, blue-brick houses with verandas and porches, surrounded by gardens bordered with acacias, palms, and locusts. A clay and pebble wall, built in 1853, surrounded the town; and in the principal street were the market and several hotels adorned with pavilions. The place did not seem thickly populated. The streets were almost deserted, except in the vicinity of the temple, which they only reached after having traversed several quarters surrounded by palisades. There were many women, which was easily accounted for by the “peculiar institution” of the Mormons; but it must not be supposed that all the Mormons are polygamists. They are free to marry or not, as they please; but it is worth noting that it is mainly the female citizens of Utah who are anxious to marry, as, according to the Mormon religion, maiden ladies are not admitted to the possession of its highest joys. These poor creatures seemed to be neither well off nor happy. Some—the more well-to-do, no doubt—wore short, open, black silk dresses, under a hood or modest shawl; others were habited in Indian fashion. Passepartout could not behold without a certain fright these women, charged, in groups, with conferring happiness on a single Mormon. His common sense pitied, above all, the husband. It seemed to him a terrible thing to have to guide so many wives at once across the vicissitudes of life, and to conduct them, as it were, in a body to the Mormon paradise with the prospect of seeing them in the company of the glorious Smith, who doubtless was the chief ornament of that delightful place, to all eternity. He felt decidedly repelled from such a vocation, and he imagined—perhaps he was mistaken—that the fair ones of Salt Lake City cast rather alarming glances on his person. Happily, his stay there was but brief. At four the party found themselves again at the station, took their places in the train, and the whistle sounded for starting. Just at the moment, however, that the locomotive wheels began to move, cries of “Stop! stop!” were heard. Trains, like time and tide, stop for no one. The gentleman who uttered the cries was evidently a belated Mormon. He was breathless with running. Happily for him, the station had neither gates nor barriers. He rushed along the track, jumped on the rear platform of the train, and fell, exhausted, into one of the seats. Passepartout, who had been anxiously watching this amateur gymnast, approached him with lively interest, and learned that he had taken flight after an unpleasant domestic scene. When the Mormon had recovered his breath, Passepartout ventured to ask him politely how many wives he had; for, from the manner in which he had decamped, it might be thought that he had twenty at least. “One, sir,” replied the Mormon, raising his arms heavenward —“one, and that was enough!” About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (1994). Around the World in Eighty Days. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/103/103-h/103-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

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

Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT’S NOSE BECOMES OUTRAGEOUSLY LONG here CHAPTER XXIII. IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT’S NOSE BECOMES OUTRAGEOUSLY LONG The next morning poor, jaded, famished Passepartout said to himself that he must get something to eat at all hazards, and the sooner he did so the better. He might, indeed, sell his watch; but he would have starved first. Now or never he must use the strong, if not melodious voice which nature had bestowed upon him. He knew several French and English songs, and resolved to try them upon the Japanese, who must be lovers of music, since they were for ever pounding on their cymbals, tam-tams, and tambourines, and could not but appreciate European talent. It was, perhaps, rather early in the morning to get up a concert, and the audience prematurely aroused from their slumbers, might not possibly pay their entertainer with coin bearing the Mikado’s features. Passepartout therefore decided to wait several hours; and, as he was sauntering along, it occurred to him that he would seem rather too well dressed for a wandering artist. The idea struck him to change his garments for clothes more in harmony with his project; by which he might also get a little money to satisfy the immediate cravings of hunger. The resolution taken, it remained to carry it out. It was only after a long search that Passepartout discovered a native dealer in old clothes, to whom he applied for an exchange. The man liked the European costume, and ere long Passepartout issued from his shop accoutred in an old Japanese coat, and a sort of one-sided turban, faded with long use. A few small pieces of silver, moreover, jingled in his pocket. “Good!” thought he. “I will imagine I am at the Carnival!” His first care, after being thus “Japanesed,” was to enter a tea-house of modest appearance, and, upon half a bird and a little rice, to breakfast like a man for whom dinner was as yet a problem to be solved. “Now,” thought he, when he had eaten heartily, “I mustn’t lose my head. I can’t sell this costume again for one still more Japanese. I must consider how to leave this country of the Sun, of which I shall not retain the most delightful of memories, as quickly as possible.” It occurred to him to visit the steamers which were about to leave for America. He would offer himself as a cook or servant, in payment of his passage and meals. Once at San Francisco, he would find some means of going on. The difficulty was, how to traverse the four thousand seven hundred miles of the Pacific which lay between Japan and the New World. Passepartout was not the man to let an idea go begging, and directed his steps towards the docks. But, as he approached them, his project, which at first had seemed so simple, began to grow more and more formidable to his mind. What need would they have of a cook or servant on an American steamer, and what confidence would they put in him, dressed as he was? What references could he give? As he was reflecting in this wise, his eyes fell upon an immense placard which a sort of clown was carrying through the streets. This placard, which was in English, read as follows: ACROBATIC JAPANESE TROUPE, HONOURABLE WILLIAM BATULCAR, PROPRIETOR, LAST REPRESENTATIONS, PRIOR TO THEIR DEPARTURE TO THE UNITED STATES, OF THE LONG NOSES! LONG NOSES! UNDER THE DIRECT PATRONAGE OF THE GOD TINGOU! GREAT ATTRACTION! “The United States!” said Passepartout; “that’s just what I want!” He followed the clown, and soon found himself once more in the Japanese quarter. A quarter of an hour later he stopped before a large cabin, adorned with several clusters of streamers, the exterior walls of which were designed to represent, in violent colours and without perspective, a company of jugglers. This was the Honourable William Batulcar’s establishment. That gentleman was a sort of Barnum, the director of a troupe of mountebanks, jugglers, clowns, acrobats, equilibrists, and gymnasts, who, according to the placard, was giving his last performances before leaving the Empire of the Sun for the States of the Union. Passepartout entered and asked for Mr. Batulcar, who straightway appeared in person. “What do you want?” said he to Passepartout, whom he at first took for a native. “Would you like a servant, sir?” asked