Passepartout's Outrageously Long Nose

The next morning poor, jaded, famished Passepartout said to himself that he must get something to eat at all hazards, and the sooner he did so the better. He might, indeed, sell his watch; but he would have starved first. Now or never he must use the strong, if not melodious voice which nature had bestowed upon him. He knew several French and English songs, and resolved to try them upon the Japanese, who must be lovers of music, since they were for ever pounding on their cymbals, tam-tams, and tambourines, and could not but appreciate European talent.

The next morning, poor Passepartout was exhausted and starving. He told himself he had to get something to eat at any cost, and the sooner the better. He could have sold his watch, but he would have starved first. It was now or never. He had to use the strong, if not musical, voice nature had given him. He knew several French and English songs and decided to try them on the Japanese. They must love music, since they were always pounding on cymbals, tam-tams, and tambourines. Surely they would appreciate European talent.

It was, perhaps, rather early in the morning to get up a concert, and the audience prematurely aroused from their slumbers, might not possibly pay their entertainer with coin bearing the Mikado’s features. Passepartout therefore decided to wait several hours; and, as he was sauntering along, it occurred to him that he would seem rather too well dressed for a wandering artist. The idea struck him to change his garments for clothes more in harmony with his project; by which he might also get a little money to satisfy the immediate cravings of hunger. The resolution taken, it remained to carry it out.

Perhaps it was rather early in the morning to put on a concert. An audience woken too soon might not pay its entertainer in coins bearing the Mikado’s image. Passepartout therefore decided to wait a few hours. As he strolled along, he realized that he was too well dressed for a wandering performer. He thought of exchanging his clothes for an outfit better suited to his plan. The exchange might also give him a little money to satisfy his immediate hunger. Having made up his mind, he now had to carry out the plan.

It was only after a long search that Passepartout discovered a native dealer in old clothes, to whom he applied for an exchange. The man liked the European costume, and ere long Passepartout issued from his shop accoutred in an old Japanese coat, and a sort of one-sided turban, faded with long use. A few small pieces of silver, moreover, jingled in his pocket.

After a long search, Passepartout found a local dealer in used clothes and asked to make an exchange. The dealer liked the European outfit. Before long, Passepartout left the shop wearing an old Japanese coat and a kind of turban, worn to one side and faded from long use. A few small silver coins also jingled in his pocket.

“Good!” thought he. “I will imagine I am at the Carnival!”

“Good!” he thought. “I’ll imagine I’m at the Carnival!”

His first care, after being thus “Japanesed,” was to enter a tea-house of modest appearance, and, upon half a bird and a little rice, to breakfast like a man for whom dinner was as yet a problem to be solved.

After being “Japanesed,” his first concern was to enter a modest tea house. He ate half a bird and a little rice for breakfast, like a man who had yet to solve the problem of dinner.

“Now,” thought he, when he had eaten heartily, “I mustn’t lose my head. I can’t sell this costume again for one still more Japanese. I must consider how to leave this country of the Sun, of which I shall not retain the most delightful of memories, as quickly as possible.”

“Now,” he thought after eating a hearty meal, “I must keep my head. I can’t sell this costume again for an even more Japanese one. I must figure out how to leave this country of the Sun as quickly as possible. I won’t have the fondest memories of it.”

It occurred to him to visit the steamers which were about to leave for America. He would offer himself as a cook or servant, in payment of his passage and meals. Once at San Francisco, he would find some means of going on. The difficulty was, how to traverse the four thousand seven hundred miles of the Pacific which lay between Japan and the New World.

He thought of visiting the steamships that were about to leave for America. He would offer to work as a cook or servant in exchange for his passage and meals. Once in San Francisco, he would find some way to continue. The difficulty was crossing the 4,700 miles of the Pacific between Japan and the New World.

Passepartout was not the man to let an idea go begging, and directed his steps towards the docks. But, as he approached them, his project, which at first had seemed so simple, began to grow more and more formidable to his mind. What need would they have of a cook or servant on an American steamer, and what confidence would they put in him, dressed as he was? What references could he give?

Passepartout was not one to give up on an idea, so he headed toward the docks. But as he approached, his plan began to seem more and more daunting. At first, it had seemed so simple. Why would an American steamer need a cook or servant? And how could they trust him, dressed as he was? What references could he give?

