In which Passepartout is only
too glad to get off with the
loss of his shoes
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.
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.
Formerly one was obliged to
travel in India by the old cumbrous
methods of going on foot or on
horseback, in palanquins or unwieldly
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.
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 passengers of the Mongolia
went ashore at half-past four
p.m.; at exactly eight the train
would start for Calcutta.
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 a 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.
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.
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?"
"Yes, my lord," the rogue boldly
replied, "rabbit from the jungles."
"And this rabbit
did not mew when he was killed?"
"Mew, my lord!
What, a rabbit mew! 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."
"For the cats,
my lord?"
"Perhaps for
the travellers as well!"
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
"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.
"No, I'll stay," muttered he. "An
offence 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.
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