Chapter: 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.





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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No."

"Perhaps he's a manufacturer, then."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pshaw!"

"Where could he go, then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"In eighty days," interrupted Phileas Fogg.

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

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

"Yes, in eighty days!" exclaimed Stuart, who in his excitement made a
false deal.  "But that doesn't take into account bad weather, contrary
winds, shipwrecks, railway accidents, and so on."

"All included," returned Phileas Fogg, continuing to play despite the
discussion.

"But suppose the Hindoos or Indians pull up the rails," replied Stuart;
"suppose they stop the trains, pillage the luggage-vans, and scalp the
passengers!"

"All included," calmly retorted Fogg; adding, as he threw down the
cards, "Two trumps."

Stuart, whose turn it was to deal, gathered them up, and went on: "You
are right, theoretically, Mr. Fogg, but practically--"

"Practically also, Mr. Stuart."

"I'd like to see you do it in eighty days."

"It depends on you.  Shall we go?"

"Heaven preserve me!  But I would wager four thousand pounds that such
a journey, made under these conditions, is impossible."

"Quite possible, on the contrary," returned Mr. Fogg.

"Well, make it, then!"

"The journey round the world in eighty days?"

"Yes."

"I should like nothing better."

"When?"

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

"It's absurd!" cried Stuart, who was beginning to be annoyed at the
persistency of his friend.  "Come, let's go on with the game."

"Deal over again, then," said Phileas Fogg.  "There's a false deal."

Stuart took up the pack with a feverish hand; then suddenly put them
down again.

"Well, Mr. Fogg," said he, "it shall be so: I will wager the four
thousand on it."

"Calm yourself, my dear Stuart," said Fallentin.  "It's only a joke."

"When I say I'll wager," returned Stuart, "I mean it."  

"All right," said Mr. Fogg; and, turning to the others, he continued:
"I have a deposit of twenty thousand at Baring's which I will willingly
risk upon it."

"Twenty thousand pounds!" cried Sullivan.  "Twenty thousand pounds,
which you would lose by a single accidental delay!"

"The unforeseen does not exist," quietly replied Phileas Fogg.

"But, Mr. Fogg, eighty days are only the estimate of the least possible
time in which the journey can be made."

"A well-used minimum suffices for everything."

"But, in order not to exceed it, you must jump mathematically from the
trains upon the steamers, and from the steamers upon the trains again."

"I will jump--mathematically."

"You are joking."

"A true Englishman doesn't joke when he is talking about so serious a
thing as a wager," replied Phileas Fogg, solemnly.  "I will bet twenty
thousand pounds against anyone who wishes that I will make the tour of
the world in eighty days or less; in nineteen hundred and twenty hours,
or a hundred and fifteen thousand two hundred minutes.  Do you accept?"

"We accept," replied Messrs. Stuart, Fallentin, Sullivan, Flanagan, and
Ralph, after consulting each other.

"Good," said Mr. Fogg.  "The train leaves for Dover at a quarter before
nine.  I will take it."

"This very evening?" asked Stuart.

"This very evening," returned Phileas Fogg.  He took out and consulted
a pocket almanac, and added,  "As today is Wednesday, the 2nd of
October, I shall be due in London in this very room of the Reform Club,
on Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter before nine p.m.; or
else the twenty thousand pounds, now deposited in my name at Baring's,
will belong to you, in fact and in right, gentlemen.  Here is a cheque
for the amount."

A memorandum of the wager was at once drawn up and signed by the six
parties, during which Phileas Fogg preserved a stoical composure.  He
certainly did not bet to win, and had only staked the twenty thousand
pounds, half of his fortune, because he foresaw that he might have to
expend the other half to carry out this difficult, not to say
unattainable, project.  As for his antagonists, they seemed much
agitated; not so much by the value of their stake, as because they had
some scruples about betting under conditions so difficult to their
friend.

The clock struck seven, and the party offered to suspend the game so
that Mr. Fogg might make his preparations for departure.