As he was reflecting in this wise, his eyes fell upon an immense placard which a sort of clown was carrying through the streets. This placard, which was in English, read as follows:

As he was thinking this over, he noticed a huge sign being carried through the streets by someone dressed like a clown. The sign was in English and read as follows:

“The United States!” said Passepartout; “that’s just what I want!”

“The United States!” said Passepartout. “That’s just what I want!”

He followed the clown, and soon found himself once more in the Japanese quarter. A quarter of an hour later he stopped before a large cabin, adorned with several clusters of streamers, the exterior walls of which were designed to represent, in violent colours and without perspective, a company of jugglers.

He followed the clown and soon found himself back in the Japanese quarter. Fifteen minutes later, he stopped in front of a large cabin decorated with several clusters of streamers. Its exterior walls showed a group of jugglers, painted in vivid colors and without perspective.

This was the Honourable William Batulcar’s establishment. That gentleman was a sort of Barnum, the director of a troupe of mountebanks, jugglers, clowns, acrobats, equilibrists, and gymnasts, who, according to the placard, was giving his last performances before leaving the Empire of the Sun for the States of the Union.

This was the Honourable William Batulcar’s establishment. He was a sort of Barnum, managing a troupe of entertainers, jugglers, clowns, acrobats, balancing performers, and gymnasts. According to the poster, he was giving his last performances before leaving the Empire of the Sun for the States of the Union.

Passepartout entered and asked for Mr. Batulcar, who straightway appeared in person.

Passepartout entered and asked for Mr. Batulcar, who appeared in person right away.

“What do you want?” said he to Passepartout, whom he at first took for a native.

“What do you want?” he asked Passepartout. At first, he thought Passepartout was a native.

“Would you like a servant, sir?” asked Passepartout.

“Would you like a servant, sir?” asked Passepartout.

“A servant!” cried Mr. Batulcar, caressing the thick grey beard which hung from his chin. “I already have two who are obedient and faithful, have never left me, and serve me for their nourishment and here they are,” added he, holding out his two robust arms, furrowed with veins as large as the strings of a bass-viol.

“A servant!” cried Mr. Batulcar, stroking the thick gray beard hanging from his chin. “I already have two who are obedient and faithful. They have never left me, and they serve me in exchange for their food. Here they are,” he added, holding out his two strong arms. The veins in them were as thick as the strings of a bass viol.

“So I can be of no use to you?”

“So I can't help you at all?”

“None.”

“None.”

“The devil! I should so like to cross the Pacific with you!”

“Damn! I’d love to cross the Pacific with you!”

“Ah!” said the Honourable Mr. Batulcar. “You are no more a Japanese than I am a monkey! Who are you dressed up in that way?”

“Ah!” said the Honourable Mr. Batulcar. “You’re no more Japanese than I’m a monkey! Who are you, dressed up like that?”

“A man dresses as he can.”

“A man dresses as best he can.”

“That’s true. You are a Frenchman, aren’t you?”

“That’s true. You’re French, aren’t you?”

“Yes; a Parisian of Paris.”

“Yes, a true Parisian.”

“Then you ought to know how to make grimaces?”

“Then you should know how to make faces?”

“Why,” replied Passepartout, a little vexed that his nationality should cause this question, “we Frenchmen know how to make grimaces, it is true but not any better than the Americans do.”

Passepartout was a little annoyed that his nationality had prompted the question. “Well,” he replied, “it’s true that we French know how to make faces, but no better than Americans do.”

“True. Well, if I can’t take you as a servant, I can as a clown. You see, my friend, in France they exhibit foreign clowns, and in foreign parts French clowns.”

“True. Well, if I can’t hire you as a servant, I can hire you as a clown. You see, my friend, in France they show foreign clowns, and abroad they show French clowns.”

“Ah!”

“Ah!”

“You are pretty strong, eh?”

“You’re pretty strong, aren’t you?”

“Especially after a good meal.”

“Especially after a good meal.”

“And you can sing?”

“And you can sing?”

“Yes,” returned Passepartout, who had formerly been wont to sing in the streets.

“Yes,” replied Passepartout, who used to sing in the streets.

“But can you sing standing on your head, with a top spinning on your left foot, and a sabre balanced on your right?”

“But can you sing while standing on your head, with a top spinning on your left foot and a sword balanced on your right?”

“Humph! I think so,” replied Passepartout, recalling the exercises of his younger days.

“Hmm! I think so,” replied Passepartout, remembering the exercises he had done when he was younger.

“Well, that’s enough,” said the Honourable William Batulcar.

“Well, that’s enough,” said the Honourable William Batulcar.

