Music Welcome to Snewscast, the podcast designed to help you fall asleep. Find us on Snewscast.com and if you enjoy our show, please share us with a friend. If you would like to get an email once a week with upcoming sleep stories and other news, subscribe to the snooze letter at snoozecast.com. This episode is dedicated to our listener, Gala, and brought to you by professors of gymnastics. Tonight we'll read the opening two, Around the World in 80 Days, a novel by Jules Verne published in 1872. In this story, Phillyus Fogg of London and his newly employed French valet attempt to circumnavigate the world in 80 days on a 20,000 pound wager, over 2 million pounds now, set by his friends. It is one of Fern's most acc works. The story originally aired in January of 2021. Let's get cozy. Close your eyes.

Relax your body into the softness of your bed.

Now, take a few deep breaths. Chapter 1 In which Philius Fog and Passpart 2 accept each other, the one is Master, the other is Man. Their Phile Fogg lived in 1872 at number 7, Savil Row, Burlington Gardens. He was one of the most noticeable members of the Reform Club, though he seemed always to avoid attracting attention in an enmatical person-edge, about whom little was known, except that he was a polished man of the world. People said that he resembled Byron, at least that his head was Byronic, but he was a bearded, tranquil, biren, who might live on a thousand years without growing old. Certainly an Englishman, he was more doubtful whether Phillyus Fogg was a Londoner. He was never seen on change nor at the bank nor in the counting rooms of the city. No ships ever came into London docks of which he was the owner. He had no public employment. He had never been entered at any of the inns of court, either at the temple or Lincoln's in or Gray's in nor had his voice ever resounded in the court of chance or the Queen's bench or the ecclesiastical courts. He certainly was not a manufacturer, nor was he a merchant, or a gentleman farmer. His name was strange to the scientific and learned societies, and he never was known to take part in the sage deliberations of the Royal Institution or the London Institution, the Artisans Association or the Institution of arts and sciences. He belonged, in fact, to none of the numerous societies which swarmed in the English capital from the harmonic to that of the entomologists, founded mainly for the purpose of abolishing pernicious insects. Philius Fog was a member of the reform, and that was all. The way in which he got admission to this exclusive club was simple enough. was, and he had open credit. His checks were regularly paid at sight from his current account, which was always flush. Was Philly's fog rich? undoubtedly, But those who knew him best could not imagine how he had made his fortune. And Mr. Fogg was the last person to whom to apply for the information. He was not lavish, nor on the contrary, averacious, for whenever he knew that money was needed for a noble, useful, or benevolent purpose, he supplied it quietly and sometimes anonymously. was was, in short, the least communicative of men. He talked very little and seemed all the more mysterious for his taciturn manner. His daily habits were quite open to observation, but whatever he did was so exactly the same thing that he had always done before that the wits of the curious were fairly puzzled. Had he traveled? it was likely there was no spot so secluded that he did not appear to have an intimate acquaintance with it. He often corrected with the few clear words. The thousand conjectures advanced by members of the club as to lost and unheard of travelers, pointing out the true probabilities and seeming as if gifted with the sort of second sight, so often did events justify his predictions.

He must have traveled everywhere, at least in spirit. It was at least certain that Philly's fog had not absented himself from London for many years.

Those who were honored by a better acquaintance with him than the rest declared that nobody could pretend to have ever seen him anywhere else. His soul pastimes were reading the papers and playing Wist. He often won at the Game of Wist, which, as a silent one, harmonized with his nature, but his winnings never went into his purse, being reserved as a fund for his charities. Mr. Fog played not to win, but for the sake of playing. The game was in his eyes a contest, a struggle with a difficulty, yet a motion motionless, unwaring struggle, congenial to his tastes. Phillyus Vogue was not known to have either wife or children, which may happen to the most honest people, either relatives or near friends, which is certainly more unusual. He lived alone in his house in Savilro, with her non-penetrated, a single domestic suffice to serve him. He breakfasted and dined at the club at hours mathematically fixed in the same room at the same table, never taking his meals with other members, much which less bringing a guest him, and went home at exactly midnight, only to retire at once to bed. He never used the cozy chambers which the reform provides for its favorite members. He passed 10 hours out of the 24 at Seville Row, either in sleeping or in using his bathroom. When he chose to take a walk, it was with a regular step in the entrance hall with its mosaic flooring, or in the circular gallery with its dome supported by 20 red ionic columns and illumined by blue painted windows. When he breakfasted or dined, all the resources of the club, its kitchens and pantries, its buttery and dairy, aided to crowd his table with their most succulent stores, He was served by the gravest waiters and dress-coats, and shoes with swan skinned souls, who

