Passepartout Is Glad to Escape With Only His Shoes Lost

Everybody knows that the great reversed triangle of land, with its base in the north and its apex in the south, which is called India, embraces fourteen hundred thousand square miles, upon which is spread unequally a population of one hundred and eighty millions of souls. The British Crown exercises a real and despotic dominion over the larger portion of this vast country, and has a governor-general stationed at Calcutta, governors at Madras, Bombay, and in Bengal, and a lieutenant-governor at Agra.

Everybody knows that India is a vast, inverted triangle of land, with its base in the north and its tip in the south. It covers 1.4 million square miles and has a population of 180 million people, unevenly spread across the land. The British Crown exercises real and despotic rule over most of this vast country. It has a governor-general in Calcutta, governors in Madras, Bombay, and Bengal, and a lieutenant governor in Agra.

But British India, properly so called, only embraces seven hundred thousand square miles, and a population of from one hundred to one hundred and ten millions of inhabitants. A considerable portion of India is still free from British authority; and there are certain ferocious rajahs in the interior who are absolutely independent. The celebrated East India Company was all-powerful from 1756, when the English first gained a foothold on the spot where now stands the city of Madras, down to the time of the great Sepoy insurrection. It gradually annexed province after province, purchasing them of the native chiefs, whom it seldom paid, and appointed the governor-general and his subordinates, civil and military. But the East India Company has now passed away, leaving the British possessions in India directly under the control of the Crown. The aspect of the country, as well as the manners and distinctions of race, is daily changing.

But British India, strictly speaking, covers only 700,000 square miles and has a population of 100 to 110 million. A considerable part of India remains free from British authority. Certain fierce rajahs in the interior are completely independent. The famous East India Company was all-powerful from 1756 until the great Sepoy uprising. In 1756, the English first gained a foothold where the city of Madras now stands. The company gradually annexed province after province, buying them from local chiefs, whom it rarely paid. It also appointed the governor-general and his civilian and military subordinates. But the East India Company is now gone, leaving the British possessions in India directly under the Crown’s control. The appearance of the country, as well as its customs and distinctions of race, is changing daily.

Formerly one was obliged to travel in India by the old cumbrous methods of going on foot or on horseback, in palanquins or unwieldy coaches; now fast steamboats ply on the Indus and the Ganges, and a great railway, with branch lines joining the main line at many points on its route, traverses the peninsula from Bombay to Calcutta in three days. This railway does not run in a direct line across India. The distance between Bombay and Calcutta, as the bird flies, is only from one thousand to eleven hundred miles; but the deflections of the road increase this distance by more than a third.

In the past, people had to travel through India by slow, cumbersome means. They went on foot or horseback, or rode in palanquins or bulky coaches. Now fast steamboats travel the Indus and the Ganges. A great railway crosses the peninsula from Bombay to Calcutta in three days. Branch lines join the main line at many points along the route. The railway does not run directly across India. In a straight line, Bombay and Calcutta are only 1,000 to 1,100 miles apart. But the railway’s detours increase the distance by more than a third.

The general route of the Great Indian Peninsula Railway is as follows: Leaving Bombay, it passes through Salcette, crossing to the continent opposite Tannah, goes over the chain of the Western Ghauts, runs thence north-east as far as Burhampoor, skirts the nearly independent territory of Bundelcund, ascends to Allahabad, turns thence eastwardly, meeting the Ganges at Benares, then departs from the river a little, and, descending south-eastward by Burdivan and the French town of Chandernagor, has its terminus at Calcutta.

The Great Indian Peninsula Railway follows this general route. Leaving Bombay, it passes through Salcette and crosses to the mainland opposite Tannah. It goes over the Western Ghauts and runs northeast to Burhampoor. It skirts the nearly independent territory of Bundelcund and continues up to Allahabad. There it turns east and meets the Ganges at Benares. The railway then moves a little away from the river and runs southeast through Burdivan and the French town of Chandernagor. It ends at Calcutta.

The passengers of the “Mongolia” went ashore at half-past four p.m.; at exactly eight the train would start for Calcutta.

The passengers of the “Mongolia” went ashore at 4:30 p.m. The train would leave for Calcutta at exactly 8 p.m.

Mr. Fogg, after bidding good-bye to his whist partners, left the steamer, gave his servant several errands to do, urged it upon him to be at the station promptly at eight, and, with his regular step, which beat to the second, like an astronomical clock, directed his steps to the passport office. As for the wonders of Bombay—its famous city hall, its splendid library, its forts and docks, its bazaars, mosques, synagogues, its Armenian churches, and the noble pagoda on Malabar Hill, with its two polygonal towers—he cared not a straw to see them. He would not deign to examine even the masterpieces of Elephanta, or the mysterious hypogea, concealed south-east from the docks, or those fine remains of Buddhist architecture, the Kanherian grottoes of the island of Salcette.

