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Around The World in 80 Days (Illustrated) (English Edition)
 
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Around The World in 80 Days (Illustrated) (English Edition) [Format Kindle]

Jules Verne

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Extrait

CHAPTER 1

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 checks 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 quickly, 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, harmonized 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 arm-chair, 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 new-comer, "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 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, October 2nd, 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.


CHAPTER 2


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 Molire, 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 recognized 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 idealized. 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.

From School Library Journal

Grade 6 Up?To most modern kids, classics may be great, worthy, even exciting stories, but they were written in and for their own times and the context can sometimes be obscure. Using the visually irresistible printing techniques popularized by the "Eyewitness" series, these two books, when prominently displayed, will probably attract more impulse readers than some of the dustier editions. But do they accomplish their stated aim? Direct textual illustration is plentiful, lively, and useful. The reproductions of prints, photographs, and maps that pepper each page and are intended to enhance readers' grasp of the times, however, are a mixed success. There is a sameness to them and an arbitrary feel to their use. Pirate buffs will find Treasure Island's variety of ship drawings, details of sailing minutiae, and photographs of pieces of eight or guns and swords quite satisfying. Verne's work is less enhanced by its graphics. This episodic travelogue would be best served by lots of clear maps with the route well marked. But the few maps shown are so small that the legends are unreadable and country and city names are blurred. Limitations aside, the initial appeal of this fresh approach may serve to attract some new readers to these enduring stories that have managed without any help for this long.?Sally Margolis, formerly at Deerfield Public Library, IL
Copyright 1996 Reed Business Information, Inc.