Passepartout. “A servant!” cried Mr. Batulcar, caressing the thick grey beard which hung from his chin. “I already have two who are obedient and faithful, have never left me, and serve me for their nourishment and here they are,” added he, holding out his two robust arms, furrowed with veins as large as the strings of a bass-viol. “So I can be of no use to you?” “None.” “The devil! I should so like to cross the Pacific with you!” “Ah!” said the Honourable Mr. Batulcar. “You are no more a Japanese than I am a monkey! Who are you dressed up in that way?” “A man dresses as he can.” “That’s true. You are a Frenchman, aren’t you?” “Yes; a Parisian of Paris.” “Then you ought to know how to make grimaces?” “Why,” replied Passepartout, a little vexed that his nationality should cause this question, “we Frenchmen know how to make grimaces, it is true but not any better than the Americans do.” “True. Well, if I can’t take you as a servant, I can as a clown. You see, my friend, in France they exhibit foreign clowns, and in foreign parts French clowns.” “Ah!” “You are pretty strong, eh?” “Especially after a good meal.” “And you can sing?” “Yes,” returned Passepartout, who had formerly been wont to sing in the streets. “But can you sing standing on your head, with a top spinning on your left foot, and a sabre balanced on your right?” “Humph! I think so,” replied Passepartout, recalling the exercises of his younger days. “Well, that’s enough,” said the Honourable William Batulcar. The engagement was concluded there and then. Passepartout had at last found something to do. He was engaged to act in the celebrated Japanese troupe. It was not a very dignified position, but within a week he would be on his way to San Francisco. The performance, so noisily announced by the Honourable Mr. Batulcar, was to commence at three o’clock, and soon the deafening instruments of a Japanese orchestra resounded at the door. Passepartout, though he had not been able to study or rehearse a part, was designated to lend the aid of his sturdy shoulders in the great exhibition of the “human pyramid,” executed by the Long Noses of the god Tingou. This “great attraction” was to close the performance. Before three o’clock the large shed was invaded by the spectators, comprising Europeans and natives, Chinese and Japanese, men, women and children, who precipitated themselves upon the narrow benches and into the boxes opposite the stage. The musicians took up a position inside, and were vigorously performing on their gongs, tam-tams, flutes, bones, tambourines, and immense drums. The performance was much like all acrobatic displays; but it must be confessed that the Japanese are the first equilibrists in the world. One, with a fan and some bits of paper, performed the graceful trick of the butterflies and the flowers; another traced in the air, with the odorous smoke of his pipe, a series of blue words, which composed a compliment to the audience; while a third juggled with some lighted candles, which he extinguished successively as they passed his lips, and relit again without interrupting for an instant his juggling. Another reproduced the most singular combinations with a spinning-top; in his hands the revolving tops seemed to be animated with a life of their own in their interminable whirling; they ran over pipe-stems, the edges of sabres, wires and even hairs stretched across the stage; they turned around on the edges of large glasses, crossed bamboo ladders, dispersed into all the corners, and produced strange musical effects by the combination of their various pitches of tone. The jugglers tossed them in the air, threw them like shuttlecocks with wooden battledores, and yet they kept on spinning; they put them into their pockets, and took them out still whirling as before. It is useless to describe the astonishing performances of the acrobats and gymnasts. The turning on ladders, poles, balls, barrels, &c., was executed with wonderful precision. But the principal attraction was the exhibition of the Long Noses, a show to which Europe is as yet a stranger. The Long Noses form a peculiar company, under the direct patronage of the god Tingou. Attired after the fashion of the Middle Ages, they bore upon their shoulders a splendid pair of wings; but what especially distinguished them was the long noses which were fastened to their faces, and the uses which they made of them. These noses were made of bamboo, and were five, six, and even ten feet long, some straight, others curved, some ribboned, and some having imitation warts upon them. It was upon these appendages, fixed tightly on their real noses, that they performed their gymnastic exercises. A dozen of these sectaries of Tingou lay flat upon their backs, while others, dressed to represent lightning-rods, came and frolicked on their noses, jumping from one to another, and performing the most skilful leapings and somersaults. As a last scene, a “human pyramid” had been announced, in which fifty Long Noses were to represent the Car of Juggernaut. But, instead of forming a pyramid by mounting each other’s shoulders, the artists were to group themselves on top of the noses. It happened that the performer who had hitherto formed the base of the Car had quitted the troupe, and as, to fill this part, only strength and adroitness were necessary, Passepartout had been chosen to take his place. The poor fellow really felt sad when—melancholy reminiscence of his youth!—he donned his costume, adorned with vari-coloured wings, and fastened to his natural feature a false nose six feet long. But he cheered up when he thought that this nose was winning him something to eat. He went upon the stage, and took his place beside the rest who were to compose the base of the Car of Juggernaut. They all stretched themselves on the floor, their noses pointing to the ceiling. A second group of artists disposed themselves on these long appendages, then a third above these, then a fourth, until a human monument reaching to the very cornices of the theatre soon arose on top of the noses. This elicited loud applause, in the midst of which the orchestra was just striking up a deafening air, when the pyramid tottered, the balance was lost, one of the lower noses vanished from the pyramid, and the human monument was shattered like a castle built of cards! It was Passepartout’s fault. Abandoning his position, clearing the footlights without the aid of his wings, and, clambering up to the right-hand gallery, he fell at the feet of one of the spectators, crying, “Ah, my master! my master!” “You here?” “Myself.” “Very well; then let us go to the steamer, young man!” Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout passed through the lobby of the theatre to the outside, where they encountered the Honourable Mr. Batulcar, furious with rage. He demanded damages for the “breakage” of the pyramid; and Phileas Fogg appeased him by giving him a handful of banknotes. At half-past six, the very hour of departure, Mr. Fogg and Aouda, followed by Passepartout, who in his hurry had retained his wings, and nose six feet long, stepped upon the American steamer. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (1994). Around the World in Eighty Days. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/103/103-h/103-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT’S NOSE BECOMES OUTRAGEOUSLY LONG

Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT FINDS OUT THAT, EVEN AT THE ANTIPODES, IT IS CONVENIENT TO HAVE SOME MONEY IN ONE’S POCKET here CHAPTER XXII. IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT FINDS OUT THAT, EVEN AT THE ANTIPODES, IT IS CONVENIENT TO HAVE SOME MONEY IN ONE’S POCKET The “Carnatic,” setting sail from Hong Kong at half-past six on the 7th of November, directed her course at full steam towards Japan. She carried a large cargo and a well-filled cabin of passengers. Two state-rooms in the rear were, however, unoccupied—those which had been engaged by Phileas Fogg. The next day a passenger with a half-stupefied eye, staggering gait, and disordered hair, was seen to emerge from the second cabin, and to totter to a seat on deck. It was Passepartout; and what had happened to him was as follows: Shortly after Fix left the opium den, two waiters had lifted the unconscious Passepartout, and had carried him to the bed reserved for the smokers. Three hours later, pursued even in his dreams by a fixed idea, the poor fellow awoke, and struggled against the stupefying influence of the narcotic. The thought of a duty unfulfilled shook off his torpor, and he hurried from the abode of drunkenness. Staggering and holding himself up by keeping against the walls, falling down and creeping up again, and irresistibly impelled by a kind of instinct, he kept crying out, “The ‘Carnatic!’ the ‘Carnatic!’” The steamer lay puffing alongside the quay, on the point of starting. Passepartout had but few steps to go; and, rushing upon the plank, he crossed it, and fell unconscious on the deck, just as the “Carnatic” was moving off. Several sailors, who were evidently accustomed to this sort of scene, carried the poor Frenchman down into the second cabin, and Passepartout did not wake until they were one hundred and fifty miles away from China. Thus he found himself the next morning on the deck of the “Carnatic,” and eagerly inhaling the exhilarating sea-breeze. The pure air sobered him. He began to collect his sense, which he found a difficult task; but at last he recalled the events of the evening before, Fix’s revelation, and the opium-house. “It is evident,” said he to himself, “that I have been abominably drunk! What will Mr. Fogg say? At least I have not missed the steamer, which is the most important thing.” Then, as Fix occurred to him: “As for that rascal, I hope we are well rid of him, and that he has not dared, as he proposed, to follow us on board the “Carnatic.” A detective on the track of Mr. Fogg, accused of robbing the Bank of England! Pshaw! Mr. Fogg is no more a robber than I am a murderer.” Should he divulge Fix’s real errand to his master? Would it do to tell the part the detective was playing? Would it not be better to wait until Mr. Fogg reached London again, and then impart to him that an agent of the metropolitan police had been following him round the world, and have a good laugh over it? No doubt; at least, it was worth considering. The first thing to do was to find Mr. Fogg, and apologise for his singular behaviour. Passepartout got up and proceeded, as well as he could with the rolling of the steamer, to the after-deck. He saw no one who resembled either his master or Aouda. “Good!” muttered he; “Aouda has not got up yet, and Mr. Fogg has probably found some partners at whist.” He descended to the saloon. Mr. Fogg was not there. Passepartout had only, however, to ask the purser the number of his master’s state-room. The purser replied that he did not know any passenger by the name of Fogg. “I beg your pardon,” said Passepartout persistently. “He is a tall gentleman, quiet, and not very talkative, and has with him a young lady—” “There is no young lady on board,” interrupted the purser. “Here is a list of the passengers; you may see for yourself.” Passepartout scanned the list, but his master’s name was not upon it. All at once an idea struck him. “Ah! am I on the ‘Carnatic?’” “Yes.” “On the way to Yokohama?” “Certainly.” Passepartout had for an instant feared that he was on the wrong boat; but, though he was really on the “Carnatic,” his master was not there. He fell thunderstruck on a seat. He saw it all now. He remembered that the time of sailing had been changed, that he should have informed his master of that fact, and that he had not done so. It was his fault, then, that Mr. Fogg and Aouda had missed the steamer. Yes, but it was still more the fault of the traitor who, in order to separate him from his master, and detain the latter at Hong Kong, had inveigled him into getting drunk! He now saw the detective’s trick; and at this moment Mr. Fogg was certainly ruined, his bet was lost, and he himself perhaps arrested and imprisoned! At this thought Passepartout tore his hair. Ah, if Fix ever came within his reach, what a settling of accounts there would be! After his first depression, Passepartout became calmer, and began to study his situation. It was certainly not an enviable one. He found himself on the way to Japan, and what should he do when he got there? His pocket was empty; he had not a solitary shilling, not so much as a penny. His passage had fortunately been paid for in advance; and he had five or six days in which to decide upon his future course. He fell to at meals with an appetite, and ate for Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and himself. He helped himself as generously as if Japan were a desert, where nothing to eat was to be looked for. At dawn on the 13th the “Carnatic” entered the port of Yokohama. This is an important port of call in the Pacific, where all the mail-steamers, and those carrying travellers between North America, China, Japan, and the Oriental islands put in. It is situated in the bay of Yeddo, and at but a short distance from that second capital of the Japanese Empire, and the residence of the Tycoon, the civil Emperor, before the Mikado, the spiritual Emperor, absorbed his office in his own. The “Carnatic” anchored at the quay near the custom-house, in the midst of a crowd of ships bearing the flags of all nations. Passepartout went timidly ashore on this so curious territory of the Sons of the Sun. He had nothing better to do than, taking chance for his guide, to wander aimlessly through the streets of Yokohama. He found himself at first in a thoroughly European quarter, the houses having low fronts, and being adorned with verandas, beneath which he caught glimpses of neat peristyles. This quarter occupied, with its streets, squares, docks, and warehouses, all the space between the “promontory of the Treaty” and the river. Here, as at Hong Kong and Calcutta, were mixed crowds of all races, Americans and English, Chinamen and Dutchmen, mostly merchants ready to buy or sell anything. The Frenchman felt himself as much alone among them as if he had dropped down in the midst of Hottentots. He had, at least, one resource,—to call on the French and English consuls at Yokohama for assistance. But he shrank from telling the story of his adventures, intimately connected as it was with that of his master; and, before doing so, he determined to exhaust all other means of aid. As chance did not favour him in the European quarter, he penetrated that inhabited by the native Japanese, determined, if necessary, to push on to Yeddo. The Japanese quarter of Yokohama is called Benten, after the goddess of the sea, who is worshipped on the islands round about. There Passepartout beheld beautiful fir and cedar groves, sacred gates of a singular architecture, bridges half hid in the midst of bamboos and reeds, temples shaded by immense cedar-trees, holy retreats where were sheltered Buddhist priests and sectaries of Confucius, and interminable streets, where a perfect harvest of rose-tinted and red-cheeked children, who looked as if they had been cut out of Japanese screens, and who were playing in the midst of short-legged poodles and yellowish cats, might have been gathered. The streets were crowded with people. Priests were passing in processions, beating their dreary tambourines; police and custom-house officers with pointed hats encrusted with lac and carrying two sabres hung to their waists; soldiers, clad in blue cotton with white stripes, and bearing guns; the Mikado’s guards, enveloped in silken doubles, hauberks and coats of mail; and numbers of military folk of all ranks—for the military profession is as much respected in Japan as it is despised in China—went hither and thither in groups and pairs. Passepartout saw, too, begging friars, long-robed pilgrims, and simple civilians, with their warped and jet-black hair, big heads, long busts, slender legs, short stature, and complexions varying from copper-colour to a dead white, but never yellow, like the Chinese, from whom the Japanese widely differ. He did not fail to observe the curious equipages—carriages and palanquins, barrows supplied with sails, and litters made of bamboo; nor the women—whom he thought not especially handsome—who took little steps with their little feet, whereon they wore canvas shoes, straw sandals, and clogs of worked wood, and who displayed tight-looking eyes, flat chests, teeth fashionably blackened, and gowns crossed with silken scarfs, tied in an enormous knot behind an ornament which the modern Parisian ladies seem to have borrowed from the dames of Japan. Passepartout wandered for several hours in the midst of this motley crowd, looking in at the windows of the rich and curious shops, the jewellery establishments glittering with quaint Japanese ornaments, the restaurants decked with streamers and banners, the tea-houses, where the odorous beverage was being drunk with “saki,” a liquor concocted from the fermentation of rice, and the comfortable smoking-houses, where they were puffing, not opium, which is almost unknown in Japan, but a very fine, stringy tobacco. He went on till he found himself in the fields, in the midst of vast rice plantations. There he saw dazzling camellias expanding themselves, with flowers which were giving forth their last colours and perfumes, not on bushes, but on trees, and within bamboo enclosures, cherry, plum, and apple trees, which the Japanese cultivate rather for their blossoms than their fruit, and which queerly-fashioned, grinning scarecrows protected from the sparrows, pigeons, ravens, and other voracious birds. On the branches of the cedars were perched large eagles; amid the foliage of the weeping willows were herons, solemnly standing on one leg; and on every hand were crows, ducks, hawks, wild birds, and a multitude of cranes, which the Japanese consider sacred, and which to their minds symbolise long life and prosperity. As he was strolling along, Passepartout espied some violets among the shrubs. “Good!” said he; “I’ll have some supper.” But, on smelling them, he found that they were odourless. “No chance there,” thought he. The worthy fellow had certainly taken good care to eat as hearty a breakfast as possible before leaving the “Carnatic;” but, as he had been walking about all day, the demands of hunger were becoming importunate. He observed that the butchers stalls contained neither mutton, goat, nor pork; and, knowing also that it is a sacrilege to kill cattle, which are preserved solely for farming, he made up his mind that meat was far from plentiful in Yokohama—nor was he mistaken; and, in default of butcher’s meat, he could have wished for a quarter of wild boar or deer, a partridge, or some quails, some game or fish, which, with rice, the Japanese eat almost exclusively. But he found it necessary to keep up a stout heart, and to postpone the meal he craved till the following morning. Night came, and Passepartout re-entered the native quarter, where he wandered through the streets, lit by vari-coloured lanterns, looking on at the dancers, who were executing skilful steps and boundings, and the astrologers who stood in the open air with their telescopes. Then he came to the harbour, which was lit up by the resin torches of the fishermen, who were fishing from their boats. The streets at last became quiet, and the patrol, the officers of which, in their splendid costumes, and surrounded by their suites, Passepartout thought seemed like ambassadors, succeeded the bustling crowd. Each time a company passed, Passepartout chuckled, and said to himself: “Good! another Japanese embassy departing for Europe!” About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (1994). Around the World in Eighty Days. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/103/103-h/103-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT FINDS OUT THAT, EVEN AT THE ANTIPODES, IT IS CONVENIENT TO HAVE SOME MONEY

Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT TAKES A TOO GREAT INTEREST IN HIS MASTER, AND WHAT COMES OF IT here CHAPTER XIX. IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT TAKES A TOO GREAT INTEREST IN HIS MASTER, AND WHAT COMES OF IT Hong Kong is an island which came into the possession of the English by the Treaty of Nankin, after the war of 1842; and the colonising genius of the English has created upon it an important city and an excellent port. The island is situated at the mouth of the Canton River, and is separated by about sixty miles from the Portuguese town of Macao, on the opposite coast. Hong Kong has beaten Macao in the struggle for the Chinese trade, and now the greater part of the transportation of Chinese goods finds its depot at the former place. Docks, hospitals, wharves, a Gothic cathedral, a government house, macadamised streets, give to Hong Kong the appearance of a town in Kent or Surrey transferred by some strange magic to the antipodes. Passepartout wandered, with his hands in his pockets, towards the Victoria port, gazing as he went at the curious palanquins and other modes of conveyance, and the groups of Chinese, Japanese, and Europeans who passed to and fro in the streets. Hong Kong seemed to him not unlike Bombay, Calcutta, and Singapore, since, like them, it betrayed everywhere the evidence of English supremacy. At the Victoria port he found a confused mass of ships of all nations: English, French, American, and Dutch, men-of-war and trading vessels, Japanese and Chinese junks, sempas, tankas, and flower-boats, which formed so many floating parterres. Passepartout noticed in the crowd a number of the natives who seemed very old and were dressed in yellow. On going into a barber’s to get shaved he learned that these ancient men were all at least eighty years old, at which age they are permitted to wear yellow, which is the Imperial colour. Passepartout, without exactly knowing why, thought this very funny. On reaching the quay where they were to embark on the “Carnatic,” he was not astonished to find Fix walking up and down. The detective seemed very much disturbed and disappointed. “This is bad,” muttered Passepartout, “for the gentlemen of the Reform Club!” He accosted Fix with a merry smile, as if he had not perceived that gentleman’s chagrin. The detective had, indeed, good reasons to inveigh against the bad luck which pursued him. The warrant had not come! It was certainly on the way, but as certainly it could not now reach Hong Kong for several days; and, this being the last English territory on Mr. Fogg’s route, the robber would escape, unless he could manage to detain him. “Well, Monsieur Fix,” said Passepartout, “have you decided to go with us so far as America?” “Yes,” returned Fix, through his set teeth. “Good!” exclaimed Passepartout, laughing heartily. “I knew you could not persuade yourself to separate from us. Come and engage your berth.” They entered the steamer office and secured cabins for four persons. The clerk, as he gave them the tickets, informed them that, the repairs on the “Carnatic” having been completed, the steamer would leave that very evening, and not next morning, as had been announced. “That will suit my master all the better,” said Passepartout. “I will go and let him know.” Fix now decided to make a bold move; he resolved to tell Passepartout all. It seemed to be the only possible means of keeping Phileas Fogg several days longer at Hong Kong. He accordingly invited his companion into a tavern which caught his eye on the quay. On entering, they found themselves in a large room handsomely decorated, at the end of which was a large camp-bed furnished with cushions. Several persons lay upon this bed in a deep sleep. At the small tables which were arranged about the room some thirty customers were drinking English beer, porter, gin, and brandy; smoking, the while, long red clay pipes stuffed with little balls of opium mingled with essence of rose. From time to time one of the smokers, overcome with the narcotic, would slip under the table, whereupon the waiters, taking him by the head and feet, carried and laid him upon the bed. The bed already supported twenty of these stupefied sots. Fix and Passepartout saw that they were in a smoking-house haunted by those wretched, cadaverous, idiotic creatures to whom the English merchants sell every year the miserable drug called opium, to the amount of one million four hundred thousand pounds—thousands devoted to one of the most despicable vices which afflict humanity! The Chinese government has in vain attempted to deal with the evil by stringent laws. It passed gradually from the rich, to whom it was at first exclusively reserved, to the lower classes, and then its ravages could not be arrested. Opium is smoked everywhere, at all times, by men and women, in the Celestial Empire; and, once accustomed to it, the victims cannot dispense with it, except by suffering horrible bodily contortions and agonies. A great smoker can smoke as many as eight pipes a day; but he dies in five years. It was in one of these dens that Fix and Passepartout, in search of a friendly glass, found themselves. Passepartout had no money, but willingly accepted Fix’s invitation in the hope of returning the obligation at some future time. They ordered two bottles of port, to which the Frenchman did ample justice, whilst Fix observed him with close attention. They chatted about the journey, and Passepartout was especially merry at the idea that Fix was going to continue it with them. When the bottles were empty, however, he rose to go and tell his master of the change in the time of the sailing of the “Carnatic.” Fix caught him by the arm, and said, “Wait a moment.” “What for, Mr. Fix?” “I want to have a serious talk with you.” “A serious talk!” cried Passepartout, drinking up the little wine that was left in the bottom of his glass. “Well, we’ll talk about it to-morrow; I haven’t time now.” “Stay! What I have to say concerns your master.” Passepartout, at this, looked attentively at his companion. Fix’s face seemed to have a singular expression. He resumed his seat. “What is it that you have to say?” Fix placed his hand upon Passepartout’s arm, and, lowering his voice, said, “You have guessed who I am?” “Parbleu!” said Passepartout, smiling. “Then I’m going to tell you everything—” “Now that I know everything, my friend! Ah! that’s very good. But go on, go on. First, though, let me tell you that those gentlemen have put themselves to a useless expense.” “Useless!” said Fix. “You speak confidently. It’s clear that you don’t know how large the sum is.” “Of course I do,” returned Passepartout. “Twenty thousand pounds.” “Fifty-five thousand!” answered Fix, pressing his companion’s hand. “What!” cried the Frenchman. “Has Monsieur Fogg dared—fifty-five thousand pounds! Well, there’s all the more reason for not losing an instant,” he continued, getting up hastily. Fix pushed Passepartout back in his chair, and resumed: “Fifty-five thousand pounds; and if I succeed, I get two thousand pounds. If you’ll help me, I’ll let you have five hundred of them.” “Help you?” cried Passepartout, whose eyes were standing wide open. “Yes; help me keep Mr. Fogg here for two or three days.” “Why, what are you saying? Those gentlemen are not satisfied with following my master and suspecting his honour, but they must try to put obstacles in his way! I blush for them!” “What do you mean?” “I mean that it is a piece of shameful trickery. They might as well waylay Mr. Fogg and put his money in their pockets!” “That’s just what we count on doing.” “It’s a conspiracy, then,” cried Passepartout, who became more and more excited as the liquor mounted in his head, for he drank without perceiving it. “A real conspiracy! And gentlemen, too. Bah!” Fix began to be puzzled. “Members of the Reform Club!” continued Passepartout. “You must know, Monsieur Fix, that my master is an honest man, and that, when he makes a wager, he tries to win it fairly!” “But who do you think I am?” asked Fix, looking at him intently. “Parbleu! An agent of the members of the Reform Club, sent out here to interrupt my master’s journey. But, though I found you out some time ago, I’ve taken good care to say nothing about it to Mr. Fogg.” “He knows nothing, then?” “Nothing,” replied Passepartout, again emptying his glass. The detective passed his hand across his forehead, hesitating before he spoke again. What should he do? Passepartout’s mistake seemed sincere, but it made his design more difficult. It was evident that the servant was not the master’s accomplice, as Fix had been inclined to suspect. “Well,” said the detective to himself, “as he is not an accomplice, he will help me.” He had no time to lose: Fogg must be detained at Hong Kong, so he resolved to make a clean breast of it. “Listen to me,” said Fix abruptly. “I am not, as you think, an agent of the members of the Reform Club—” “Bah!” retorted Passepartout, with an air of raillery. “I am a police detective, sent out here by the London office.” “You, a detective?” “I will prove it. Here is my commission.” Passepartout was speechless with astonishment when Fix displayed this document, the genuineness of which could not be doubted. “Mr. Fogg’s wager,” resumed Fix, “is only a pretext, of which you and the gentlemen of the Reform are dupes. He had a motive for securing your innocent complicity.” “But why?” “Listen. On the 28th of last September a robbery of fifty-five thousand pounds was committed at the Bank of England by a person whose description was fortunately secured. Here is his description; it answers exactly to that of Mr. Phileas Fogg.” “What nonsense!” cried Passepartout, striking the table with his fist. “My master is the most honourable of men!” “How can you tell? You know scarcely anything about him. You went into his service the day he came away; and he came away on a foolish pretext, without trunks, and carrying a large amount in banknotes. And yet you are bold enough to assert that he is an honest man!” “Yes, yes,” repeated the poor fellow, mechanically. “Would you like to be arrested as his accomplice?” Passepartout, overcome by what he had heard, held his head between his hands, and did not dare to look at the detective. Phileas Fogg, the saviour of Aouda, that brave and generous man, a robber! And yet how many presumptions there were against him! Passepartout essayed to reject the suspicions which forced themselves upon his mind; he did not wish to believe that his master was guilty. “Well, what do you want of me?” said he, at last, with an effort. “See here,” replied Fix; “I have tracked Mr. Fogg to this place, but as yet I have failed to receive the warrant of arrest for which I sent to London. You must help me to keep him here in Hong Kong—” “I! But I—” “I will share with you the two thousand pounds reward offered by the Bank of England.” “Never!” replied Passepartout, who tried to rise, but fell back, exhausted in mind and body. “Mr. Fix,” he stammered, “even should what you say be true—if my master is really the robber you are seeking for—which I deny—I have been, am, in his service; I have seen his generosity and goodness; and I will never betray him—not for all the gold in the world. I come from a village where they don’t eat that kind of bread!” “You refuse?” “I refuse.” “Consider that I’ve said nothing,” said Fix; “and let us drink.” “Yes; let us drink!” Passepartout felt himself yielding more and more to the effects of the liquor. Fix, seeing that he must, at all hazards, be separated from his master, wished to entirely overcome him. Some pipes full of opium lay upon the table. Fix slipped one into Passepartout’s hand. He took it, put it between his lips, lit it, drew several puffs, and his head, becoming heavy under the influence of the narcotic, fell upon the table. “At last!” said Fix, seeing Passepartout unconscious. “Mr. Fogg will not be informed of the ‘Carnatic’s’ departure; and, if he is, he will have to go without this cursed Frenchman!” And, after paying his bill, Fix left the tavern. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (1994). Around the World in Eighty Days. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/103/103-h/103-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