Crawford the food in special porcelain and on the finest linen,

club decanters of a lost mold contained his sherry, his port,

and his cinnamon-spiced wine, while his beverages were refreshingly cooled with ice, brought at great cost from the American lakes. to live in this style is to be eccentric, it must be confessed that there is something good in eccentricity. The mansion he lived in, Then, though not some shoest, was exceedingly comfortable. The habits of its occupant were such as to demand but little from the soul domestic. But Philly's fog required him to be almost superhumanly prompt and regular. On this very second of October, he had dismissed James Forster because that luckless youth had brought him shaving water at 84 degrees Fahrenheit. instead of 86 and he was awaiting his successor who was due at the house between 11 and half past. Philly's fog was seated squarely in his armchair, his feet close together, like those of a grenadier on parade, his hands resting on his knees, his body straight, his head erect. He was steadily watching a complicated clock which

indicated the hours, the minutes, the seconds, the days, the months, and the years. At exactly half past eleven, Mr. Fogg would, according to his daily habit, quits a Ville-Roye, and repair to the reform. A wrap at this moment sounded on the door of the cozy apartment where Philly's fog was seated. In James Forster, the dismissed servant appeared. The new servant said he, a young man of thirty advanced and bowed. You are a Frenchman, I believe, asked Phileus Fogg, and your name is John. Jean, if Miss Your Plises replied the newcomer. Jean, pass part two. A surname which is clung to me because I have a natural aptness for going out of one business into another. I believe I'm honest, Monsieur, but to be outspoken, I've had several trades, I've been an anitinerant singer, a circus writer, then I got to be a professor of gymnastics, so I asked to make better use of my talents. And then there was a sergeant fireman at Paris, and assisted at many a big fire. But I quitted France five years ago, and wishing to taste the suites of domestic life, took service as a valet here in England, finding myself out of place, and hearing that Miss Yourfilius Fogg was the most exact and settled gentleman in the United Kingdom. I have come to Miss Your in the hope of living with him a tranquil life, and forgetting even the name of Passpart 2. Passpart 2 suits me, responded Mr. Fogg. You are well recommended to me. I hear a good report of you. You know my conditions. Yes, ma'am. Good. What time is it?

22 minutes after 11, returned to Passpart II, drawing an enormous silver watch from the depths of his pocket. You're too slow.

Because I'd missed your fog.

Who part of me, Miss Yor, it's impossible. No, you're four minutes too slow. No matter, it's enough to mention the error. Now from this moment, 29 minutes after 11 a.m., this Wednesday, 2nd October, you are in my service. Phillius Fog got up, took his hat in his left hand, put it on his head with an automatic motion, and went off without a word. Passed apart to hurt the street door, shot once, and was his new master going out. He heard it shut again. It was his predecessor, James

Forster, departing into his turn. Passed part two remained alone in the house in Savile Row. Chapter 2 In which Passpart 2 is convinced that he has at last found his ideal. Faith, muttered Passpart 2 somewhat flurry, I've seen people at Madame Tussauds as lively as my new master. Madame Tussauds people, let it be sad, are of wax, and are much visited in London. Speech is all that is wanting to make them human. During his brief interview with Mr. Fog, Passpart II had been carefully observing him. He appeared to be a man about forty years of age, with fine handsome features, and a tall, well-shaped figure, his hair and whiskers were light, his forehead compact and unwrinkled, his face rather pale. His teeth magnificent. His countenance possessed in the highest degree what some scientists call repose in action. A quality of those who act rather than talk. Calm and flamatic with a clear eye. Mr. Fogg seemed a perfect type of what English composer that Angelica Kaufman has so skillfully represented on canvas,

seen in the various phases of his daily life. He gave the idea of being perfectly well-balanced, as exactly regulated as a Swiss watch.