"I am quite ready now," was his tranquil response.  "Diamonds are
trumps: be so good as to play, gentlemen."




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."




Phileas Fogg rightly suspected that his departure from London would
create a lively sensation at the West End.  The news of the bet spread
through the Reform Club, and afforded an exciting topic of conversation
to its members.  From the club it soon got into the papers throughout
England.  The boasted "tour of the world" was talked about, disputed,
argued with as much warmth as if the subject were another Alabama
claim.  Some took sides with Phileas Fogg, but the large majority shook
their heads and declared against him; it was absurd, impossible, they
declared, that the tour of the world could be made, except
theoretically and on paper, in this minimum of time, and with the
existing means of travelling.  The Times, Standard, Morning Post, and
Daily News, and twenty other highly respectable newspapers scouted Mr.
Fogg's project as madness; the Daily Telegraph alone hesitatingly
supported him.  People in general thought him a lunatic, and blamed his
Reform Club friends for having accepted a wager which betrayed the
mental aberration of its proposer.

Articles no less passionate than logical appeared on the question, for
geography is one of the pet subjects of the English; and the columns
devoted to Phileas Fogg's venture were eagerly devoured by all classes
of readers.  At first some rash individuals, principally of the gentler
sex, espoused his cause, which became still more popular when the
Illustrated London News came out with his portrait, copied from a
photograph in the Reform Club.  A few readers of the Daily Telegraph
even dared to say, "Why not, after all?  Stranger things have come to
pass."

At last a long article appeared, on the 7th of October, in the bulletin
of the Royal Geographical Society, which treated the question from
every point of view, and demonstrated the utter folly of the enterprise.

Everything, it said, was against the travellers, every obstacle imposed
alike by man and by nature.  A miraculous agreement of the times of
departure and arrival, which was impossible, was absolutely necessary
to his success.  He might, perhaps, reckon on the arrival of trains at
the designated hours, in Europe, where the distances were relatively
moderate; but when he calculated upon crossing India in three days, and
the United States in seven, could he rely beyond misgiving upon
accomplishing his task?  There were accidents to machinery, the
liability of trains to run off the line, collisions, bad weather, the
blocking up by snow--were not all these against Phileas Fogg?  Would he
not find himself, when travelling by steamer in winter, at the mercy of
the winds and fogs?  Is it uncommon for the best ocean steamers to be
two or three days behind time?  But a single delay would suffice to
fatally break the chain of communication; should Phileas Fogg once
miss, even by an hour; a steamer, he would have to wait for the next,
and that would irrevocably render his attempt vain.

This article made a great deal of noise, and, being copied into all the
papers, seriously depressed the advocates of the rash tourist.

Everybody knows that England is the world of betting men, who are of a
higher class than mere gamblers; to bet is in the English temperament.
Not only the members of the Reform, but the general public, made heavy
wagers for or against Phileas Fogg, who was set down in the betting
books as if he were a race-horse.  Bonds were issued, and made their
appearance on 'Change; "Phileas Fogg bonds" were offered at par or at a
premium, and a great business was done in them.  But five days after
the article in the bulletin of the Geographical Society appeared, the
demand began to subside:  "Phileas Fogg" declined.  They were offered
by packages, at first of five, then of ten, until at last nobody would
take less than twenty, fifty, a hundred!

Lord Albemarle, an elderly paralytic gentleman, was now the only
advocate of Phileas Fogg left.  This noble lord, who was fastened to
his chair, would have given his fortune to be able to make the tour of
the world, if it took ten years; and he bet five thousand pounds on
Phileas Fogg.  When the folly as well as the uselessness of the
adventure was pointed out to him, he contented himself with replying,
"If the thing is feasible, the first to do it ought to be an
Englishman."

The Fogg party dwindled more and more, everybody was going against him,
and the bets stood a hundred and fifty and two hundred to one; and a
week after his departure an incident occurred which deprived him of
backers at any price.

The commissioner of police was sitting in his office at nine o'clock
one evening, when the following telegraphic dispatch was put into his
hands:

Suez to London.

