Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (25 page)

“But where are they now?” cried Mr Honeyfoot. “Why did you not purchase a copy?”

“By the time that I came to each place Norrell had got there before me and bought them all,” said Mr Strange. “I never laid eyes upon the man, and yet he thwarts me at every turn. That is why I hit upon this plan of summoning up some dead magician and asking him — or her — questions. I fancied a
lady
might be more sympathetic to my plight, and so I chose Miss Absalom.”
⁵

Mr Segundus shook his head. “As a means of getting knowledge, it strikes me as more dramatic than convenient. Can you not think of an easier way? After all, in the Golden Age of English magic, books were much rarer than they are now, yet men still became magicians.”

“I have studied histories and biographies of the
Aureates
to discover how they began,” said Strange, “but it seems that in those days, as soon as any one found out he had some aptitude for magic, he immediately set off for the house of some other, older, more experienced magician and offered himself as a pupil.”
⁶

“Then you should apply to Mr Norrell for assistance!” cried Mr Honeyfoot, “Indeed you should. Oh! yes, I know,” seeing that Mr Segundus was about to make some objection, “Norrell is a little reserved, but what is that? Mr Strange will know how to overcome his timidity I am sure. For all his faults of temper, Norrell is no fool and must see the very great advantages of having such an assistant!”

Mr Segundus had many objections to this scheme, in particular Mr Norrell’s great aversion to other magicians; but Mr Honeyfoot, with all the enthusiasm of his eager disposition, had no sooner conceived the idea than it became a favourite wish and he could not suppose there would be any drawbacks. “Oh! I agree,” he said, “that Norrell has never looked very favourably upon us
theoretical
magicians. But I dare say he will behave quite differently towards an
equal
.”

Strange himself did not seem at all averse to the idea; he had a natural curiosity to see Mr Norrell. Indeed Mr Segundus could not help suspecting that he had already made up his mind upon the point and so Mr Segundus gradually allowed his doubts and objections to be argued down.

“This is a great day for Great Britain, sir!” cried Mr Honeyfoot. “Look at all that one magician has been able to accomplish! Only consider what two might do! Strange and Norrell! Oh, it sounds very well!” Then Mr Honeyfoot repeated “Strange and Norrell" several times over, in a highly delighted manner that made Strange laugh very much.

But like many gentle characters, Mr Segundus was much given to changes of mind. As long as Mr Strange stood before him, tall, smiling and assured, Mr Segundus had every confidence that Strange’s genius must receive the recognition it deserved — whether it be with Mr Norrell’s help, or in spite of Mr Norrell’s hindrance; but the next morning, after Strange and Henry Woodhope had ridden off, his thoughts returned to all the magicians whom Mr Norrell had laboured to destroy, and he began to wonder if Mr Honeyfoot and he might not have misled Strange.

“I cannot help thinking,” he said, “that we should have done a great deal better to warn Mr Strange to avoid Mr Norrell. Rather than encouraging him to seek out Norrell we should have advised him to hide himself!”

But Mr Honeyfoot did not understand this at all. “No gentleman likes to be told to hide,” he said, “and if Mr Norrell should mean any harm to Mr Strange — which I am very far from allowing to be the case — then I am sure that Mr Strange will be the first to find it out.”

24
Another magician

September 1809

Mr Drawlight Turned slightly in his chair, smiled, and said, “It seems, sir, that you have a rival.”

Before Mr Norrell could think of a suitable reply, Lascelles asked what was the man’s name.

“Strange,” said Drawlight.

“I do not know him,” said Lascelles.

“Oh!” cried Drawlight. “I think you must. Jonathan Strange of Shropshire. Two thousand pounds a year.”

“I have not the least idea whom you mean. Oh, but wait! Is not this the man who, when an undergraduate at Cambridge, frightened a cat belonging to the Master of Corpus Christi?”

Drawlight agreed that this was the very man. Lascelles knew him instantly and they both laughed.

