Around the World in 80 Days

Was Phileas Fogg rich? Undoubtedly. But those who knew him best could notimagine how he had made his fortune, and Mr. Fogg was the last person to whomto apply for the information. He was not lavish, nor, on the contrary, avaricious;for, whenever he knew that money was needed for a noble, useful, or benevolentpurpose, he supplied it quietly and sometimes anonymously. He was, in short,the least communicative of men. He talked very little, and seemed all the moremysterious for his taciturn manner. His daily habits were quite open toobservation; but whatever he did was so exactly the same thing that he hadalways done before, that the wits of the curious were fairly puzzled.Had he travelled? It was likely, for no one seemed to know the world morefamiliarly; there was no spot so secluded that he did not appear to have anintimate acquaintance with it. He often corrected, with a few clear words, thethousand conjectures advanced by members of the club as to lost and unheard-oftravellers, pointing out the true probabilities, and seeming as if gifted with a sortof second sight, so often did events justify his predictions. He must havetravelled 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 himthan the rest, declared that nobody could pretend to have ever seen him anywhereelse. His sole pastimes were reading the papers and playing whist. He often wonat this game, which, as a silent one, harmonised with his nature; but his winningsnever went into his purse, being reserved as a fund for his charities. Mr. Foggplayed, not to win, but for the sake of playing. The game was in his eyes acontest, a 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 mayhappen to the most honest people; either relatives or near friends, which iscertainly more unusual. He lived alone in his house in Saville Row, whither nonepenetrated. A single domestic sufficed to serve him. He breakfasted and dined atthe club, at hours mathematically fixed, 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 usedthe cosy chambers which the Reform provides for its favoured members. Hepassed ten hours out of the twenty-four in Saville Row, either in sleeping ormaking his toilet. When he chose to take a walk it was with a regular step in theentrance hall with its mosaic flooring, or in the circular gallery with its domesupported by twenty red porphyry Ionic columns, and illumined by blue paintedwindows. When he breakfasted or dined all the resources of the club-itskitchens and pantries, its buttery and dairy-aided to crowd his table with theirmost succulent stores; he was served by the gravest waiters, in dress coats, andshoes with swan-skin soles, who proffered the viands in special porcelain, and onthe finest linen; club decanters, of a lost mould, contained his sherry, his port,and his cinnamon-spiced claret; while his beverages were refreshingly cooledwith 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 issomething good in eccentricity.