In 1872, Mr. Phileas Fogg lived in a comfortable house in London. He was a
mysterious man. People knew very little about him, except that he was a perfect
gentleman and a member of the exclusive Reform Club. He did not work in a bank,
he did not own ships, and he did not belong to any scientific societies. He was
simply a member of his private club, and that was all.
Was Phileas Fogg rich? Definitely. But nobody knew how he had made his fortune.
He never talked about his money. If someone needed financial help for a good
cause, he gave it quietly. He spent most of his time reading the newspaper and
playing cards at his club. He often won, but he always gave his winnings away to
charity. He had no wife, no children, and no close friends.
He lived alone and followed a strict routine. He woke up, ate, and went to sleep
at the exact same time every single day. He demanded the same absolute
perfection from his only servant.
On this particular day, the 2nd of October, Fogg was waiting for a new servant.
He had just fired his previous one for a terrible mistake. The young man had
brought Fogg his shaving water at eighty-four degrees instead of eighty-six.
Now, Fogg sat straight in his armchair, watching a large clock tick by the
seconds. At exactly half-past eleven, he planned to leave his house and walk to
the club.
There was a knock on the door. The fired servant stepped into the room.
"The new servant," he announced.
A young man of thirty walked in and bowed.
"You are French, I believe," said Phileas Fogg. "And your name is John?"
"Jean, if you please, sir," replied the young man. "Jean Passepartout. People
call me that because I have a natural talent for getting out of difficult
situations. I have worked many jobs. I was a singer, a circus acrobat, and even
a firefighter in Paris. But I left France five years ago. Now, I just want a
quiet life. I heard that Mr. Fogg is the most predictable and quiet gentleman in
England. So, I came here hoping to serve you and finally find some peace."
"Passepartout suits me," Mr. Fogg replied. "I have heard good things about you.
Do you know my rules?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. What time is it?"
Passepartout pulled an enormous silver watch from his pocket. "Twenty-two
minutes past eleven."
"You are slow," said Mr. Fogg.
"Forgive me, sir, but that is impossible—"
"You are four minutes slow. It does not matter, as long as you know the mistake.
Now, from this moment, twenty-nine minutes past eleven in the morning, this
Wednesday, the 2nd of October, you are hired."
Phileas Fogg stood up. He picked up his hat, put it on his head with a smooth,
automatic motion, and walked out of the room without another word.
Passepartout heard the heavy front door close. His new master had left. A moment
later, he heard the door close again. The old servant was gone, too.
Passepartout was now completely alone in the house.