Meanwhile Mr Norrell sat silent as a stone. Drawlight’s opening remark had been a terrible blow. He felt as if Drawlight had turned and struck him — as if a figure in a painting, or a table or a chair had turned and struck him. The shock of it had almost taken his breath away; he was quite certain he would be ill. What Drawlight might say next Mr Norrell dared not think — something of greater powers, perhaps — of wonders performed beside which Mr Norrell’s own would appear pitiful indeed. And he had taken such pains to ensure there could be no rivals! He felt like the man who goes about his house at night, locking doors and barring windows, only to hear the certain sounds of someone walking about in an upstairs room.

But as the conversation progressed these unpleasant sensations lessened and Mr Norrell began to feel more comfortable. As Drawlight and Lascelles talked of Mr Strange’s Brighton pleasure-trips and visits to Bath and Mr Strange’s estate in Shropshire, Mr Norrell thought he understood the sort of man this Strange must be: a fashionable, shallow sort of man, a man not unlike Lascelles himself. That being so (said Mr Norrell to himself) was it not more probable that “You have a rival,” was addressed, not to himself, but to Lascelles? This Strange (thought Mr Norrell) must be Lascelles’s rival in some love affair or other. Norrell looked down at his hands clasped in his lap and smiled at his own folly.

“And so,” said Lascelles, “Strange is now a magician?”

“Oh!” said Drawlight, turning to Mr Norrell. “I am sure that not even his greatest friends would compare his talents to those of the estimable Mr Norrell. But I believe he is well enough thought of in Bristol and Bath. He is in London at present. His friends hope that you will be kind enough to grant him an interview — and may I express a wish to be present when two such practitioners of the art meet?”

Mr Norrell lifted his eyes very slowly. “I shall be happy to meet Mr Strange,” he said.

Mr Drawlight was not made to wait long before he witnessed the momentous interview between the two magicians (which was just as well for Mr Drawlight hated to wait). An invitation was issued and both Lascelles and Drawlight made it their business to be present when Mr Strange waited upon Mr Norrell.

He proved neither as young nor as handsome as Mr Norrell had feared. He was nearer thirty than twenty and, as far as another gentleman may be permitted to judge these things, not handsome at all. But what was very unexpected was that he brought with him a pretty young woman: Mrs Strange.

Mr Norrell began by asking Strange if he had brought his writing? He would, he said, very much like to read what Mr Strange had written.

“My writing?” said Strange and paused a moment. “I am afraid, sir, that I am at a loss to know what you mean. I have written nothing.”

“Oh!” said Mr Norrell. “Mr Drawlight told me that you had been asked to write something for
The Gentleman’s Magazine
but perhaps …”

“Oh, that!” said Strange. “I have scarcely thought about it. Nichols assured me he did not need it until the Friday after next.”

“A week on Friday and not yet begun!” said Mr Norrell, very much astonished.

“Oh!” said Strange. “I think that the quicker one gets these things out of one’s brain and on to the paper and off to the printers, the better. I dare say, sir,” and he smiled at Mr Norrell in a friendly manner, “that you find the same.”

Mr Norrell, who had never yet got any thing successfully out of his brain and off to the printers, whose every attempt was still at some stage or other of revision, said nothing.

“As to what I shall write,” continued Strange, “I do not quite know yet, but it will most likely be a refutation of Portishead’s article in
The Modern Magician
.
¹
Did you see it, sir? It put me in a rage for a week. He sought to prove that modern magicians have no business dealing with fairies. It is one thing to admit that we have lost the power to raise such spirits — it is quite another to renounce all intention of ever employing them! I have no patience with any such squeamishness. But what is most extraordinary is that I have yet to see any criticism of Portishead’s article anywhere. Now that we have something approaching a magical community I think we would be very wrong to let such thick-headed nonsense pass unreproved.”

Strange, apparently thinking that he had talked enough, waited for one of the other gentlemen to reply.