Mr. Fogg said goodbye to his whist partners and left the steamer. He gave his servant several errands and urged him to be at the station promptly at eight. Then he headed to the passport office, walking with the steady rhythm of an astronomical clock, ticking off every second. He did not care at all to see the wonders of Bombay. These included its famous city hall, splendid library, forts and docks, bazaars, mosques, synagogues, and Armenian churches. There was also the grand pagoda on Malabar Hill, with its two many-sided towers. He would not even bother to see the masterpieces of Elephanta or the mysterious underground chambers hidden southeast of the docks. Nor would he visit the Kanherian grottoes on the island of Salcette, with their fine remains of Buddhist architecture.

Having transacted his business at the passport office, Phileas Fogg repaired quietly to the railway station, where he ordered dinner. Among the dishes served up to him, the landlord especially recommended a certain giblet of “native rabbit,” on which he prided himself.

After finishing his business at the passport office, Phileas Fogg quietly went to the railway station and ordered dinner. The landlord especially recommended one of the dishes, a giblet of “native rabbit,” which he was proud of.

Mr. Fogg accordingly tasted the dish, but, despite its spiced sauce, found it far from palatable. He rang for the landlord, and, on his appearance, said, fixing his clear eyes upon him, “Is this rabbit, sir?”

So Mr. Fogg tasted the dish, but even with its spiced sauce, he found it unpleasant. He rang for the landlord. When the landlord appeared, Mr. Fogg looked him straight in the eye and said, “Is this rabbit, sir?”

“Yes, my lord,” the rogue boldly replied, “rabbit from the jungles.”

“Yes, my lord,” the scoundrel replied boldly, “rabbit from the jungles.”

“And this rabbit did not mew when he was killed?”

“And this rabbit didn’t meow when he was killed?”

“Mew, my lord! What, a rabbit mew! I swear to you—”

“Meow, my lord! What, a rabbit meow? I swear to you...”

“Be so good, landlord, as not to swear, but remember this: cats were formerly considered, in India, as sacred animals. That was a good time.”

“Please don't swear, landlord, but remember this: cats were once considered sacred animals in India. Those were good times.”

“For the cats, my lord?”

“For the cats, my lord?”

“Perhaps for the travellers as well!”

“Perhaps for the travelers too!”

After which Mr. Fogg quietly continued his dinner. Fix had gone on shore shortly after Mr. Fogg, and his first destination was the headquarters of the Bombay police. He made himself known as a London detective, told his business at Bombay, and the position of affairs relative to the supposed robber, and nervously asked if a warrant had arrived from London. It had not reached the office; indeed, there had not yet been time for it to arrive. Fix was sorely disappointed, and tried to obtain an order of arrest from the director of the Bombay police. This the director refused, as the matter concerned the London office, which alone could legally deliver the warrant. Fix did not insist, and was fain to resign himself to await the arrival of the important document; but he was determined not to lose sight of the mysterious rogue as long as he stayed in Bombay. He did not doubt for a moment, any more than Passepartout, that Phileas Fogg would remain there, at least until it was time for the warrant to arrive.

After that, Mr. Fogg calmly continued his dinner. Fix had gone ashore shortly after Mr. Fogg and headed first to Bombay police headquarters. He introduced himself as a London detective and explained his business in Bombay and the situation concerning the suspected robber. Then he nervously asked whether a warrant had arrived from London. It had not reached the office. In fact, there had not yet been enough time for it to arrive. Fix was deeply disappointed and tried to get an arrest order from the director of the Bombay police. The director refused because the matter concerned the London office. Only that office could legally issue the warrant. Fix did not press the matter and reluctantly accepted that he had to wait for the important document. But he was determined to keep the mysterious rogue in sight as long as he stayed in Bombay. Like Passepartout, Fix had no doubt that Phileas Fogg would stay there at least until the warrant had time to arrive.

Passepartout, however, had no sooner heard his master’s orders on leaving the “Mongolia” than he saw at once that they were to leave Bombay as they had done Suez and Paris, and that the journey would be extended at least as far as Calcutta, and perhaps beyond that place. He began to ask himself if this bet that Mr. Fogg talked about was not really in good earnest, and whether his fate was not in truth forcing him, despite his love of repose, around the world in eighty days!

As soon as Passepartout heard his master’s orders upon leaving the “Mongolia,” he realized they were leaving Bombay, just as they had left Suez and Paris. The journey would take them at least as far as Calcutta, and perhaps beyond. He began to wonder whether Mr. Fogg’s bet was really serious. Was fate truly forcing him, despite his love of rest, to travel around the world in eighty days?

Having purchased the usual quota of shirts and shoes, he took a leisurely promenade about the streets, where crowds of people of many nationalities—Europeans, Persians with pointed caps, Banyas with round turbans, Sindes with square bonnets, Parsees with black mitres, and long-robed Armenians—were collected. It happened to be the day of a Parsee festival. These descendants of the sect of Zoroaster—the most thrifty, civilised, intelligent, and austere of the East Indians, among whom are counted the richest native merchants of Bombay—were celebrating a sort of religious carnival, with processions and shows, in the midst of which Indian dancing-girls, clothed in rose-coloured gauze, looped up with gold and silver, danced airily, but with perfect modesty, to the sound of viols and the clanging of tambourines. It is needless to say that Passepartout watched these curious ceremonies with staring eyes and gaping mouth, and that his countenance was that of the greenest booby imaginable.

