Passe-partout is convinced that he has attained the object of his
ambition.
"Faith," muttered Passe-partout, who for the moment felt rather in a
flutter; "faith, I have seen creatures at Madame Tussaud's quite as
lively as my new master."
Madame Tussaud's "creatures" are all of wax, and only want the power
of speech.
During the short period that Passe-partout had been in Mr. Fogg's
presence, he had carefully scrutinised his future master. He appeared
to be about forty years of age, with a fine face; a tall and well-made
man, whose figure was not too stout. He had light hair and whiskers, a
clear brow, a somewhat pale face, and splendid teeth. He appeared to
possess in a very marked degree that attribute which physiognomists
call "repose in action," a faculty appertaining to those whose motto
is "Deeds, not words." Calm and phlegmatic, with a clear and steady
eye, he was the perfect type of those cool Englishmen whom one meets
so frequently in the United Kingdom, and whom Angelica Kauffmann has
so wonderfully portrayed. Mr. Fogg gave one the idea of being
perfectly balanced, like a perfect chronometer, and as well regulated.
He was, in fact, the personification of exactness, which was evident
in the very expression of his hands and feet; for amongst men, as
amongst the lower animals, the members are expressive of certain
passions.
Phileas Fogg was one of those mathematical people who, never in a
hurry, and always ready, are economical of their movements. He never
made even one step too many; he always took the shortest cut; he never
wasted a glance, nor permitted himself a superfluous gesture. No one
had ever seen him agitated or moved by any emotion. He was the last
man in the world to hurry himself, but he always arrived in time. He
lived quite alone, and, so to speak, outside the social scale. He knew
that in life there is a great deal of friction; and as friction always
retards progress, he never rubbed against anybody.
As for Jean, who called himself Passe-partout, he was a Parisian of
the Parisians. He had been for five years in England, and had taken
service in London as a valet-de-chambre, during which period he had in
vain sought for such a master as Mr. Fogg.
Passe-partout was not one of those Frontii or Mascarilles, who, with
high shoulders and snubbed noses, and plenty of assurance, are nothing
more than impudent dunces; he was a good fellow, with a pleasant face,
somewhat full lips, always ready to eat or to kiss, with one of those
good round heads that one likes to see on the shoulders of one's
friends. He had bright blue eyes, was somewhat stout, but very
muscular, and possessed of great strength. He wore his hair in a
somewhat tumbled fashion. If sculptors of antiquity were aware of
eighteen ways of arranging the hair of Minerva, Passe-partout knew but
one way of doing his, namely, with three strokes of a comb.
We will not go as far as to predict how the man's nature would accord
with Mr. Fogg's. It was a question whether Passe-partout was the exact
sort of servant to suit such a master. Experience only would show.
After having passed his youth in such a vagabond manner, he looked
forward to some repose.
Having heard of the proverbial method and coolness of the English
gentleman, he had come to seek his fortune in England; but up to the
present time fate had been adverse. He had tried six situations, but
remained in none. In all of them he had found either a whimsical, an
irregular, or a restless master, which did not suit Passe-partout. His
last master, the young Lord Longsferry, M.P., after passing the
evening in the Haymarket, was carried home on the policemen's
shoulders. Passe-partout, wishing above all things to respect his
master, remonstrated in a respectful manner; but as his expostulations
were so ill received, he took his leave. It was at that time that he
heard Phileas Fogg was in search of a servant, and he presented
himself for the situation. A gentleman whose life was so regular, who
never stayed away from home, who never travelled, who never was absent
even for a day, was the very master for him, so he presented himself
and was engaged, as we have seen.
Thus it came to pass that at half-past eleven o'clock, Passe-partout
found himself alone in the house in Saville Row. He immediately
commenced to look about him, and search the house from cellar to
garret. This well-arranged, severe, almost puritanical house pleased
him very much. It appeared to him like the pretty shell of a snail;
but a snail's shell lighted and warmed with gas would serve for both
those purposes. He soon discovered the room he was to occupy, and was
quite satisfied. Electric bells and indiarubber speaking-tubes put him
into communication with the rooms, below. Upon the chimney-piece stood
an electric clock, which kept time exactly with that in Phileas Fogg's
bedroom.
"This will suit me exactly," said Passe-partout to himself.
He also remarked in his room a notice fixed above the clock. It was
the programme of his daily duties. It included the whole details of
the service from eight o'clock in the morning, the hour at which Mr.
Fogg invariably arose, to half-past eleven, when he left the house to
breakfast at the Reform Club. It comprised everything--the tea and
toast at twenty-three minutes past eight, the shaving-water at
thirty-seven minutes past nine, and his attendance at his master's
toilet at twenty minutes to ten, and so on. Then from half-past eleven
a.m. until midnight, when the methodical Fogg retired to bed,
everything was noted down and arranged for. Passe-partout joyfully set
himself to study the programme and to master its contents.
Mr. Fogg's wardrobe was well stocked and wonderfully arranged. Every
pair of trousers, coat, or waistcoat bore a number, which was also
noted in a register of entries and exits, indicating the date on
which, according to the season, the clothes were to be worn. There
were even relays of shoes and boots.
In fact, in this house in Saville Row, which had been a temple of
disorder in the days of the illustrious but dissipated Sheridan,
cosiness reigned supreme. There was no library and no books, which
would have been useless to Mr. Fogg, since there were two
reading-rooms at the Reform Club. In his bedroom was a small safe,
perfectly burglar and fire proof. There were no firearms nor any other
weapons in the house; everything proclaimed the owner to be a man of
peaceable habits.
After having examined the house thoroughly, Passe-partout rubbed his
hands joyously, a genial smile overspread his rounded face, and he
muttered:
"This suits me completely. It is the very thing. We understand each
other thoroughly, Mr. Fogg and I. He is a thoroughly regular and
domestic man, a true machine. Well, I am not sorry to serve a
machine."