After a moment or two of silence Mr Lascelles remarked that Lord Portishead had written the article at Mr Norrell’s express wish and with Mr Norrell’s aid and approval.

“Indeed?” Strange looked very much astonished.

There was a silence of some moments and then Lascelles languidly inquired how one learnt magic these days?

“From books,” said Strange.

“Ah, sir!” cried Mr Norrell. “How glad I am to hear you say so! Waste no time, I implore you, in pursuing any other course, but apply yourself constantly to reading! No sacrifice of time or pleasure can ever be too great!”

Strange regarded Mr Norrell somewhat ironically and then remarked, “Unfortunately lack of books has always been a great obstacle. I dare say you have no conception, sir, how few books of magic there are left in circulation in England. All the booksellers agree that a few years ago there were a great many, but now …”

“Indeed?” interrupted Mr Norrell, hurriedly. “Well, that is very odd to be sure.”

The silence which followed was peculiarly awkward. Here sat the only two English magicians of the Modern Age. One confessed he had no books; the other, as was well known, had two great libraries stuffed with them. Mere common politeness seemed to dictate that Mr Norrell make some offer of help, however slight; but Mr Norrell said nothing.

“It must have been a very curious circumstance,” said Mr Lascelles after a while, “that made you chuse to be a magician.”

“It was,” said Strange. “Most curious.”

“Will you not tell us what that circumstance was?”

Strange smiled maliciously. “I am sure that it will give Mr Norrell great pleasure to know that he was the cause of my becoming a magician. One might say in fact that Mr Norrell made me a magician.”

“I?” cried Mr Norrell, quite horrified.

“The truth is, sir,” said Arabella Strange quickly, “that he had tried everything else — farming, poetry, iron-founding. In the course of a year he ran through a whole variety of occupations without settling to any of them. He was bound to come to magic sooner or later.”

There was another silence, then Strange said, “I had not understood before that Lord Portishead wrote at your behest, sir. Perhaps you will be so good as to explain something to me. I have read all of his lordship’s essays in
The Friends of English Magic
and
The Modern Magician
but have yet to see any mention of the Raven King. The omission is so striking that I am beginning to think it must be deliberate.”

Mr Norrell nodded. “It is one of my ambitions to make that man as completely forgotten as he deserves,” he said.

“But surely, sir, without the Raven King there would be no magic and no magicians?”

“That is the common opinion, certainly. But even it were true — which I am very far from allowing — he has long since forfeited any entitlement to our esteem. For what were his first actions upon coming into England? To make war upon England’s lawful King and rob him of half his kingdom! And shall you and I, Mr Strange, let it be known that we have chosen such a man as our model? That we account
him
the first among us? Will that make our profession respected? Will that persuade the King’s ministers to put their trust in us? I do not think so! No, Mr Strange, if we cannot make his name forgotten, then it is our duty — yours and mine — to broadcast our hatred of him! To let it be known everywhere our great abhorrence of his corrupt nature and evil deeds!”

It was clear that a great disparity of views and temper existed between the two magicians and Arabella Strange seemed to think that there was no occasion for them to continue any longer in the same room to irritate each other more. She and Strange left very shortly afterwards.

Naturally, Mr Drawlight was the first to pronounce upon the new magician. “Well!” he said rather
before
the door had closed upon Strange’s back. “I do not know what may be your opinion, but I never was more astonished in my life! I was informed by several people that he was a handsome man. What could they have meant, do you suppose? With such a nose as he has got and that hair. Reddish-brown is such a fickle colour — there is no wear in it — I am quite certain I saw some grey in it. And yet he cannot be more than — what? — thirty? thirty-two perhaps? She, on the other hand, is quite delightful! So much animation! Those brown curls, so sweetly arranged! But I thought it a great pity that she had not taken more trouble to inform herself of the London fashions. The sprigged muslin she had on was certainly very pretty, but I should like to see her wear something altogether more stylish — say forest-green silk trimmed with black ribbons and black bugle-beads. That is only a first thought, you understand — I may be struck with quite a different idea when I see her again.”

