Around the World in Eighty Days
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.
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.
The performance was much like all acrobatic displays; but it must be
confessed that the Japanese are the first equilibrists 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.
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.
But the principal attraction was the exhibition of the Long Noses, a
show to which Europe is as yet a stranger.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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!”
“You here?”
“Myself.”
“Very well; then let us 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.
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.
CHAPTER XXIV.
DURING WHICH MR. FOGG AND PARTY CROSS THE PACIFIC OCEAN
What happened when the pilot-boat came in sight of Shanghai will be
easily guessed. The signals made by the “Tankadere” had been seen by
the captain of the Yokohama steamer, who, espying the flag at
half-mast, had directed his course towards the little craft. Phileas
Fogg, after paying the stipulated price of his passage to John Busby,
and rewarding that worthy with the additional sum of five hundred and
fifty pounds, ascended the steamer with Aouda and Fix; and they started
at once for Nagasaki and Yokohama.
They reached their destination on the morning of the 14th of November.
Phileas Fogg lost no time in going on board the “Carnatic,” where he
learned, to Aouda’s great delight—and perhaps to his own, though he
betrayed no emotion—that Passepartout, a Frenchman, had really arrived
on her the day before.
The San Francisco steamer was announced to leave that very evening, and
it became necessary to find Passepartout, if possible, without delay.
Mr. Fogg applied in vain to the French and English consuls, and, after
wandering through the streets a long time, began to despair of finding
his missing servant. Chance, or perhaps a kind of presentiment, at last
led him into the Honourable Mr. Batulcar’s theatre. He certainly would
not have recognised Passepartout in the eccentric mountebank’s costume;
but the latter, lying on his back, perceived his master in the gallery.
He could not help starting, which so changed the position of his nose
as to bring the “pyramid” pell-mell upon the stage.
All this Passepartout learned from Aouda, who recounted to him what had
taken place on the voyage from Hong Kong to Shanghai on the
“Tankadere,” in company with one Mr. Fix.
Passepartout did not change countenance on hearing this name. He
thought that the time had not yet arrived to divulge to his master what
had taken place between the detective and himself; and, in the account
he gave of his absence, he simply excused himself for having been
overtaken by drunkenness, in smoking opium at a tavern in Hong Kong.
Mr. Fogg heard this narrative coldly, without a word; and then
furnished his man with funds necessary to obtain clothing more in
harmony with his position. Within an hour the Frenchman had cut off his
nose and parted with his wings, and retained nothing about him which
recalled the sectary of the god Tingou.
The steamer which was about to depart from Yokohama to San Francisco
belonged to the Pacific Mail Steamship Company, and was named the
“General Grant.” She was a large paddle-wheel steamer of two thousand
five hundred tons; well equipped and very fast. The massive
walking-beam rose and fell above the deck; at one end a piston-rod
worked up and down; and at the other was a connecting-rod which, in
changing the rectilinear motion to a circular one, was directly
connected with the shaft of the paddles. The “General Grant” was rigged
with three masts, giving a large capacity for sails, and thus
materially aiding the steam power. By making twelve miles an hour, she
would cross the ocean in twenty-one days. Phileas Fogg was therefore
justified in hoping that he would reach San Francisco by the 2nd of
December, New York by the 11th, and London on the 20th—thus gaining
several hours on the fatal date of the 21st of December.
There was a full complement of passengers on board, among them English,
many Americans, a large number of coolies on their way to California,
and several East Indian officers, who were spending their vacation in
making the tour of the world. Nothing of moment happened on the voyage;
the steamer, sustained on its large paddles, rolled but little, and the
“Pacific” almost justified its name. Mr. Fogg was as calm and taciturn
as ever. His young companion felt herself more and more attached to him
by other ties than gratitude; his silent but generous nature impressed
her more than she thought; and it was almost unconsciously that she
yielded to emotions which did not seem to have the least effect upon
her protector. Aouda took the keenest interest in his plans, and became
impatient at any incident which seemed likely to retard his journey.
She often chatted with Passepartout, who did not fail to perceive the
state of the lady’s heart; and, being the most faithful of domestics,
he never exhausted his eulogies of Phileas Fogg’s honesty, generosity,
and devotion. He took pains to calm Aouda’s doubts of a successful
termination of the journey, telling her that the most difficult part of
it had passed, that now they were beyond the fantastic countries of
Japan and China, and were fairly on their way to civilised places
again. A railway train from San Francisco to New York, and a
transatlantic steamer from New York to Liverpool, would doubtless bring
them to the end of this impossible journey round the world within the
period agreed upon.
On the ninth day after leaving Yokohama, Phileas Fogg had traversed
exactly one half of the terrestrial globe. The “General Grant” passed,
on the 23rd of November, the one hundred and eightieth meridian, and
was at the very antipodes of London. Mr. Fogg had, it is true,
exhausted fifty-two of the eighty days in which he was to complete the
tour, and there were only twenty-eight left. But, though he was only
half-way by the difference of meridians, he had really gone over
two-thirds of the whole journey; for he had been obliged to make long
circuits from London to Aden, from Aden to Bombay, from Calcutta to
Singapore, and from Singapore to Yokohama. Could he have followed
without deviation the fiftieth parallel, which is that of London, the
whole distance would only have been about twelve thousand miles;
whereas he would be forced, by the irregular methods of locomotion, to
traverse twenty-six thousand, of which he had, on the 23rd of November,
accomplished seventeen thousand five hundred. And now the course was a
straight one, and Fix was no longer there to put obstacles in their
way!
It happened also, on the 23rd of November, that Passepartout made a
joyful discovery. It will be remembered that the obstinate fellow had
insisted on keeping his famous family watch at London time, and on
regarding that of the countries he had passed through as quite false
and unreliable. Now, on this day, though he had not changed the hands,
he found that his watch exactly agreed with the ship’s chronometers.
His triumph was hilarious. He would have liked to know what Fix would
say if he were aboard!