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

Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG, PASSEPARTOUT, AND FIX GO EACH ABOUT HIS BUSINESS here CHAPTER XVIII. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG, PASSEPARTOUT, AND FIX GO EACH ABOUT HIS BUSINESS The weather was bad during the latter days of the voyage. The wind, obstinately remaining in the north-west, blew a gale, and retarded the steamer. The “Rangoon” rolled heavily and the passengers became impatient of the long, monstrous waves which the wind raised before their path. A sort of tempest arose on the 3rd of November, the squall knocking the vessel about with fury, and the waves running high. The “Rangoon” reefed all her sails, and even the rigging proved too much, whistling and shaking amid the squall. The steamer was forced to proceed slowly, and the captain estimated that she would reach Hong Kong twenty hours behind time, and more if the storm lasted. Phileas Fogg gazed at the tempestuous sea, which seemed to be struggling especially to delay him, with his habitual tranquillity. He never changed countenance for an instant, though a delay of twenty hours, by making him too late for the Yokohama boat, would almost inevitably cause the loss of the wager. But this man of nerve manifested neither impatience nor annoyance; it seemed as if the storm were a part of his programme, and had been foreseen. Aouda was amazed to find him as calm as he had been from the first time she saw him. Fix did not look at the state of things in the same light. The storm greatly pleased him. His satisfaction would have been complete had the “Rangoon” been forced to retreat before the violence of wind and waves. Each delay filled him with hope, for it became more and more probable that Fogg would be obliged to remain some days at Hong Kong; and now the heavens themselves became his allies, with the gusts and squalls. It mattered not that they made him sea-sick—he made no account of this inconvenience; and, whilst his body was writhing under their effects, his spirit bounded with hopeful exultation. Passepartout was enraged beyond expression by the unpropitious weather. Everything had gone so well till now! Earth and sea had seemed to be at his master’s service; steamers and railways obeyed him; wind and steam united to speed his journey. Had the hour of adversity come? Passepartout was as much excited as if the twenty thousand pounds were to come from his own pocket. The storm exasperated him, the gale made him furious, and he longed to lash the obstinate sea into obedience. Poor fellow! Fix carefully concealed from him his own satisfaction, for, had he betrayed it, Passepartout could scarcely have restrained himself from personal violence. Passepartout remained on deck as long as the tempest lasted, being unable to remain quiet below, and taking it into his head to aid the progress of the ship by lending a hand with the crew. He overwhelmed the captain, officers, and sailors, who could not help laughing at his impatience, with all sorts of questions. He wanted to know exactly how long the storm was going to last; whereupon he was referred to the barometer, which seemed to have no intention of rising. Passepartout shook it, but with no perceptible effect; for neither shaking nor maledictions could prevail upon it to change its mind. On the 4th, however, the sea became more calm, and the storm lessened its violence; the wind veered southward, and was once more favourable. Passepartout cleared up with the weather. Some of the sails were unfurled, and the “Rangoon” resumed its most rapid speed. The time lost could not, however, be regained. Land was not signalled until five o’clock on the morning of the 6th; the steamer was due on the 5th. Phileas Fogg was twenty-four hours behind-hand, and the Yokohama steamer would, of course, be missed. The pilot went on board at six, and took his place on the bridge, to guide the “Rangoon” through the channels to the port of Hong Kong. Passepartout longed to ask him if the steamer had left for Yokohama; but he dared not, for he wished to preserve the spark of hope, which still remained till the last moment. He had confided his anxiety to Fix who—the sly rascal!—tried to console him by saying that Mr. Fogg would be in time if he took the next boat; but this only put Passepartout in a passion. Mr. Fogg, bolder than his servant, did not hesitate to approach the pilot, and tranquilly ask him if he knew when a steamer would leave Hong Kong for Yokohama. “At high tide to-morrow morning,” answered the pilot. “Ah!” said Mr. Fogg, without betraying any astonishment. Passepartout, who heard what passed, would willingly have embraced the pilot, while Fix would have been glad to twist his neck. “What is the steamer’s name?” asked Mr. Fogg. “The ‘Carnatic.’” “Ought she not to have gone yesterday?” “Yes, sir; but they had to repair one of her boilers, and so her departure was postponed till to-morrow.” “Thank you,” returned Mr. Fogg, descending mathematically to the saloon. Passepartout clasped the pilot’s hand and shook it heartily in his delight, exclaiming, “Pilot, you are the best of good fellows!” The pilot probably does not know to this day why his responses won him this enthusiastic greeting. He remounted the bridge, and guided the steamer through the flotilla of junks, tankas, and fishing boats which crowd the harbour of Hong Kong. At one o’clock the “Rangoon” was at the quay, and the passengers were going ashore. Chance had strangely favoured Phileas Fogg, for had not the “Carnatic” been forced to lie over for repairing her boilers, she would have left on the 6th of November, and the passengers for Japan would have been obliged to await for a week the sailing of the next steamer. Mr. Fogg was, it is true, twenty-four hours behind his time; but this could not seriously imperil the remainder of his tour. The steamer which crossed the Pacific from Yokohama to San Francisco made a direct connection with that from Hong Kong, and it could not sail until the latter reached Yokohama; and if Mr. Fogg was twenty-four hours late on reaching Yokohama, this time would no doubt be easily regained in the voyage of twenty-two days across the Pacific. He found himself, then, about twenty-four hours behind-hand, thirty-five days after leaving London. The “Carnatic” was announced to leave Hong Kong at five the next morning. Mr. Fogg had sixteen hours in which to attend to his business there, which was to deposit Aouda safely with her wealthy relative. On landing, he conducted her to a palanquin, in which they repaired to the Club Hotel. A room was engaged for the young woman, and Mr. Fogg, after seeing that she wanted for nothing, set out in search of her cousin Jeejeeh. He instructed Passepartout to remain at the hotel until his return, that Aouda might not be left entirely alone. Mr. Fogg repaired to the Exchange, where, he did not doubt, every one would know so wealthy and considerable a personage as the Parsee merchant. Meeting a broker, he made the inquiry, to learn that Jeejeeh had left China two years before, and, retiring from business with an immense fortune, had taken up his residence in Europe—in Holland the broker thought, with the merchants of which country he had principally traded. Phileas Fogg returned to the hotel, begged a moment’s conversation with Aouda, and without more ado, apprised her that Jeejeeh was no longer at Hong Kong, but probably in Holland. Aouda at first said nothing. She passed her hand across her forehead, and reflected a few moments. Then, in her sweet, soft voice, she said: “What ought I to do, Mr. Fogg?” “It is very simple,” responded the gentleman. “Go on to Europe.” “But I cannot intrude—” “You do not intrude, nor do you in the least embarrass my project. Passepartout!” “Monsieur.” “Go to the ‘Carnatic,’ and engage three cabins.” Passepartout, delighted that the young woman, who was very gracious to him, was going to continue the journey with them, went off at a brisk gait to obey his master’s order. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (1994). Around the World in Eighty Days. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/103/103-h/103-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