“Do you think that people will be curious about him?” asked Mr Norrell.

“Oh! certainly,” said Mr Lascelles.

“Ah!” said Mr Norrell. “Then I am very much afraid — Mr Lascelles, I would be very glad if you could advise me — I am very much afraid that Lord Mulgrave may send for Mr Strange. His lordship’s zeal for using magic in the war — excellent in itself, of course — has had the unfortunate effect of encouraging him to read all sorts of books on magical history and forming opinions about what he finds there. He has devised a plan to summon up witches to aid me in defeating the French — I believe he is thinking of those half-fairy, half-human women to whom malicious people were used to apply when they wished to harm their neighbours — the sort of witches, in short, that Shakespeare describes in
Macbeth
. He asked me to invoke three or four, and was not best pleased that I refused to do it. Modern magic can do many things, but summoning up witches could bring a world of trouble upon everyone’s head. But now I fear he might send for Mr Strange instead. Mr Lascelles, do not you think that he might? And then Mr Strange might try it, not understanding any thing of the danger. Perhaps it would be as well to write to Sir Walter asking if he would be so good as to have a word in his lordship’s ear to warn him against Mr Strange.”

“Oh!” said Lascelles. “I see no occasion for that. If
you
think that Mr Strange’s magic is not safe then it will soon get about.”

Later in the day a dinner was given in Mr Norrell’s honour at a house in Great Titchfield-street, at which Mr Drawlight and Mr Lascelles were also present. It was not long before Mr Norrell was asked to give his opinion of the Shropshire magician.

“Mr Strange,” said Mr Norrell, “seems a very pleasant gentleman and a very talented magician who may yet be a most creditable addition to our profession, which has certainly been somewhat depleted of late.”

“Mr Strange appears to entertain some very odd notions of magic,” said Lascelles. “He has not troubled to inform himself of the modern ideas on the subject — by which I mean, of course, Mr Norrell’s ideas, which have so astonished the world with their clarity and succinctness.”

Mr Drawlight repeated his opinion that Mr Strange’s red hair had no wear in it and that Mrs Strange’s gown, though not exactly fashionable, had been of a very pretty muslin.

At about the same time that this conversation was taking place another set of people (among them Mr and Mrs Strange) was sitting down to dinner in a more modest dining-parlour in a house in Charterhouse-square. Mr and Mrs Strange’s friends were naturally anxious to know their opinion of the great Mr Norrell.

“He says he hopes that the Raven King will soon be forgot,” said Strange in amazement. “What do you make of that? A magician who hopes the Raven King will soon be forgot! If the Archbishop of Canterbury were discovered to be working secretly to suppress all knowledge of the Trinity, it would make as much sense to me.”

“He is like a musician who wishes to conceal the music of Mr Handel,” agreed a lady in a turban eating artichokes with almonds.

“Or a fishmonger who hopes to persuade people that the sea does not exist,” said a gentleman helping himself to a large piece of mullet in a good wine sauce.

Then other people proposed similar examples of folly and everyone laughed except Strange who sat frowning at his dinner.

“I thought you meant to ask Mr Norrell to help you,” said Arabella.

“How could I when we seemed to be quarrelling from the first moment we met?” cried Strange. “He does not like me. Nor I him.”

“Not like you! No, perhaps he did not
like
you. But he did not so much as look at any other person the whole time we were there. It was as if he would eat you up with his eyes. I dare say he is lonely. He has studied all these years and never had any body he could explain his mind to. Certainly not to those disagreeable men — I forget their names. But now that he has seen you — and he knows that he could talk to you — well! it would be very odd if he did not invite you again.”

In Great Titchfield-street Mr Norrell put down his fork and dabbed at his lips with his napkin. “Of course,” he said, “he must apply himself. I urged him to apply himself.”