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CHAPTER 23
In Which Passepartout's Nose Becomes
Outrageously Long
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.
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.
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.
Good!" thought he. "I will imagine I am 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.
"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."
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.
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?
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:
Acrobatic Japanese Troupe, Honourable
William Batulcar, Proprietor, Last
Representations, Prior To Their Departure To
The United States, Of The Long Noses! Long
Noses! Under The Direct Patronage Of The God
Tingou! Great Attraction!
"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.
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.
Passepartout entered and asked for Mr.
Batulcar, who straightway appeared in
person.
"What do you want?" said he to Passepartout,
whom he at first took for a native.
"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.
"So I can be of no use to you?"
"None."
"The devil! I should so like 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?"
"A man dresses as he can."
"That's true. You are a Frenchman, aren't
you?"
"Yes; a Parisian of Paris."
"Then you ought to know how to make
grimaces?"
"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."
"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."
"Ah!"
"You are pretty strong, eh?"
"Especially after a good meal."
"And you can sing?"
"Yes," returned Passepartout, who had
formerly been wont 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?"
"Humph! I think so," replied Passepartout,
recalling the exercises of his younger
days.
"Well, that's enough," said the Honourable
William Batulcar.
The engagement was concluded there and
then.
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.
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.
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.
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