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

Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT RECEIVES A NEW PROOF THAT FORTUNE FAVORS THE BRAVE here CHAPTER XIII. IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT RECEIVES A NEW PROOF THAT FORTUNE FAVORS THE BRAVE The project was a bold one, full of difficulty, perhaps impracticable. Mr. Fogg was going to risk life, or at least liberty, and therefore the success of his tour. But he did not hesitate, and he found in Sir Francis Cromarty an enthusiastic ally. As for Passepartout, he was ready for anything that might be proposed. His master’s idea charmed him; he perceived a heart, a soul, under that icy exterior. He began to love Phileas Fogg. There remained the guide: what course would he adopt? Would he not take part with the Indians? In default of his assistance, it was necessary to be assured of his neutrality. Sir Francis frankly put the question to him. “Officers,” replied the guide, “I am a Parsee, and this woman is a Parsee. Command me as you will.” “Excellent!” said Mr. Fogg. “However,” resumed the guide, “it is certain, not only that we shall risk our lives, but horrible tortures, if we are taken.” “That is foreseen,” replied Mr. Fogg. “I think we must wait till night before acting.” “I think so,” said the guide. The worthy Indian then gave some account of the victim, who, he said, was a celebrated beauty of the Parsee race, and the daughter of a wealthy Bombay merchant. She had received a thoroughly English education in that city, and, from her manners and intelligence, would be thought an European. Her name was Aouda. Left an orphan, she was married against her will to the old rajah of Bundelcund; and, knowing the fate that awaited her, she escaped, was retaken, and devoted by the rajah’s relatives, who had an interest in her death, to the sacrifice from which it seemed she could not escape. The Parsee’s narrative only confirmed Mr. Fogg and his companions in their generous design. It was decided that the guide should direct the elephant towards the pagoda of Pillaji, which he accordingly approached as quickly as possible. They halted, half an hour afterwards, in a copse, some five hundred feet from the pagoda, where they were well concealed; but they could hear the groans and cries of the fakirs distinctly. They then discussed the means of getting at the victim. The guide was familiar with the pagoda of Pillaji, in which, as he declared, the young woman was imprisoned. Could they enter any of its doors while the whole party of Indians was plunged in a drunken sleep, or was it safer to attempt to make a hole in the walls? This could only be determined at the moment and the place themselves; but it was certain that the abduction must be made that night, and not when, at break of day, the victim was led to her funeral pyre. Then no human intervention could save her. As soon as night fell, about six o’clock, they decided to make a reconnaissance around the pagoda. The cries of the fakirs were just ceasing; the Indians were in the act of plunging themselves into the drunkenness caused by liquid opium mingled with hemp, and it might be possible to slip between them to the temple itself. The Parsee, leading the others, noiselessly crept through the wood, and in ten minutes they found themselves on the banks of a small stream, whence, by the light of the rosin torches, they perceived a pyre of wood, on the top of which lay the embalmed body of the rajah, which was to be burned with his wife. The pagoda, whose minarets loomed above the trees in the deepening dusk, stood a hundred steps away. “Come!” whispered the guide. He slipped more cautiously than ever through the brush, followed by his companions; the silence around was only broken by the low murmuring of the wind among the branches. Soon the Parsee stopped on the borders of the glade, which was lit up by the torches. The ground was covered by groups of the Indians, motionless in their drunken sleep; it seemed a battlefield strewn with the dead. Men, women, and children lay together. In the background, among the trees, the pagoda of Pillaji loomed distinctly. Much to the guide’s disappointment, the guards of the rajah, lighted by torches, were watching at the doors and marching to and fro with naked sabres; probably the priests, too, were watching within. The Parsee, now convinced that it was impossible to force an entrance to the temple, advanced no farther, but led his companions back again. Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty also saw that nothing could be attempted in that direction. They stopped, and engaged in a whispered colloquy. “It is only eight now,” said the brigadier, “and these guards may also go to sleep.” “It is not impossible,” returned the Parsee. They lay down at the foot of a tree, and waited. The time seemed long; the guide ever and anon left them to take an observation on the edge of the wood, but the guards watched steadily by the glare of the torches, and a dim light crept through the windows of the pagoda. They waited till midnight; but no change took place among the guards, and it became apparent that their yielding to sleep could not be counted on. The other plan must be carried out; an opening in the walls of the pagoda must be made. It remained to ascertain whether the priests were watching by the side of their victim as assiduously as were the soldiers at the door. After a last consultation, the guide announced that he was ready for the attempt, and advanced, followed by the others. They took a roundabout way, so as to get at the pagoda on the rear. They reached the walls about half-past twelve, without having met anyone; here there was no guard, nor were there either windows or doors. The night was dark. The moon, on the wane, scarcely left the horizon, and was covered with heavy clouds; the height of the trees deepened the darkness. It was not enough to reach the walls; an opening in them must be accomplished, and to attain this purpose the party only had their pocket-knives. Happily the temple walls were built of brick and wood, which could be penetrated with little difficulty; after one brick had been taken out, the rest would yield easily. They set noiselessly to work, and the Parsee on one side and Passepartout on the other began to loosen the bricks so as to make an aperture two feet wide. They were getting on rapidly, when suddenly a cry was heard in the interior of the temple, followed almost instantly by other cries replying from the outside. Passepartout and the guide stopped. Had they been heard? Was the alarm being given? Common prudence urged them to retire, and they did so, followed by Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis. They again hid themselves in the wood, and waited till the disturbance, whatever it might be, ceased, holding themselves ready to resume their attempt without delay. But, awkwardly enough, the guards now appeared at the rear of the temple, and there installed themselves, in readiness to prevent a surprise. It would be difficult to describe the disappointment of the party, thus interrupted in their work. They could not now reach the victim; how, then, could they save her? Sir Francis shook his fists, Passepartout was beside himself, and the guide gnashed his teeth with rage. The tranquil Fogg waited, without betraying any emotion. “We have nothing to do but to go away,” whispered Sir Francis. “Nothing but to go away,” echoed the guide. “Stop,” said Fogg. “I am only due at Allahabad tomorrow before noon.” “But what can you hope to do?” asked Sir Francis. “In a few hours it will be daylight, and—” “The chance which now seems lost may present itself at the last moment.” Sir Francis would have liked to read Phileas Fogg’s eyes. What was this cool Englishman thinking of? Was he planning to make a rush for the young woman at the very moment of the sacrifice, and boldly snatch her from her executioners? This would be utter folly, and it was hard to admit that Fogg was such a fool. Sir Francis consented, however, to remain to the end of this terrible drama. The guide led them to the rear of the glade, where they were able to observe the sleeping groups. Meanwhile Passepartout, who had perched himself on the lower branches of a tree, was resolving an idea which had at first struck him like a flash, and which was now firmly lodged in his brain. He had commenced by saying to himself, “What folly!” and then he repeated, “Why not, after all? It’s a chance,—perhaps the only one; and with such sots!” Thinking thus, he slipped, with the suppleness of a serpent, to the lowest branches, the ends of which bent almost to the ground. The hours passed, and the lighter shades now announced the approach of day, though it was not yet light. This was the moment. The slumbering multitude became animated, the tambourines sounded, songs and cries arose; the hour of the sacrifice had come. The doors of the pagoda swung open, and a bright light escaped from its interior, in the midst of which Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis espied the victim. She seemed, having shaken off the stupor of intoxication, to be striving to escape from her executioner. Sir Francis’s heart throbbed; and, convulsively seizing Mr. Fogg’s hand, found in it an open knife. Just at this moment the crowd began to move. The young woman had again fallen into a stupor caused by the fumes of hemp, and passed among the fakirs, who escorted her with their wild, religious cries. Phileas Fogg and his companions, mingling in the rear ranks of the crowd, followed; and in two minutes they reached the banks of the stream, and stopped fifty paces from the pyre, upon which still lay the rajah’s corpse. In the semi-obscurity they saw the victim, quite senseless, stretched out beside her husband’s body. Then a torch was brought, and the wood, heavily soaked with oil, instantly took fire. At this moment Sir Francis and the guide seized Phileas Fogg, who, in an instant of mad generosity, was about to rush upon the pyre. But he had quickly pushed them aside, when the whole scene suddenly changed. A cry of terror arose. The whole multitude prostrated themselves, terror-stricken, on the ground. The old rajah was not dead, then, since he rose of a sudden, like a spectre, took up his wife in his arms, and descended from the pyre in the midst of the clouds of smoke, which only heightened his ghostly appearance. Fakirs and soldiers and priests, seized with instant terror, lay there, with their faces on the ground, not daring to lift their eyes and behold such a prodigy. The inanimate victim was borne along by the vigorous arms which supported her, and which she did not seem in the least to burden. Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis stood erect, the Parsee bowed his head, and Passepartout was, no doubt, scarcely less stupefied. The resuscitated rajah approached Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg, and, in an abrupt tone, said, “Let us be off!” It was Passepartout himself, who had slipped upon the pyre in the midst of the smoke and, profiting by the still overhanging darkness, had delivered the young woman from death! It was Passepartout who, playing his part with a happy audacity, had passed through the crowd amid the general terror. A moment after all four of the party had disappeared in the woods, and the elephant was bearing them away at a rapid pace. But the cries and noise, and a ball which whizzed through Phileas Fogg’s hat, apprised them that the trick had been discovered. The old rajah’s body, indeed, now appeared upon the burning pyre; and the priests, recovered from their terror, perceived that an abduction had taken place. They hastened into the forest, followed by the soldiers, who fired a volley after the fugitives; but the latter rapidly increased the distance between them, and ere long found themselves beyond the reach of the bullets and arrows. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (1994). Around the World in Eighty Days. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/103/103-h/103-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

