Вокруг света за 80 дней / Around the World in 80 Days

Chapter II

“Oh,” muttered Passepartout, “I’ve seen people at Madame Tussaud’s[18] as lively as my new master!” Madame Tussaud’s “people,” let it be said, are of wax, and are much visited in London.

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. Calm and phlegmatic, with a clear eye, Mr. Fogg seemed a perfect type of that English composure. 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 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. He lived alone, and, so to speak, outside of every social relation.

As for Passepartout, he was a true Parisian of Paris[19]. 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 an honest fellow, with a pleasant face, 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[20].

It would be rash to predict how Passepartout’s lively nature would agree with Mr. Fogg. 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.

At half-past eleven, then, Passepartout found himself alone in the house in Saville Row. He began its inspection without delay. So clean, well-arranged, solemn a mansion pleased him; it seemed to him like a snail’s shell, lighted and warmed by gas. He suddenly observed a card—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.

“This is just what I wanted!” said Passepartout to himself. “Ah, we shall get on together[21], Mr. Fogg and I! What a domestic and regular gentleman! A real machine; well, I don’t mind serving a machine.”