The engagement was concluded there and then.

The engagement was agreed to on the spot.

Passepartout had at last found something to do. He was engaged to act in the celebrated Japanese troupe. It was not a very dignified position, but within a week he would be on his way to San Francisco.

Passepartout had finally found something to do. He had been hired to perform with the famous Japanese troupe. The job was not very dignified, but within a week he would be on his way to San Francisco.

The performance, so noisily announced by the Honourable Mr. Batulcar, was to commence at three o’clock, and soon the deafening instruments of a Japanese orchestra resounded at the door. Passepartout, though he had not been able to study or rehearse a part, was designated to lend the aid of his sturdy shoulders in the great exhibition of the “human pyramid,” executed by the Long Noses of the god Tingou. This “great attraction” was to close the performance.

The Honourable Mr. Batulcar had noisily announced that the performance would begin at three o’clock. Soon, the deafening instruments of a Japanese orchestra sounded at the door. Though Passepartout had not been able to learn or rehearse a part, he was assigned to lend his sturdy shoulders to the great “human pyramid” exhibition. The Long Noses of the god Tingou would perform it. This “great attraction” was to close the performance.

Before three o’clock the large shed was invaded by the spectators, comprising Europeans and natives, Chinese and Japanese, men, women and children, who precipitated themselves upon the narrow benches and into the boxes opposite the stage. The musicians took up a position inside, and were vigorously performing on their gongs, tam-tams, flutes, bones, tambourines, and immense drums.

Before three o’clock, spectators crowded into the large shed. They included Europeans and locals, Chinese and Japanese, men, women, and children. They rushed to the narrow benches and the boxes opposite the stage. The musicians took their places inside and played vigorously on gongs, tam-tams, flutes, bones, tambourines, and enormous drums.

The performance was much like all acrobatic displays; but it must be confessed that the Japanese are the first equilibrists in the world.

The performance was much like all acrobatic shows. But it must be said that the Japanese are the best balancing performers in the world.

One, with a fan and some bits of paper, performed the graceful trick of the butterflies and the flowers; another traced in the air, with the odorous smoke of his pipe, a series of blue words, which composed a compliment to the audience; while a third juggled with some lighted candles, which he extinguished successively as they passed his lips, and relit again without interrupting for an instant his juggling. Another reproduced the most singular combinations with a spinning-top; in his hands the revolving tops seemed to be animated with a life of their own in their interminable whirling; they ran over pipe-stems, the edges of sabres, wires and even hairs stretched across the stage; they turned around on the edges of large glasses, crossed bamboo ladders, dispersed into all the corners, and produced strange musical effects by the combination of their various pitches of tone. The jugglers tossed them in the air, threw them like shuttlecocks with wooden battledores, and yet they kept on spinning; they put them into their pockets, and took them out still whirling as before.

One performer used a fan and bits of paper to perform the graceful trick of the butterflies and the flowers. Another used the fragrant smoke from his pipe to trace a series of blue words in the air, complimenting the audience. A third juggled lighted candles, putting them out one by one as they passed his lips. He relit them without stopping his juggling for an instant. Another performer created the strangest combinations with spinning tops. In his hands, the endlessly whirling tops seemed to have lives of their own. They ran along pipe stems, the edges of swords, wires, and even hairs stretched across the stage. They spun around the rims of large glasses, crossed bamboo ladders, and scattered into every corner. The different pitches of their sounds combined to create strange musical effects. The jugglers tossed the tops into the air and hit them like shuttlecocks with wooden paddles. Still, the tops kept spinning. The jugglers put them in their pockets and took them out again, still spinning as before.

It is useless to describe the astonishing performances of the acrobats and gymnasts. The turning on ladders, poles, balls, barrels, &c., was executed with wonderful precision.

There is no point in describing the acrobats’ and gymnasts’ astonishing performances. They spun on ladders, poles, balls, barrels, and other objects with amazing precision.

But the principal attraction was the exhibition of the Long Noses, a show to which Europe is as yet a stranger.

But the main attraction was the Long Noses exhibition, a show Europe had not yet seen.

The Long Noses form a peculiar company, under the direct patronage of the god Tingou. Attired after the fashion of the Middle Ages, they bore upon their shoulders a splendid pair of wings; but what especially distinguished them was the long noses which were fastened to their faces, and the uses which they made of them. These noses were made of bamboo, and were five, six, and even ten feet long, some straight, others curved, some ribboned, and some having imitation warts upon them. It was upon these appendages, fixed tightly on their real noses, that they performed their gymnastic exercises. A dozen of these sectaries of Tingou lay flat upon their backs, while others, dressed to represent lightning-rods, came and frolicked on their noses, jumping from one to another, and performing the most skilful leapings and somersaults.

