Around the World in 80 Days | Page 3

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AROUND THE WORLD IN EIGHTY DAYS


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