Détails sur le produit

  • Format : Format Kindle
  • Taille du fichier : 762 KB
  • Nombre de pages de l'édition imprimée : 247 pages
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  • Vendu par : Amazon Media EU S.à r.l.
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ASIN: B00M62YWPO
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Amazon.com: 4.4 étoiles sur 5  258 commentaires
57 internautes sur 59 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 steam powered excellence 31 mars 2010
Par I Teach Typing - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format:Format Kindle|Achat vérifié
I can't believe that a 130+ year old book translated to English was good enough to keep me up half the night but this brilliant old gem did. The story features the height of late 1800 steam technology and a couple of heros who want to circumnavigate the earth in 80 days to win a bet. The characters are surprisingly likable and the action is just GREAT. Put this at the top of the queue for great free reads and you will get a wonderful easy read and a brilliant view of the world.
50 internautes sur 53 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 Very Good Even If No Balloon Rides 9 juillet 2004
Par Brian P. McDonnell - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format:Relié
The story is about an eccentric Englishman named Phileas Fogg who makes a twenty thousand pound bet with five of his rich country club friends to travel around the world in eighty days with his trusty servant Passepartout a Frenchman. Along the way they have to overcome many obstacles. Fogg spends most of his fortune overcoming these obstacles and if they don't win the bet he will be ruined. There are some things however that even money can't overcome and several times Fogg is faced with a moral decision that if he pursues the right thing to do will significantly set him back on time.
Their travels take them through England, Paris, the Suez Canal, Egypt, India, Hong Kong, Japan, America, and Ireland. In India they rescue a princess who stays on with them throughout the rest of their journey and a love interest grows between her and Fogg. There is also another subplot involving a bank robbery in England where 55 thousand pounds have been stolen, and Fogg is considered to be the main suspect. A detective Fix is assigned to follow Fogg and to arrest him once he sets foot on English territory.
This book seems to be split into two parts. During the first part of the book when things are going smoothly the servant Passepartout seems to be the main character. At each port Fogg stays in his cabin and just focuses on the next leg of the trip while Passepartout ventures out and gives you a description of the land. It would seem a shame to travel all around the world and not pause to take in any of the sights as Fogg does. I found most of these early chapters pretty mundane and uneventful.
The subplot with Fix at times becomes annoying, and it isn't until they are all working towards the same goal, that this line of the story improves. I also found the exchange rate between dollars and pounds confusing at times. The pound must have been about four or five times greater than the dollar at the time this story was written. Fogg leaves England with around twenty thousand pounds and spends it seems over a hundred thousand dollars on the trip.
Later on as the story progresses and things start to go wrong the focus changes over to Fogg. Passepartout still does some heroic things, but Fogg takes charge and shows some redeeming qualities. The pace of the story quickens and becomes more enjoyable with a few skirmishes taking place in India and America. Fogg seems a different person upon returning to England, and his life is changed forever.
My wife has a framed poster that hangs on one of our walls with a collage of all of the movies that have won the best picture of the year award. "Around The World In Eighty Days" won the award in 1956, and the picture is represented in the collage with the main character Phileas Fogg and his trusty servant Passepartout taking a balloon flight. Based on this picture for years I always assumed the book was about a trip in a balloon around the world. I was surprised then to find out once I finally got a chance to read the actual book that they travel by boat, train, car, sled, and even elephant, but that they never travel by balloon. It turns out that the most memorable scene from the movie was made up by the director and added on to the story. The director seemed to have come to same conclusion that I did, that the written story itself was very good, but I was expecting something a little more.
The book was written in 1873. Jules Verne the author is a Frenchman. In this day and age it was pleasing to see both England and America looked upon in such a favorable light. Englishmen were portrayed as noble and Americans were portrayed as wild and adventurous.
34 internautes sur 35 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Justina's Review 24 novembre 2000
L'évaluation d'un enfant - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format:Relié
I think this book is a superior book because it is full of action. This book is about a man named Mr. Phileas Fogg, and his faithful servant, Passepartout, that wager a bet that They can travel the whole world in eighty days stopping at Suez via Mont Cenis and Brindisi, then to Bombay, then Calcutta, Hong Kong, Japan (Yokohama), San Francisco, New York, back to London, all within eighty days, and by steamboats, and trains. However, a nosy detective, Detective Fix, tracks them down, and tries to arrest Mr. Fogg because he believes that Fogg stole fifty-five thousand pounds. As one may guess, this greatly detains Mr. Fogg, and it seems like he may not make the trip around the world after all. However, the Fix never seems to catch up with Fogg, and Fogg triumphs over most of the obstacles that come his way, like missing boats, missing trains, missing people, and Fogg even meets and rescues a beautiful Indian Princess called Aouda. However, Fix finally catches up to the detective, and everything seems lost for Fogg until Fix discovers that Fogg was not the robber, and Fogg is released. Even so, Fogg is one day late, and in doing so, misses the train that would have taken him to London precisely to win the bet. He ordered a special train, but even in doing so, still misses the bet...or so he thinks. The ending of the book is a very unexpected one. Read this book and find out!
27 internautes sur 30 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Enjoyable! 31 décembre 2009
Par Cindy Newby - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format:Format Kindle|Achat vérifié
This book is for a wet, cold winter day when you can curl up with a warm blanket and a cup of tea. It takes you on a wonderful, exciting trip around the world. The descriptions and word pictures make this a great book for all ages.
16 internautes sur 17 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 A great adventure in space and time. 5 juin 1999
Par R. D. Allison (dallison@biochem.med.ufl.edu) - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format:Poche
This is Verne's classic story of the trip of Phileas Fogg (who is obsessed with time), Passeportout, Aouda, and Detective Fix around the world on a wager. The book is filled with beautiful time and space imagery throughout (I would bet that one could write an entire thesis on all the time and space references in the novel). Thirty-three years after its publication, the world first learns of the space/time continuum (although I'm certain Verne was not anticipating Einstein). Fogg bets his fellow club members that he can circumnavigate the globe in a mere eighty days. He leaves immediately with his valet Passeportout and is pursued by Detective Fix, who thinks he is a bank robber. Through many adventures, including the rescue of Aouda from immolation, they all return to London. Interestingly, a few years later, after a number of improvements had been made in railways and roads, a U.S. journalist named Nellie Bly (the pseudonym of Elizabeth Cochrane) decided to attempt to break Fogg's "record." Leaving New York on November 14, 1889, she was able to circumnavigate the globe in 72 days, 6 hours, 11 minutes, and 14 seconds. But, she didn't rescue a Hindu princess! It should be noted, however, that one has to be very careful concerning the translations of this novel. There are some terrible ones being sold. Perhaps that's the reason for the few poor comments by earlier reviewers. There is an excellent translation by William Butcher that appeared in 1995.
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