After buying the usual number of shirts and shoes, he took a leisurely walk through the streets. Crowds of people from many places had gathered there. There were Europeans, Persians in pointed caps, Banyas in round turbans, Sindes in square bonnets, Parsees in black mitres, and Armenians in long robes. It happened to be the day of a Parsee festival. The Parsees were descendants of the followers of Zoroaster. They were the most thrifty, civilized, intelligent, and austere of the East Indians. Among them were Bombay’s richest native merchants. The Parsees were celebrating a kind of religious carnival, with processions and shows. Indian dancing girls in rose-colored gauze, gathered with gold and silver, danced gracefully amid the festivities. Their dancing was perfectly modest, and they danced to the sound of viols and clanging tambourines. Needless to say, Passepartout watched these curious ceremonies with wide eyes and an open mouth. He looked like the most inexperienced fool imaginable.

Unhappily for his master, as well as himself, his curiosity drew him unconsciously farther off than he intended to go. At last, having seen the Parsee carnival wind away in the distance, he was turning his steps towards the station, when he happened to espy the splendid pagoda on Malabar Hill, and was seized with an irresistible desire to see its interior. He was quite ignorant that it is forbidden to Christians to enter certain Indian temples, and that even the faithful must not go in without first leaving their shoes outside the door. It may be said here that the wise policy of the British Government severely punishes a disregard of the practices of the native religions.

Unfortunately for both him and his master, his curiosity led him farther away than he intended, without his realizing it. At last, he watched the Parsee carnival wind away into the distance and turned back toward the station. Then he happened to spot the magnificent pagoda on Malabar Hill and felt an irresistible urge to see inside. He had no idea that Christians were forbidden to enter certain Indian temples. He also did not know that even worshippers had to leave their shoes outside before entering. It may be noted here that the British Government wisely punishes disregard for the practices of native religions severely.

Passepartout, however, thinking no harm, went in like a simple tourist, and was soon lost in admiration of the splendid Brahmin ornamentation which everywhere met his eyes, when of a sudden he found himself sprawling on the sacred flagging. He looked up to behold three enraged priests, who forthwith fell upon him; tore off his shoes, and began to beat him with loud, savage exclamations. The agile Frenchman was soon upon his feet again, and lost no time in knocking down two of his long-gowned adversaries with his fists and a vigorous application of his toes; then, rushing out of the pagoda as fast as his legs could carry him, he soon escaped the third priest by mingling with the crowd in the streets.

Passepartout, however, saw no harm in going inside, like any ordinary tourist. He was soon lost in admiration of the splendid Brahmin decorations all around him. Suddenly, he found himself sprawled on the sacred stone floor. He looked up and saw three enraged priests, who immediately attacked him. They tore off his shoes and began to beat him, shouting fiercely. The agile Frenchman was soon back on his feet. He quickly knocked down two of his long-robed opponents with his fists and some vigorous kicks. Then he rushed out of the pagoda as fast as he could. He soon escaped the third priest by mixing with the crowd in the streets.

At five minutes before eight, Passepartout, hatless, shoeless, and having in the squabble lost his package of shirts and shoes, rushed breathlessly into the station.

At 7:55, Passepartout rushed into the station, out of breath. He had no hat or shoes and had lost his package of shirts and shoes in the scuffle.

Fix, who had followed Mr. Fogg to the station, and saw that he was really going to leave Bombay, was there, upon the platform. He had resolved to follow the supposed robber to Calcutta, and farther, if necessary. Passepartout did not observe the detective, who stood in an obscure corner; but Fix heard him relate his adventures in a few words to Mr. Fogg.

Fix had followed Mr. Fogg to the station and saw that he really was leaving Bombay. He stood on the platform, determined to follow the suspected robber to Calcutta and farther if necessary. Passepartout did not notice the detective standing in a dark corner. But Fix heard Passepartout briefly tell Mr. Fogg about his adventures.

“I hope that this will not happen again,” said Phileas Fogg coldly, as he got into the train. Poor Passepartout, quite crestfallen, followed his master without a word. Fix was on the point of entering another carriage, when an idea struck him which induced him to alter his plan.

“I hope this will not happen again,” Phileas Fogg said coldly as he got on the train. Poor Passepartout, looking dejected, followed his master without a word. Fix was about to enter another carriage when an idea struck him. It made him change his plan.

“No, I’ll stay,” muttered he. “An offence has been committed on Indian soil. I’ve got my man.”

“No, I’ll stay,” he muttered. “A crime has been committed on Indian soil. I’ve got my man.”

Just then the locomotive gave a sharp screech, and the train passed out into the darkness of the night.

Just then, the locomotive let out a sharp screech, and the train passed into the darkness of the night.