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1IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT IS CONVINCED THAT HE HAS AT LAST FOUND HIS IDEAL "Faith," muttered Passepartout, somewhat
2flurried, "I've seen people at Madame Tussaud's as lively as my new master!" Madame Tussaud's "people," let it be said,
3are of wax, and are much visited in London; speech is all that is wanting to make them human. During his brief interview
4with Mr. Fogg, Passepartout had been carefully observing him. He appeared to be a man about forty years of age, with
5fine, handsome features, and a tall, well-shaped figure; his hair and whiskers were light, his forehead compact and
6unwrinkled, his face rather pale, his teeth magnificent. His countenance possessed in the highest degree what
7physiognomists call "repose in action," a quality of those who act rather than talk. Calm and phlegmatic, with a clear
8eye, Mr. Fogg seemed a perfect type of that English composure which Angelica Kauffmann has so skilfully represented on
9canvas. Seen in the various phases of his daily life, he gave the idea of being perfectly well-balanced, as exactly
10regulated as a Leroy chronometer. Phileas Fogg was, indeed, exactitude personified, and this was betrayed even in the
11expression of his very hands and feet; for in men, as well as in animals, the limbs themselves are expressive of the
12passions. He was so exact that he was never in a hurry, was always ready, and was economical alike of his steps and his
13motions. He never took one step too many, and always went to his destination by the shortest cut; he made no superfluous
14gestures, and was never seen to be moved or agitated. He was the most deliberate person in the world, yet always reached
15his destination at the exact moment. He lived alone, and, so to speak, outside of every social relation; and as he knew
16that in this world account must be taken of friction, and that friction retards, he never rubbed against anybody. As for
17Passepartout, he was a true Parisian of Paris. Since he had abandoned his own country for England, taking service as a
18valet, he had in vain searched for a master after his own heart. Passepartout was by no means one of those pert dunces
19depicted by Molière with a bold gaze and a nose held high in the air; he was an honest fellow, with a pleasant face,
20lips a trifle protruding, soft-mannered and serviceable, with a good round head, such as one likes to see on the
21shoulders of a friend. His eyes were blue, his complexion rubicund, his figure almost portly and well-built, his body
22muscular, and his physical powers fully developed by the exercises of his younger days. His brown hair was somewhat
23tumbled; for, while the ancient sculptors are said to have known eighteen methods of arranging Minerva's tresses,
24Passepartout was familiar with but one of dressing his own: three strokes of a large-tooth comb completed his toilet. It
25would be rash to predict how Passepartout's lively nature would agree with Mr. Fogg. It was impossible to tell whether
26the new servant would turn out as absolutely methodical as his master required; experience alone could solve the
27question. Passepartout had been a sort of vagrant in his early years, and now yearned for repose; but so far he had
28failed to find it, though he had already served in ten English houses. But he could not take root in any of these; with
29chagrin, he found his masters invariably whimsical and irregular, constantly running about the country, or on the
30look-out for adventure. His last master, young Lord Longferry, Member of Parliament, after passing his nights in the
31Haymarket taverns, was too often brought home in the morning on policemen's shoulders. Passepartout, desirous of
32respecting the gentleman whom he served, ventured a mild remonstrance on such conduct; which, being ill-received, he
33took his leave. Hearing that Mr. Phileas Fogg was looking for a servant, and that his life was one of unbroken
34regularity, that he neither travelled nor stayed from home overnight, he felt sure that this would be the place he was
35after. He presented himself, and was accepted, as has been seen. At half-past eleven, then, Passepartout found himself
36alone in the house in Saville Row. He began its inspection without delay, scouring it from cellar to garret. So clean,
37well-arranged, solemn a mansion pleased him; it seemed to him like a snail's shell, lighted and warmed by gas, which
38sufficed for both these purposes. When Passepartout reached the second story he recognised at once the room which he was
39to inhabit, and he was well satisfied with it. Electric bells and speaking-tubes afforded communication with the lower
40stories; while on the mantel stood an electric clock, precisely like that in Mr. Fogg's bedchamber, both beating the
41same second at the same instant. "That's good, that'll do," said Passepartout to himself. He suddenly observed, hung
42over the clock, a card which, upon inspection, proved to be a programme of the daily routine of the house. It comprised
43all that was required of the servant, from eight in the morning, exactly at which hour Phileas Fogg rose, till half-past
44eleven, when he left the house for the Reform Club--all the details of service, the tea and toast at twenty-three
45minutes past eight, the shaving-water at thirty-seven minutes past nine, and the toilet at twenty minutes before ten.
46Everything was regulated and foreseen that was to be done from half-past eleven a.m. till midnight, the hour at which
47the methodical gentleman retired. Mr. Fogg's wardrobe was amply supplied and in the best taste. Each pair of trousers,
48coat, and vest bore a number, indicating the time of year and season at which they were in turn to be laid out for
49wearing; and the same system was applied to the master's shoes. In short, the house in Saville Row, which must have been
50a very temple of disorder and unrest under the illustrious but dissipated Sheridan, was cosiness, comfort, and method
51idealised. There was no study, nor were there books, which would have been quite useless to Mr. Fogg; for at the Reform
52two libraries, one of general literature and the other of law and politics, were at his service. A moderate-sized safe
53stood in his bedroom, constructed so as to defy fire as well as burglars; but Passepartout found neither arms nor
54hunting weapons anywhere; everything betrayed the most tranquil and peaceable habits. Having scrutinised the house from
55top to bottom, he rubbed his hands, a broad smile overspread his features, and he said joyfully, "This is just what I
56wanted! Ah, we shall get on together, Mr. Fogg and I! What a domestic and regular gentleman! A real machine; well, I
57don't mind serving a machine."
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