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

Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT IS ONLY TOO GLAD TO GET OFF WITH THE LOSS OF HIS SHOES here CHAPTER X. IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT IS ONLY TOO GLAD TO GET OFF WITH THE LOSS OF HIS SHOES Everybody knows that the great reversed triangle of land, with its base in the north and its apex in the south, which is called India, embraces fourteen hundred thousand square miles, upon which is spread unequally a population of one hundred and eighty millions of souls. The British Crown exercises a real and despotic dominion over the larger portion of this vast country, and has a governor-general stationed at Calcutta, governors at Madras, Bombay, and in Bengal, and a lieutenant-governor at Agra. But British India, properly so called, only embraces seven hundred thousand square miles, and a population of from one hundred to one hundred and ten millions of inhabitants. A considerable portion of India is still free from British authority; and there are certain ferocious rajahs in the interior who are absolutely independent. The celebrated East India Company was all-powerful from 1756, when the English first gained a foothold on the spot where now stands the city of Madras, down to the time of the great Sepoy insurrection. It gradually annexed province after province, purchasing them of the native chiefs, whom it seldom paid, and appointed the governor-general and his subordinates, civil and military. But the East India Company has now passed away, leaving the British possessions in India directly under the control of the Crown. The aspect of the country, as well as the manners and distinctions of race, is daily changing. Formerly one was obliged to travel in India by the old cumbrous methods of going on foot or on horseback, in palanquins or unwieldy coaches; now fast steamboats ply on the Indus and the Ganges, and a great railway, with branch lines joining the main line at many points on its route, traverses the peninsula from Bombay to Calcutta in three days. This railway does not run in a direct line across India. The distance between Bombay and Calcutta, as the bird flies, is only from one thousand to eleven hundred miles; but the deflections of the road increase this distance by more than a third. The general route of the Great Indian Peninsula Railway is as follows: Leaving Bombay, it passes through Salcette, crossing to the continent opposite Tannah, goes over the chain of the Western Ghauts, runs thence north-east as far as Burhampoor, skirts the nearly independent territory of Bundelcund, ascends to Allahabad, turns thence eastwardly, meeting the Ganges at Benares, then departs from the river a little, and, descending south-eastward by Burdivan and the French town of Chandernagor, has its terminus at Calcutta. The passengers of the “Mongolia” went ashore at half-past four p.m.; at exactly eight the train would start for Calcutta. Mr. Fogg, after bidding good-bye to his whist partners, left the steamer, gave his servant several errands to do, urged it upon him to be at the station promptly at eight, and, with his regular step, which beat to the second, like an astronomical clock, directed his steps to the passport office. As for the wonders of Bombay—its famous city hall, its splendid library, its forts and docks, its bazaars, mosques, synagogues, its Armenian churches, and the noble pagoda on Malabar Hill, with its two polygonal towers—he cared not a straw to see them. He would not deign to examine even the masterpieces of Elephanta, or the mysterious hypogea, concealed south-east from the docks, or those fine remains of Buddhist architecture, the Kanherian grottoes of the island of Salcette. Having transacted his business at the passport office, Phileas Fogg repaired quietly to the railway station, where he ordered dinner. Among the dishes served up to him, the landlord especially recommended a certain giblet of “native rabbit,” on which he prided himself. Mr. Fogg accordingly tasted the dish, but, despite its spiced sauce, found it far from palatable. He rang for the landlord, and, on his appearance, said, fixing his clear eyes upon him, “Is this rabbit, sir?” “Yes, my lord,” the rogue boldly replied, “rabbit from the jungles.” “And this rabbit did not mew when he was killed?” “Mew, my lord! What, a rabbit mew! I swear to you—” “Be so good, landlord, as not to swear, but remember this: cats were formerly considered, in India, as sacred animals. That was a good time.” “For the cats, my lord?” “Perhaps for the travellers as well!” After which Mr. Fogg quietly continued his dinner. Fix had gone on shore shortly after Mr. Fogg, and his first destination was the headquarters of the Bombay police. He made himself known as a London detective, told his business at Bombay, and the position of affairs relative to the supposed robber, and nervously asked if a warrant had arrived from London. It had not reached the office; indeed, there had not yet been time for it to arrive. Fix was sorely disappointed, and tried to obtain an order of arrest from the director of the Bombay police. This the director refused, as the matter concerned the London office, which alone could legally deliver the warrant. Fix did not insist, and was fain to resign himself to await the arrival of the important document; but he was determined not to lose sight of the mysterious rogue as long as he stayed in Bombay. He did not doubt for a moment, any more than Passepartout, that Phileas Fogg would remain there, at least until it was time for the warrant to arrive. Passepartout, however, had no sooner heard his master’s orders on leaving the “Mongolia” than he saw at once that they were to leave Bombay as they had done Suez and Paris, and that the journey would be extended at least as far as Calcutta, and perhaps beyond that place. He began to ask himself if this bet that Mr. Fogg talked about was not really in good earnest, and whether his fate was not in truth forcing him, despite his love of repose, around the world in eighty days! Having purchased the usual quota of shirts and shoes, he took a leisurely promenade about the streets, where crowds of people of many nationalities—Europeans, Persians with pointed caps, Banyas with round turbans, Sindes with square bonnets, Parsees with black mitres, and long-robed Armenians—were collected. It happened to be the day of a Parsee festival. These descendants of the sect of Zoroaster—the most thrifty, civilised, intelligent, and austere of the East Indians, among whom are counted the richest native merchants of Bombay—were celebrating a sort of religious carnival, with processions and shows, in the midst of which Indian dancing-girls, clothed in rose-coloured gauze, looped up with gold and silver, danced airily, but with perfect modesty, to the sound of viols and the clanging of tambourines. It is needless to say that Passepartout watched these curious ceremonies with staring eyes and gaping mouth, and that his countenance was that of the greenest booby imaginable. Unhappily for his master, as well as himself, his curiosity drew him unconsciously farther off than he intended to go. At last, having seen the Parsee carnival wind away in the distance, he was turning his steps towards the station, when he happened to espy the splendid pagoda on Malabar Hill, and was seized with an irresistible desire to see its interior. He was quite ignorant that it is forbidden to Christians to enter certain Indian temples, and that even the faithful must not go in without first leaving their shoes outside the door. It may be said here that the wise policy of the British Government severely punishes a disregard of the practices of the native religions. Passepartout, however, thinking no harm, went in like a simple tourist, and was soon lost in admiration of the splendid Brahmin ornamentation which everywhere met his eyes, when of a sudden he found himself sprawling on the sacred flagging. He looked up to behold three enraged priests, who forthwith fell upon him; tore off his shoes, and began to beat him with loud, savage exclamations. The agile Frenchman was soon upon his feet again, and lost no time in knocking down two of his long-gowned adversaries with his fists and a vigorous application of his toes; then, rushing out of the pagoda as fast as his legs could carry him, he soon escaped the third priest by mingling with the crowd in the streets. At five minutes before eight, Passepartout, hatless, shoeless, and having in the squabble lost his package of shirts and shoes, rushed breathlessly into the station. Fix, who had followed Mr. Fogg to the station, and saw that he was really going to leave Bombay, was there, upon the platform. He had resolved to follow the supposed robber to Calcutta, and farther, if necessary. Passepartout did not observe the detective, who stood in an obscure corner; but Fix heard him relate his adventures in a few words to Mr. Fogg. “I hope that this will not happen again,” said Phileas Fogg coldly, as he got into the train. Poor Passepartout, quite crestfallen, followed his master without a word. Fix was on the point of entering another carriage, when an idea struck him which induced him to alter his plan. “No, I’ll stay,” muttered he. “An offence has been committed on Indian soil. I’ve got my man.” Just then the locomotive gave a sharp screech, and the train passed out into the darkness of the night. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (1994). Around the World in Eighty Days. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/103/103-h/103-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