Rowan, Commissioner of Police, Scotland Yard:

I've found the bank robber, Phileas Fogg.  Send with out delay warrant
of arrest to Bombay.

Fix, Detective.

The effect of this dispatch was instantaneous.  The polished gentleman
disappeared to give place to the bank robber.  His photograph, which
was hung with those of the rest of the members at the Reform Club, was
minutely examined, and it betrayed, feature by feature, the description
of the robber which had been provided to the police.  The mysterious
habits of Phileas Fogg were recalled; his solitary ways, his sudden
departure; and it seemed clear that, in undertaking a tour round the
world on the pretext of a wager, he had had no other end in view than
to elude the detectives, and throw them off his track.

 Mr. Phileas Fogg is a wealthy man living in London. He has a very uninteresting social life aside from being a member of the Reform Club, a private London society for gentlemen. He does not have a wife or children. He speaks very often about the world, seeming to know so much of it, so people assume he has traveled--however, most are fairly certain that he has not left London for many years. Mr. Fogg spends nearly all day, every day at the Reform Club's clubhouse, and has a single servant who attends to him at home. He has recently dismissed one of these servants, and now instead is served by a Frenchman from Paris named Jean Passepartout. Passepartout is looking forward to his new job, but is somewhat wary about his master, surprised by how serious, exact, and deliberate he is in all aspects of his life. Passepartout himself is lively and proud, so it would be interesting to see how his personality meshes with Mr. Fogg's. Nevertheless, he thinks he and his master shall get along and is excited to begin his work. On Passepartout's very first day on the job, Mr. Fogg goes to the Reform Club at half past eleven in the morning, as he always does. He eats breakfast there, and begins to talk to the other club members, notably a man named Ralph. They discuss a robbery that has occurred at the Bank of England, who stole fifty-five thousand pounds. The Daily Telegraph newspaper says that the thief was a gentleman, and likely did not belong to a professional band of robbers. They wonder how far the thief could have gotten, and someone remarks that the world is such a big place that he could have gone anywhere. Mr. Fogg says that the world has become smaller, and Ralph agrees, saying you can get around the entire world much more quickly than you ever could before. Mr. Fogg says you can get around it in eighty days now, and one of the other club members confirms, referring to an estimate made by the Daily Telegraph now that the final section of railway across the Indian continent has been finished. The men remark that the eighty days estimate does not account for weather, shipwrecks, railway accidents, or any other incidents that could delay a person. Mr. Fogg disagrees, and says that these are all included. Stuart, one of the club members, says he would like to see Mr. Fogg do it in eighty days. It becomes a wager; Mr. Fogg bets twenty thousand pounds that he can make it around the world in eighty days or less. The club members cannot believe that he would make such a serious bet, but, sure he will fail and they will win twenty thousand pounds, they agree to it. Mr. Fogg plans to leave that night. Mr. Fogg returns home to tell Passepartout that the two of them will be going around the world. Passepartout is astounded, and also does not think they can make it in eighty days, but is enticed by the prospect of the adventure all the same. They pack only carpetbags, planning to buy clothing as they go. As they leave, though, Passepartout realizes he left the gas heater burning in his room--he cannot delay his master by going back to turn it off, so when they return from their voyage, the money spent from burning it for so long would be deducted from Passepartout's salary. The news of Mr. Fogg's departure spreads rapidly throughout London, and all of the newspapers cover it. People make their own bets on whether or not he will succeed. Suddenly, though, the police commissioner in London receives a telegram accusing Phileas Fogg of being the man who robbed the Bank of England. It seems to make sense, due to Phileas Fogg's solitary nature and his hurry to leave England and go across the world. The commissioner believes it must have been to elude detectives. Chapter V ends on a cliffhanger, and foreshadows major trouble ahead for Mr. Fogg on his journey. It leaves readers wondering whether or not Phileas Fogg really is the bank robber, since the police commissioner's analysis of the accusation seems so logical. This is just the first of many extenuating circumstances that will make an eighty-day trip even harder to accomplish.

