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, tranquil¹ 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 resounded² in the Court of Chancery, or in the Exchequer³, 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 namnds resting on his knees, his body straight, his head erect⁴; he was steadily⁵ 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 cosy⁶ 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 newcomer, `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 outspoken⁷, I've had several trades. I've been an itinerant⁸ singer, a circus - rider, ?·à lavish⁹, nor, on the contra
bà!!! ò?ee ??(á?when I used to vault¹⁰ 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 sergeant¹¹ 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 mostad he travelled? It was likely, for no one seemed to know the world more familiarly; there was no spot so secluded¹³ that he did not appear to have an intimate acquaintance with it. He often corrected, with a few clear words, the thousand conjectures¹⁴ 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 justify¹⁵ 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, 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 penetrated¹⁶. A single domestic sufficed to serve him. He breakfasted and dined at the club, at hours mathematically fixed¹⁷, 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 chambers¹⁸ which the Reform provides for its favoured members. He passed ten hours out of the twenty-four in Saville Row, either in
d@!!! ?瘃
? 覊?`@alk it was with a regular step in the entrance hall with its mosaic¹⁹ flooring, or in the circular gallery with its dome¹² 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 proffered²⁰ the viands²¹ in special porcelain²², and on the finest linen²³; club decanters, of a lost mould, contained his sherry, his port, and his cinnamon-spiced claret; while his beverages²⁴ were refreshingly²⁵ 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 eccentricity²⁶.

The mansion²⁷ in Saville Row, though not sumptuous²⁸, 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 Fahrenheit²⁹ 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 armchair, 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 newcomer, `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 the 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 predecessor³⁰, James Forster, departing in his turn. Passepartout remained alone in the house in Saville Row.

1872年，白林敦花园坊赛微乐街七号（西锐登在1814年就死在这所住宅里），住着一位斐利亚·福克先生，这位福克先生似乎从来不做什么显以引人注目的事，可是他仍然是伦敦改良俱乐部里最特别、最引人注意的一个会员。

西锐登是一位为英国增光的伟大的演说家，继承他这所房子的福克先生却是一位令人捉摸不透的人物。关于福克先生的底细，人们只知道他是一位豪爽君子，一位英国上流社会里的绅士，其他就一点也不清楚了。

有人说他象拜伦——就是头象，至于脚可不象：他的脚并没有毛病，不过他的两颊和嘴上比拜伦多一点胡子，性情也比拜伦温和，就是活一千岁他大概也不会变样。

福克确实是个道地的英国人，但也许不是伦敦人。你在交易所里从来看不到他，银行里也见不着他，找遍伦敦商业区的任何一家商行也碰不上他。不论在伦敦的哪个港口，或是在伦敦的什么码头，从未停泊过船主名叫福克的船只。这位绅士也没有出席过任何一个行政管理委员会。不论在律师公会中，不论在伦敦四法学会的中院、内院、林肯院、或是格雷院，都从未听到过他的名字。此外,他从来也没有在大法官法庭、女皇御前审判厅、财政审计法院、教会法院这些地方打过官司。他既不开办工厂，也不经营、农业；他既不是搞说合的掮客，又不是做买卖的商人。他既未加入英国皇家学会，也未参加伦敦学会；既不是手工业者协会的成员，也不是罗素氏学会的会员；西方文学会里没有他的位置，法律学会里也没有他的名字；至于那仁慈的女皇陛下直接垂顾的科学艺术联合会跟他也毫无瓜葛。在英国的首都，自亚摩尼卡学会一直到以消灭害虫为宗旨的昆虫学会，有着许许多多这样大大小小的社会团体，而福克先生却不是其中任何一个团体的成员。

福克先生就只是改良俱乐部的会员，瞧，和盘托出，仅此而已。如果有人以为象福克这样古怪的人，居然也能参加象改良俱乐部这样光荣的团体，因而感到惊讶的话，人们就会告诉他：福克是经巴林氏兄弟的介绍才被接纳入会的。他在巴林兄弟银行存了一笔款子，因而获得了信誉，因为他的账面上永远有存款，他开的支票照例总是“凭票即付”。

这位福克先生是个财主吗？毫无疑问，当然是的。可是他的财产是怎样来的呢？这件事就连消息最灵通的人也说不出个究竟，只有福克先生自己最清楚，要打听这件事，最好是问他本人。福克先生从来不挥霍浪费，但也不小气吝啬。无论什么地方，有什么公益或慈善事业缺少经费，他总是不声不响地拿出钱来，甚至捐了钱，还不让人知道自己的姓名。

总而言之，再也没有比这位绅士更不爱与人交往的了。他尽可能少说话，似乎由于沉默寡言的缘故，他的性格越显得稀奇古怪，然而他的生活是很有规律的，一举一动总是那样准确而有规律，老是一个样子。这就更加引起人们对他产生了奇怪的猜测和想象。

他曾出门旅行过吗？这也很可能。因为在世界地理方面，谁也没有他的知识渊博，不管什么偏僻地方，他似乎都非常熟悉，有时他用简单明了的几句话，就澄清了俱乐部中流传的有关某某旅行家失踪或迷路的众说纷坛的流言。他指出这些事件的真正可能性，他好象具有一种千里透视的天资，事情的最后结果，一般总是证实了他的见解都是正确的。这个人理应是个到处都去过的人——至少在精神上他是到处都去过的。

不管怎样，有一件事却是十分肯定的：多年以来，福克先生就没有离开过伦敦。那些比别人对他了解得稍微多一些的人也可以证明：除了看见他每天经过那条笔直的马路从家里到俱乐部去以外，没有人能说在任何其他地方曾经看见过他。