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

Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT TALKS RATHER MORE, PERHAPS, THAN IS PRUDENT here CHAPTER VIII. IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT TALKS RATHER MORE, PERHAPS, THAN IS PRUDENT Fix soon rejoined Passepartout, who was lounging and looking about on the quay, as if he did not feel that he, at least, was obliged not to see anything. “Well, my friend,” said the detective, coming up with him, “is your passport ” visaed? “Ah, it’s you, is it, monsieur?” responded Passepartout. “Thanks, yes, the passport is all right.” “And you are looking about you?” “Yes; but we travel so fast that I seem to be journeying in a dream. So this is Suez?” “Yes.” “In Egypt?” “Certainly, in Egypt.” “And in Africa?” “In Africa.” “In Africa!” repeated Passepartout. “Just think, monsieur, I had no idea that we should go farther than Paris; and all that I saw of Paris was between twenty minutes past seven and twenty minutes before nine in the morning, between the Northern and the Lyons stations, through the windows of a car, and in a driving rain! How I regret not having seen once more Père la Chaise and the circus in the Champs Elysées!” “You are in a great hurry, then?” “I am not, but my master is. By the way, I must buy some shoes and shirts. We came away without trunks, only with a carpet-bag.” “I will show you an excellent shop for getting what you want.” “Really, monsieur, you are very kind.” And they walked off together, Passepartout chatting volubly as they went along. “Above all,” said he; “don’t let me lose the steamer.” “You have plenty of time; it’s only twelve o’clock.” Passepartout pulled out his big watch. “Twelve!” he exclaimed; “why, it’s only eight minutes before ten.” “Your watch is slow.” “My watch? A family watch, monsieur, which has come down from my great-grandfather! It doesn’t vary five minutes in the year. It’s a perfect chronometer, look you.” “I see how it is,” said Fix. “You have kept London time, which is two hours behind that of Suez. You ought to regulate your watch at noon in each country.” “I regulate my watch? Never!” “Well, then, it will not agree with the sun.” “So much the worse for the sun, monsieur. The sun will be wrong, then!” And the worthy fellow returned the watch to its fob with a defiant gesture. After a few minutes silence, Fix resumed: “You left London hastily, then?” “I rather think so! Last Friday at eight o’clock in the evening, Monsieur Fogg came home from his club, and three-quarters of an hour afterwards we were off.” “But where is your master going?” “Always straight ahead. He is going round the world.” “Round the world?” cried Fix. “Yes, and in eighty days! He says it is on a wager; but, between us, I don’t believe a word of it. That wouldn’t be common sense. There’s something else in the wind.” “Ah! Mr. Fogg is a character, is he?” “I should say he was.” “Is he rich?” “No doubt, for he is carrying an enormous sum in brand new banknotes with him. And he doesn’t spare the money on the way, either: he has offered a large reward to the engineer of the ‘Mongolia’ if he gets us to Bombay well in advance of time.” “And you have known your master a long time?” “Why, no; I entered his service the very day we left London.” The effect of these replies upon the already suspicious and excited detective may be imagined. The hasty departure from London soon after the robbery; the large sum carried by Mr. Fogg; his eagerness to reach distant countries; the pretext of an eccentric and foolhardy bet—all confirmed Fix in his theory. He continued to pump poor Passepartout, and learned that he really knew little or nothing of his master, who lived a solitary existence in London, was said to be rich, though no one knew whence came his riches, and was mysterious and impenetrable in his affairs and habits. Fix felt sure that Phileas Fogg would not land at Suez, but was really going on to Bombay. “Is Bombay far from here?” asked Passepartout. “Pretty far. It is a ten days’ voyage by sea.” “And in what country is Bombay?” “India.” “In Asia?” “Certainly.” “The deuce! I was going to tell you there’s one thing that worries me—my burner!” “What burner?” “My gas-burner, which I forgot to turn off, and which is at this moment burning at my expense. I have calculated, monsieur, that I lose two shillings every four and twenty hours, exactly sixpence more than I earn; and you will understand that the longer our journey—” Did Fix pay any attention to Passepartout’s trouble about the gas? It is not probable. He was not listening, but was cogitating a project. Passepartout and he had now reached the shop, where Fix left his companion to make his purchases, after recommending him not to miss the steamer, and hurried back to the consulate. Now that he was fully convinced, Fix had quite recovered his equanimity. “Consul,” said he, “I have no longer any doubt. I have spotted my man. He passes himself off as an odd stick who is going round the world in eighty days.” “Then he’s a sharp fellow,” returned the consul, “and counts on returning to London after putting the police of the two countries off his track.” “We’ll see about that,” replied Fix. “But are you not mistaken?” “I am not mistaken.” “Why was this robber so anxious to prove, by the , that he had passed through Suez?” visa “Why? I have no idea; but listen to me.” He reported in a few words the most important parts of his conversation with Passepartout. “In short,” said the consul, “appearances are wholly against this man. And what are you going to do?” “Send a dispatch to London for a warrant of arrest to be dispatched instantly to Bombay, take passage on board the ‘Mongolia,’ follow my rogue to India, and there, on English ground, arrest him politely, with my warrant in my hand, and my hand on his shoulder.” Having uttered these words with a cool, careless air, the detective took leave of the consul, and repaired to the telegraph office, whence he sent the dispatch which we have seen to the London police office. A quarter of an hour later found Fix, with a small bag in his hand, proceeding on board the “Mongolia;” and, ere many moments longer, the noble steamer rode out at full steam upon the waters of the Red Sea. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (1994). Around the World in Eighty Days. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/103/103-h/103-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

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

Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG ASTOUNDS PASSEPARTOUT, HIS SERVANT here CHAPTER IV. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG ASTOUNDS PASSEPARTOUT, HIS SERVANT Having won twenty guineas at whist, and taken leave of his friends, Phileas Fogg, at twenty-five minutes past seven, left the Reform Club. Passepartout, who had conscientiously studied the programme of his duties, was more than surprised to see his master guilty of the inexactness of appearing at this unaccustomed hour; for, according to rule, he was not due in Saville Row until precisely midnight. Mr. Fogg repaired to his bedroom, and called out, “Passepartout!” Passepartout did not reply. It could not be he who was called; it was not the right hour. “Passepartout!” repeated Mr. Fogg, without raising his voice. Passepartout made his appearance. “I’ve called you twice,” observed his master. “But it is not midnight,” responded the other, showing his watch. “I know it; I don’t blame you. We start for Dover and Calais in ten minutes.” A puzzled grin overspread Passepartout’s round face; clearly he had not comprehended his master. “Monsieur is going to leave home?” “Yes,” returned Phileas Fogg. “We are going round the world.” Passepartout opened wide his eyes, raised his eyebrows, held up his hands, and seemed about to collapse, so overcome was he with stupefied astonishment. “Round the world!” he murmured. “In eighty days,” responded Mr. Fogg. “So we haven’t a moment to lose.” “But the trunks?” gasped Passepartout, unconsciously swaying his head from right to left. “We’ll have no trunks; only a carpet-bag, with two shirts and three pairs of stockings for me, and the same for you. We’ll buy our clothes on the way. Bring down my mackintosh and traveling-cloak, and some stout shoes, though we shall do little walking. Make haste!” Passepartout tried to reply, but could not. He went out, mounted to his own room, fell into a chair, and muttered: “That’s good, that is! And I, who wanted to remain quiet!” He mechanically set about making the preparations for departure. Around the world in eighty days! Was his master a fool? No. Was this a joke, then? They were going to Dover; good! To Calais; good again! After all, Passepartout, who had been away from France five years, would not be sorry to set foot on his native soil again. Perhaps they would go as far as Paris, and it would do his eyes good to see Paris once more. But surely a gentleman so chary of his steps would stop there; no doubt—but, then, it was none the less true that he was going away, this so domestic person hitherto! By eight o’clock Passepartout had packed the modest carpet-bag, containing the wardrobes of his master and himself; then, still troubled in mind, he carefully shut the door of his room, and descended to Mr. Fogg. Mr. Fogg was quite ready. Under his arm might have been observed a red-bound copy of Bradshaw’s Continental Railway Steam Transit and General Guide, with its timetables showing the arrival and departure of steamers and railways. He took the carpet-bag, opened it, and slipped into it a goodly roll of Bank of England notes, which would pass wherever he might go. “You have forgotten nothing?” asked he. “Nothing, monsieur.” “My mackintosh and cloak?” “Here they are.” “Good! Take this carpet-bag,” handing it to Passepartout. “Take good care of it, for there are twenty thousand pounds in it.” Passepartout nearly dropped the bag, as if the twenty thousand pounds were in gold, and weighed him down. Master and man then descended, the street-door was double-locked, and at the end of Saville Row they took a cab and drove rapidly to Charing Cross. The cab stopped before the railway station at twenty minutes past eight. Passepartout jumped off the box and followed his master, who, after paying the cabman, was about to enter the station, when a poor beggar-woman, with a child in her arms, her naked feet smeared with mud, her head covered with a wretched bonnet, from which hung a tattered feather, and her shoulders shrouded in a ragged shawl, approached, and mournfully asked for alms. Mr. Fogg took out the twenty guineas he had just won at whist, and handed them to the beggar, saying, “Here, my good woman. I’m glad that I met you;” and passed on. Passepartout had a moist sensation about the eyes; his master’s action touched his susceptible heart. Two first-class tickets for Paris having been speedily purchased, Mr. Fogg was crossing the station to the train, when he perceived his five friends of the Reform. “Well, gentlemen,” said he, “I’m off, you see; and, if you will examine my passport when I get back, you will be able to judge whether I have accomplished the journey agreed upon.” “Oh, that would be quite unnecessary, Mr. Fogg,” said Ralph politely. “We will trust your word, as a gentleman of honour.” “You do not forget when you are due in London again?” asked Stuart. “In eighty days; on Saturday, the 21st of December, 1872, at a quarter before nine p.m. Good-bye, gentlemen.” Phileas Fogg and his servant seated themselves in a first-class carriage at twenty minutes before nine; five minutes later the whistle screamed, and the train slowly glided out of the station. The night was dark, and a fine, steady rain was falling. Phileas Fogg, snugly ensconced in his corner, did not open his lips. Passepartout, not yet recovered from his stupefaction, clung mechanically to the carpet-bag, with its enormous treasure. Just as the train was whirling through Sydenham, Passepartout suddenly uttered a cry of despair. “What’s the matter?” asked Mr. Fogg. “Alas! In my hurry—I—I forgot—” “What?” “To turn off the gas in my room!” “Very well, young man,” returned Mr. Fogg, coolly; “it will burn—at your expense.” About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (1994). Around the World in Eighty Days. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/103/103-h/103-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG ASTOUNDS PASSEPARTOUT, HIS SERVANT

Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book .  IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT IS CONVINCED THAT HE HAS AT LAST FOUND HIS IDEAL here 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 Molière 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.” About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (1994). Around the World in Eighty Days. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/103/103-h/103-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

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

Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND PASSEPARTOUT ACCEPT EACH OTHER, THE ONE AS MASTER, THE OTHER AS MAN here 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. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (1994). Around the World in Eighty Days. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/103/103-h/103-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

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