บทที่ บทที่ 14 · IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DESCENDS THE WHOLE LENGTH OF THE BEAUTIFUL VALLEY

IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DESCENDS THE WHOLE LENGTH OF THE BEAUTIFUL VALLEY

OF THE GANGES WITHOUT EVER THINKING OF SEEING IT

The rash exploit had been accomplished; and for an hour Passepartout

laughed gaily at his success. Sir Francis pressed the worthy fellow’s

hand, and his master said, “Well done!” which, from him, was high

commendation; to which Passepartout replied that all the credit of the

affair belonged to Mr. Fogg. As for him, he had only been struck with a

“queer” idea; and he laughed to think that for a few moments he,

Passepartout, the ex-gymnast, ex-sergeant fireman, had been the spouse

of a charming woman, a venerable, embalmed rajah! As for the young

Indian woman, she had been unconscious throughout of what was passing,

and now, wrapped up in a travelling-blanket, was reposing in one of the

howdahs.

The elephant, thanks to the skilful guidance of the Parsee, was

advancing rapidly through the still darksome forest, and, an hour after

leaving the pagoda, had crossed a vast plain. They made a halt at seven

o’clock, the young woman being still in a state of complete

prostration. The guide made her drink a little brandy and water, but

the drowsiness which stupefied her could not yet be shaken off. Sir

Francis, who was familiar with the effects of the intoxication produced

by the fumes of hemp, reassured his companions on her account. But he

was more disturbed at the prospect of her future fate. He told Phileas

Fogg that, should Aouda remain in India, she would inevitably fall

again into the hands of her executioners. These fanatics were scattered

throughout the county, and would, despite the English police, recover

their victim at Madras, Bombay, or Calcutta. She would only be safe by

quitting India for ever.

Phileas Fogg replied that he would reflect upon the matter.

The station at Allahabad was reached about ten o’clock, and, the

interrupted line of railway being resumed, would enable them to reach

Calcutta in less than twenty-four hours. Phileas Fogg would thus be

able to arrive in time to take the steamer which left Calcutta the next

day, October 25th, at noon, for Hong Kong.

The young woman was placed in one of the waiting-rooms of the station,

whilst Passepartout was charged with purchasing for her various

articles of toilet, a dress, shawl, and some furs; for which his master

gave him unlimited credit. Passepartout started off forthwith, and

found himself in the streets of Allahabad, that is, the City of God,

one of the most venerated in India, being built at the junction of the

two sacred rivers, Ganges and Jumna, the waters of which attract

pilgrims from every part of the peninsula. The Ganges, according to the

legends of the Ramayana, rises in heaven, whence, owing to Brahma’s

agency, it descends to the earth.

Passepartout made it a point, as he made his purchases, to take a good

look at the city. It was formerly defended by a noble fort, which has

since become a state prison; its commerce has dwindled away, and

Passepartout in vain looked about him for such a bazaar as he used to

frequent in Regent Street. At last he came upon an elderly, crusty Jew,

who sold second-hand articles, and from whom he purchased a dress of

Scotch stuff, a large mantle, and a fine otter-skin pelisse, for which

he did not hesitate to pay seventy-five pounds. He then returned

triumphantly to the station.

The influence to which the priests of Pillaji had subjected Aouda began

gradually to yield, and she became more herself, so that her fine eyes

resumed all their soft Indian expression.

When the poet-king, Ucaf Uddaul, celebrates the charms of the queen of

Ahmehnagara, he speaks thus:

“Her shining tresses, divided in two parts, encircle the harmonious

contour of her white and delicate cheeks, brilliant in their glow and

freshness. Her ebony brows have the form and charm of the bow of Kama,

the god of love, and beneath her long silken lashes the purest

reflections and a celestial light swim, as in the sacred lakes of

Himalaya, in the black pupils of her great clear eyes. Her teeth, fine,

equal, and white, glitter between her smiling lips like dewdrops in a

passion-flower’s half-enveloped breast. Her delicately formed ears, her

vermilion hands, her little feet, curved and tender as the lotus-bud,

glitter with the brilliancy of the loveliest pearls of Ceylon, the most

dazzling diamonds of Golconda. Her narrow and supple waist, which a

hand may clasp around, sets forth the outline of her rounded figure and

the beauty of her bosom, where youth in its flower displays the wealth

of its treasures; and beneath the silken folds of her tunic she seems

to have been modelled in pure silver by the godlike hand of

Vicvarcarma, the immortal sculptor.”

It is enough to say, without applying this poetical rhapsody to Aouda,

that she was a charming woman, in all the European acceptation of the

phrase. She spoke English with great purity, and the guide had not

exaggerated in saying that the young Parsee had been transformed by her

bringing up.

The train was about to start from Allahabad, and Mr. Fogg proceeded to

pay the guide the price agreed upon for his service, and not a farthing

more; which astonished Passepartout, who remembered all that his master

owed to the guide’s devotion. He had, indeed, risked his life in the

adventure at Pillaji, and, if he should be caught afterwards by the

Indians, he would with difficulty escape their vengeance. Kiouni, also,

must be disposed of. What should be done with the elephant, which had

been so dearly purchased? Phileas Fogg had already determined this

question.

“Parsee,” said he to the guide, “you have been serviceable and devoted.