他唯一的消遣就是看报和玩“惠司脱”，这种安静的娱乐最合于他的天性。他常常赢钱，但赢来的钱决不塞入自己的腰包。这笔钱在他做慈善事业的支出预算中，占一个重要部分，此外还必须特别提出，这位绅士显然是为娱乐而打牌，并不是为了赢钱。对他来说，打牌可以说是一场比武，是一场对困难的角力：但这种角力用不着大活动，也用不着移动脚步，又不会引起疲劳。这完全适合于他的性格。

人们都知道福克先生没有妻子儿女（这种情况，对过分老实的人说来是可能的），也没有亲戚朋友（这种情况，事实上是极其少见的）。福克先生就是独自一个人生活在赛微乐街的寓所里，从来也没有看到有人来拜访他。关于他在家里的私生活，从来也没有人谈起过。他家里只用一个仆人。他午餐晚餐都在俱乐部里吃，他按时吃饭，就象钟表一般精确。他用餐的地方，老是在一个固定的餐厅里，甚至老是坐在一个固定的桌位上。他从没请过会友，也没招待过一个外客。晚上十二点正，他就回家睡觉，从没住过改良俱乐部为会员准备的舒适的卧室。一天二十四小时，他待在家里有十小时，要么就是睡觉，要么就是梳洗。他在俱乐部即便活动活动，也准是在那铺着镶花地板的过厅里，或是回廊上踱踱方步。这走廊上部装着蓝花玻璃的拱顶，下面撑着二十根红云斑石的希腊爱奥尼式的圆柱子。不论是晚餐午餐，俱乐部的厨房、菜肴贮藏柜、食品供应处、鲜鱼供应处和牛奶房总要给他送来味道鲜美、营养丰富的食品；那些身穿黑礼服、脚登厚绒软底鞋、态度庄重的侍者，总要给他端上一套别致的器皿，放在萨克斯出产的花纹漂亮的桌布上；俱乐部保存的那些式样古朴的水晶杯，也总要为他装满西班牙白葡萄酒、葡萄牙红葡萄酒或是掺着香桂皮、香蕨和肉桂的粉红葡萄酒；为了保持饮料清凉可口，最后还给他送来俱乐部花了很大费用从美洲的湖泊里运来的冰块。

如果过这样生活的人就算是古怪，那也应该承认：这种古怪却也自有它的乐趣。

赛微乐街的住宅并不富丽堂皇，但却十分舒适。因为主人的生活习惯永远没有变化，所以需要佣人做的事也就不多。但是福克先生要求他仅有的一个仆人在日常工作中一定要按部就班，准确而又有规律。就在10月2日那一天，福克先生辞退了他的仆人詹姆斯·伏斯特，他被辞退的原因仅仅是：他本来应该替主人送来华氏八十六度剃胡子用的热水，但他送来的却是华氏八十四度的热水。现在伏斯特正在等候来接替他的新仆人。这人应该十一点到十一点半之间来。

福克先生四平八稳地坐在安乐椅上，双脚并拢得象受检阅的士兵一样，两手按在膝盖上，挺着身子，昂着脑袋，全神贯注地看着挂钟指针在移动——这只挂钟是一种计时，计分，计秒，计日，计星期，计月，又计年的复杂机器。按照他每天的习惯，钟一敲十一点半，他就离家到改良俱乐部去。

就在这时候，福克先生在小客厅里听到外面有人敲门。

被辞退的那个詹姆斯·伏斯特走了进来。

“新佣人来了。”他说。

一个三十来岁的小伙子走了进来，向福克先生行了个礼。

“你是法国人吗？你叫约翰吗？”福克先生问。

“我叫若望，假使老爷不反对的话，”新来的仆人回答说，“路路通是我的外号。凭这个名字，可以说明我天生就有精于办事的能耐。先生，我自信还是个诚实人，但是说实在话我干过很多种行业了。我作过闯江湖的歌手，当过马戏班的演员，我能象雷奥达一样在悬空的秋千架上飞腾，我能象布龙丹一样在绳索上跳舞；后来，为了使我的才能更发挥作用，我又当过体育教练。最后，我在巴黎作消防队班长，在这一段经历中，我还救过几场惊险的火灾呢。可是，到现在我离开法国已经五年了。因为我想尝尝当管家的生活滋味，所以才在英国当亲随佣人。如今我没有工作，知道您福克先生是联合王国里最讲究准确、最爱安静的人，所以就上您这儿来了，希望能在您府上安安静静地吃碗安稳饭，希望能忘记以往的一切，连我这个名字路路通也忘……”

“路路通这个名字倒满合我的口味，”主人回答说，“别人已经向我介绍过你的情况。我知道你有很多优点。你可知道在我这里工作的条件吗？”

“知道，先生。”

“那就好，现在你的表几点？”

路路通伸手从裤腰上的表口袋里掏出一只大银表，回答说：

“十一点二十二分。”

“你的表慢了，”福克先生说。

“请您别见怪，先生，我的表是不会慢的。”

“你的表慢了四分钟。不过不要紧，你只要记住所差的时间就行了。好吧，从现在算起，1872年10月2号星期三上午十一时二十九分开始，你就是我的佣人了。”

说罢，福克先生站起身来，左手拿起帽子，用一种机械的动作把帽子往头上一戴，一声不响地就走了。

路路通听到大门头一回关起来的声音：这是他的新主人出去了。不一会儿，又听见大门第二回关起来的声音：这是原先的仆人詹姆斯·伏斯特出去了。

现在赛微乐街的寓所里只剩下路路通一个人了。

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