Phileus' fog was, indeed, exactitude personified, and this was betrayed even in the expression of his very hands and feet, for, in men, as well as in animals, the limbs themselves are expressive of the passions. He was so exact that he was never in a hurry, was always ready, and was economical alike of his steps and his motions. He never took one step too many and always went to his destination by the shortest cut. He made no superfluous gestures and was never seen to be moved or agitated. He was the most deliberate person in the world. He had always reached his destination at the exact moment. He lived alone and, so to speak, outside of every social relation. And as he knew that And in this world account must be taken of friction, and that friction retards, he never robbed against anybody. That's for Passpart II. He was a true Parisian of Paris. Since he had abandoned his own country for England, taking service as a valet. He had invading searched for a master. After his own heart, Passpart II was by no means one of those perts done says depicted by Moliere with a bold gaze and a nose held high in the air. He was an honest fellow with a pleasant face, lips a trifle protruding, soft, manoured and serviceable, with a good round head, such as one likes to see on the shoulders of a friend. His eyes were blue, his complexion rose, his figure almost portally and well-built, his body muscular, and his physical powers fully developed by the exercises of his younger days. His brown hair was somewhat tumbled for, while the ancient sculptors are said to have known 18 methods of arranging Minerva's treasures. Passpart II was familiar with but one of dressing his own. strokes of a large tooth comb completed his look. It would be rash to predict how Bass Part 2's lively nature would agree with Mr. Fog. It was impossible to tell whether the new servant would turn out as absolutely methodical as his master required. Experience alone could solve the question. Passpart 2 had been a sort of vagrant in his early years, and now yearned for repose. But so far he had failed to find it, though he had already served in ten English houses. But he could not take root in any of these with Shagrin. He found his masters invariably whimsical and irregular, constantly running about the country or on the lookout for adventure. His last master, young Lord Longfairy, member of Parliament, after passing his nights in the haymarket taverns, was too often brought home in the morning on policemen's shoulders. Pass Part 2, Desirous of respecting the gentleman whom he served, ventured a mild remonstrance on such conduct which, being ill received, he took his leave. Hearing that Mr. Philly's fog was looking for a servant, that life was one of unbroken regularity, that he never traveled or stayed from home overnight. He felt sure that this would be the place for him after all. He presented himself and was accepted as has been seen. At half past eleven then, past part two found himself alone in the house in Savileiro. He began its inspection without delay, scouring it from cellar to garret. So clean, well arranged, solemn, a mansion pleased him. It seemed to him like a snail shell, lighted and warmed by gas, which sufficed for both these purposes. In Passport 2, reach the second, he recognized at once the room which he was to inhabit, and he was well satisfied with it. Electric bells and speaking tubes afforded communication with the lower stories. While on the mantle stood in electric clock, precisely like that in Mr. Fog's bed chamber, both beating the same second and the same instant, that's good, Donald too, said Bass Part 2 to himself. He suddenly observed, hung over the clock, a card which, upon inspection, proved to be a program of the daily routine of the house. It comprised all that was required of the servant, from eight in the morning. Exactly at which hour Philly's fog rose till half past 11 when he left the house for the reform club, all the details of service, the tea and toast at 23 minutes past 8. The shaving water at 37 minutes past 9. toilet at 20 minutes before 10. Everything was regulated and foreseen that was to be done From half past eleven a.m. till midnight.

The hour at which the methodical gentleman retired. Mr. Fox wardrobe was amply supplied and in the best taste. each pair of trousers, coat and vest for a number indicating the time of year and season at which they were in turn to be laid out for wearing.

And the same system was applied to the master's shoes. Thank you. Yn yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n y