I have paid for your service, but not for your devotion. Would you like

to have this elephant? He is yours.”

The guide’s eyes glistened.

“Your honour is giving me a fortune!” cried he.

“Take him, guide,” returned Mr. Fogg, “and I shall still be your

debtor.”

“Good!” exclaimed Passepartout. “Take him, friend. Kiouni is a brave

and faithful beast.” And, going up to the elephant, he gave him several

lumps of sugar, saying, “Here, Kiouni, here, here.”

The elephant grunted out his satisfaction, and, clasping Passepartout

around the waist with his trunk, lifted him as high as his head.

Passepartout, not in the least alarmed, caressed the animal, which

replaced him gently on the ground.

Soon after, Phileas Fogg, Sir Francis Cromarty, and Passepartout,

installed in a carriage with Aouda, who had the best seat, were

whirling at full speed towards Benares. It was a run of eighty miles,

and was accomplished in two hours. During the journey, the young woman

fully recovered her senses. What was her astonishment to find herself

in this carriage, on the railway, dressed in European habiliments, and

with travellers who were quite strangers to her! Her companions first

set about fully reviving her with a little liquor, and then Sir Francis

narrated to her what had passed, dwelling upon the courage with which

Phileas Fogg had not hesitated to risk his life to save her, and

recounting the happy sequel of the venture, the result of

Passepartout’s rash idea. Mr. Fogg said nothing; while Passepartout,

abashed, kept repeating that “it wasn’t worth telling.”

Aouda pathetically thanked her deliverers, rather with tears than

words; her fine eyes interpreted her gratitude better than her lips.

Then, as her thoughts strayed back to the scene of the sacrifice, and

recalled the dangers which still menaced her, she shuddered with

terror.

Phileas Fogg understood what was passing in Aouda’s mind, and offered,

in order to reassure her, to escort her to Hong Kong, where she might

remain safely until the affair was hushed up—an offer which she eagerly

and gratefully accepted. She had, it seems, a Parsee relation, who was

one of the principal merchants of Hong Kong, which is wholly an English

city, though on an island on the Chinese coast.

At half-past twelve the train stopped at Benares. The Brahmin legends

assert that this city is built on the site of the ancient Casi, which,

like Mahomet’s tomb, was once suspended between heaven and earth;

though the Benares of to-day, which the Orientalists call the Athens of

India, stands quite unpoetically on the solid earth, Passepartout

caught glimpses of its brick houses and clay huts, giving an aspect of

desolation to the place, as the train entered it.

Benares was Sir Francis Cromarty’s destination, the troops he was

rejoining being encamped some miles northward of the city. He bade

adieu to Phileas Fogg, wishing him all success, and expressing the hope

that he would come that way again in a less original but more

profitable fashion. Mr. Fogg lightly pressed him by the hand. The

parting of Aouda, who did not forget what she owed to Sir Francis,

betrayed more warmth; and, as for Passepartout, he received a hearty

shake of the hand from the gallant general.

The railway, on leaving Benares, passed for a while along the valley of

the Ganges. Through the windows of their carriage the travellers had

glimpses of the diversified landscape of Behar, with its mountains

clothed in verdure, its fields of barley, wheat, and corn, its jungles

peopled with green alligators, its neat villages, and its still

thickly-leaved forests. Elephants were bathing in the waters of the

sacred river, and groups of Indians, despite the advanced season and

chilly air, were performing solemnly their pious ablutions. These were

fervent Brahmins, the bitterest foes of Buddhism, their deities being

Vishnu, the solar god, Shiva, the divine impersonation of natural

forces, and Brahma, the supreme ruler of priests and legislators. What

would these divinities think of India, anglicised as it is to-day, with

steamers whistling and scudding along the Ganges, frightening the gulls

which float upon its surface, the turtles swarming along its banks, and

the faithful dwelling upon its borders?

The panorama passed before their eyes like a flash, save when the steam

concealed it fitfully from the view; the travellers could scarcely

discern the fort of Chupenie, twenty miles south-westward from Benares,

the ancient stronghold of the rajahs of Behar; or Ghazipur and its

famous rose-water factories; or the tomb of Lord Cornwallis, rising on

the left bank of the Ganges; the fortified town of Buxar, or Patna, a

large manufacturing and trading-place, where is held the principal

opium market of India; or Monghir, a more than European town, for it is

as English as Manchester or Birmingham, with its iron foundries,

edgetool factories, and high chimneys puffing clouds of black smoke

heavenward.

Night came on; the train passed on at full speed, in the midst of the

roaring of the tigers, bears, and wolves which fled before the

locomotive; and the marvels of Bengal, Golconda ruined Gour,

Murshedabad, the ancient capital, Burdwan, Hugly, and the French town

of Chandernagor, where Passepartout would have been proud to see his

country’s flag flying, were hidden from their view in the darkness.

Calcutta was reached at seven in the morning, and the packet left for

Hong Kong at noon; so that Phileas Fogg had five hours before him.

According to his journal, he was due at Calcutta on the 25th of

October, and that was the exact date of his actual arrival. He was

therefore neither behind-hand nor ahead of time. The two days gained

between London and Bombay had been lost, as has been seen, in the

journey across India. But it is not to be supposed that Phileas Fogg

regretted them.