The Long Noses were an unusual company under the direct patronage of the god Tingou. They dressed in medieval fashion and wore a splendid pair of wings on their shoulders. But what set them apart were the long noses attached to their faces and the ways they used them. The noses were made of bamboo and measured five, six, or even ten feet long. Some were straight, others curved. Some had ribbons, and others had imitation warts. The Long Noses fastened these extensions tightly over their real noses and performed gymnastic exercises on them. A dozen followers of Tingou lay flat on their backs while others, dressed as lightning rods, came and frolicked on their noses. They jumped from one nose to another, performing highly skilled leaps and somersaults.

As a last scene, a “human pyramid” had been announced, in which fifty Long Noses were to represent the Car of Juggernaut. But, instead of forming a pyramid by mounting each other’s shoulders, the artists were to group themselves on top of the noses. It happened that the performer who had hitherto formed the base of the Car had quitted the troupe, and as, to fill this part, only strength and adroitness were necessary, Passepartout had been chosen to take his place.

For the final act, a “human pyramid” had been announced. In it, fifty Long Noses were to represent the Car of Juggernaut. But instead of climbing onto one another’s shoulders to form a pyramid, the performers were to arrange themselves on top of the noses. The performer who had previously formed the base of the Car had left the troupe. Since the role required only strength and skill, Passepartout had been chosen to replace him.

The poor fellow really felt sad when—melancholy reminiscence of his youth!—he donned his costume, adorned with vari-coloured wings, and fastened to his natural feature a false nose six feet long. But he cheered up when he thought that this nose was winning him something to eat.

The poor fellow felt truly sad as he put on his costume with its multicolored wings. It was a melancholy reminder of his youth. He fastened a false nose six feet long to his own nose. But he cheered up when he thought about how the false nose was earning him something to eat.

He went upon the stage, and took his place beside the rest who were to compose the base of the Car of Juggernaut. They all stretched themselves on the floor, their noses pointing to the ceiling. A second group of artists disposed themselves on these long appendages, then a third above these, then a fourth, until a human monument reaching to the very cornices of the theatre soon arose on top of the noses. This elicited loud applause, in the midst of which the orchestra was just striking up a deafening air, when the pyramid tottered, the balance was lost, one of the lower noses vanished from the pyramid, and the human monument was shattered like a castle built of cards!

He went onstage and joined the others who would form the base of the Car of Juggernaut. They all lay flat on the floor, their noses pointing toward the ceiling. A second group of performers arranged themselves on these long noses, then a third group climbed above them. A fourth group followed, until a human monument rose from the noses to the theater’s cornices. The crowd burst into loud applause. In the midst of the applause, the orchestra was just beginning a deafening tune when the pyramid swayed. The performers lost their balance, one of the lower noses vanished from the pyramid, and the human monument collapsed like a house of cards!

It was Passepartout’s fault. Abandoning his position, clearing the footlights without the aid of his wings, and, clambering up to the right-hand gallery, he fell at the feet of one of the spectators, crying, “Ah, my master! my master!”

It was Passepartout’s fault. He left his position and jumped over the footlights without using his wings. He climbed up to the gallery on the right and fell at a spectator’s feet, crying, “Ah, my master! my master!”

“You here?”

“You’re here?”

“Myself.”

“Myself.”

“Very well; then let us go to the steamer, young man!”

“All right, then let's go to the steamer, young man!”

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout passed through the lobby of the theatre to the outside, where they encountered the Honourable Mr. Batulcar, furious with rage. He demanded damages for the “breakage” of the pyramid; and Phileas Fogg appeased him by giving him a handful of banknotes.

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout walked through the theatre lobby and went outside. There they met the Honourable Mr. Batulcar, who was furious. He demanded compensation for the “breakage” of the pyramid. Phileas Fogg calmed him by giving him a handful of banknotes.

At half-past six, the very hour of departure, Mr. Fogg and Aouda, followed by Passepartout, who in his hurry had retained his wings, and nose six feet long, stepped upon the American steamer.

At six thirty, the exact departure time, Mr. Fogg and Aouda boarded the American steamer, followed by Passepartout. In his hurry, Passepartout had kept his wings and six-foot-long nose on.