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Around the World in Eighty Days (Bantam Classics) Mass Market Paperback – April 1, 1984
Purchase options and add-ons
- Reading age9 - 12 years
- Print length208 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- Grade levelPreschool - 1
- Lexile measure1070L
- Dimensions4.16 x 0.45 x 6.88 inches
- PublisherBantam Classics
- Publication dateApril 1, 1984
- ISBN-109780553213560
- ISBN-13978-0553213560
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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 Molire, 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.
Product details
- ASIN : 0553213563
- Publisher : Bantam Classics; English Language edition (April 1, 1984)
- Language : English
- Mass Market Paperback : 208 pages
- ISBN-10 : 9780553213560
- ISBN-13 : 978-0553213560
- Reading age : 9 - 12 years
- Lexile measure : 1070L
- Grade level : Preschool - 1
- Item Weight : 3.6 ounces
- Dimensions : 4.16 x 0.45 x 6.88 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #428,125 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #10,706 in Science Fiction Adventures
- #11,338 in Classic Literature & Fiction
- #23,171 in Literary Fiction (Books)
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About the authors
Jules Verne (1828-1905) was a French author best known for his tales of adventure, including Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea, Journey to the Center of the Earth, and Around the World in Eighty Days. A true visionary, Verne foresaw the skyscraper, the submarine, and the airplane, among many other inventions, and is now regarded as one of the fathers of science fiction.
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Paper Mill Press is proud to present a timeless collection of unabridged literary classics to a twenty-first century audience. Each original master work is reimagined into a sophisticated yet modern format with custom suede-like metallic foiled covers.
Leif Smart spent most of his life tinkering with technology, eventually turning it into a career, of sorts. At the back of his mind, however, he always dreamed about creating fantastical stories, set on far off planets or amongst mystical lands. When he finally grew tired of trying to fix the never ending computer problems of the world, he knew it was time to chase the dream. So, armed with a steady supply of skinny lattes and under the indifferent watch of his cat, Aeolyn, he set out to do just that.
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Benjamin Struck is a reader, a writer, and an avid outdoorsman. As a husband, and father of two, Benjamin finds great joy in family outings and get-togethers. He enjoys spending time alone in the cool, early morning hours before the sun has risen. Furthermore, as a lifelong, outdoor enthusiast, there is a special place in his heart for the deep woods of the Midwest United States.
Benjamin’s stories all revolve around his lived experiences out in the wild, his vivid imagination, and the daydreams of his childhood. When he was a young boy, Benjamin’s father would read stories to the whole family. This sparked a love and appreciation for fantasy in him from a young age. Benjamin’s stories will appeal to readers of THE LORD OF THE RINGS and THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA as well as other series such as REDWALL, THE SWORD OF TRUTH, and THE WHEEL OF TIME.
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Eloise Atwood is a literature teacher, researcher, and writer for magazines, journals, and ghostwriter. Most recently, Eloise has started to publish the many Extended and Annotated classic novels she’s produced over the years for students, friends, and fellow teachers in order to make them available to the wider public. Her unique approach when compiling the chosen works brings a fresh and enjoyable reading experience to timeless classics.
The in-depth research undertaken to produce the 'Extended Editions' provides new insights and excellent resources for anyone from teachers and home-schooling parents to simply curious readers.
Far from detracting from the original content, Eloise strives to provide all readers, young and not so young, with the opportunity to experience the novel as it was intended plus extend their reading experience if they choose. Eloise has never been prescriptive in her writing or teaching. She believes reading and learning should be a joy. To that end, she has crafted her works to encourage curiosity with fun and accessible content.
When not writing, Eloise spends her time walking, paddleboarding, cycling, and relaxing with her husband, ageing dogs, and baby in Oxford, England.
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General Press publishes high-quality POD books in almost all popular genres including Fiction, Nonfiction, Religion, Self-Help, Romance, Classics, etc.
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As a final reflection about the AmazonClassics books I can say they are, for works of public domain written in English, the best ones available: professional and exemplar formatting, modern typography, free of errors and free of introductions, studies and footnotes by nosy contemporary intellectuals with modern prejudices, instead, when you need it, there is the X-Ray function (the first paragraphs from the not that trusty Wikipedia that dislikes the past) to tell you what you need to know. They feel like having been written this morning for you, and that's good. The only strange detail is that they don't add the year of publication of the original edition. Nevertheless for foreign books most of them are good enough, with excellent translations from the public domain too, at first I was a bit afraid of outdated translations (which happens in Lysistrata and The Art of War) but for the most part I have grown fond of them. I don't know the original novel in French but so far the translation seems neutral. A very recommended edition and I am grateful to these AmazonClassics editions to take me into a journey of so many classical works in literature, science, philosophy and essays by many talented men and women in the history. I plan to get many of the books of this collection in good physical editions as a legacy for others after me (is a curious thought to wonder what happens with your Kindle books when your life ends), if you want to read this story in a good edition the AmazonClassics edition is a good choice.
Phileas Fogg is a practical, logical man with very predictable habits... so it comes across as a shock to both his newly hired servant, Passepartout, and the gentlemen's club he belong's to when he takes up a wager that will have him seeking to circumnavigate the world in no fewer than 80 days! With the long-suffering but eager to please Passepartout and a lovely Indian woman in tow, Fogg sets out to circle the world by train, steamship, elephant, sled, and any other means he can. But his journey is not without its mishaps or complications... the worst being a detective who suspects the journey is a ploy by Fogg to get away with a crime, and seeks to stop his journey at all costs...
The writing in this book can come across as a little stilted, especially to modern-readers. I attribute this partly to the common writing style of the time period and partly to the fact that this book is a translation -- often writing styles get lost in the shift from one language to the next. The story still manages to move at a fairly steady pace, though occasionally it gets bogged down in odd places. The story comes to a screeching halt at one point to deliver a history of the Mormon church in Utah, for example -- interesting, but hardly pertinent to the story -- and at other points pauses to make copious notes about the geography and architecture of wherever they happen to be. This makes it come across almost as a travelogue at times.
Fogg is a hard character to get to like at first -- so logical and seemingly without feeling that he's hard to relate to. His valet, Passepartout, is a much more relatable character, a hapless everyman dragged along in his master's footsteps but still willing to please. And as the story progresses Fogg reveals a warmer side to his personality, and gradually shows himself to be heroic as well as determined and not without sympathy toward others. And even Fix, the detective doggedly pursuing Fogg and his servant, is shown to be a decent character just trying to do justice as he sees it. The Indian woman who travels with them for much of the trip has little personality of her own, though -- she seems tossed in just to serve as a romantic interest. Ah well.
Also, a few bits included in this book are a little harsher in hindsight. An offhand remark about the number of bison blocking the train tracks and wishing they could just shoot them all can make the reader wince when they realize that bison were nearly driven to extinction in just such a manner...
While a little dated and slow to start, "Around the World in 80 Days" is still an entertaining adventure story, and while today one can traverse the world in a much shorter time, this is still a fascinating look at how it was done in centuries' past. And it's certainly a LOT better than the Jackie Chan film...
Reviewed in the United States on May 4, 2024
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Great Book for newcomers to improve english understanding and familiarity.
Great writer and good writing style
Reviewed in India on February 28, 2024