Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (26 page)

Strange in Charterhouse-square said, “He told me to apply myself. — To what? I asked. — To reading he said. I was never more astonished in my life. I was very near asking him what I was supposed to read when he has all books.”

The next day Strange told Arabella that they could go back to Shropshire any time she pleased — he did not think that there was any thing to keep them in London. He also said that he had resolved to think no more about Mr Norrell. In this he was not entirely successful for several times in the next few days Arabella found herself listening to a long recital of all Mr Norrell’s faults, both professional and personal.

Meanwhile in Hanover-square Mr Norrell constantly inquired of Mr Drawlight what Mr Strange was doing, whom he visited, and what people thought of him.

Mr Lascelles and Mr Drawlight were a little alarmed at this development. For more than a year now they had enjoyed no small degree of influence over the magician and, as his friends, they were courted by admirals, generals, politicians, any one in fact who wished to know Mr Norrell’s opinion upon this, or wished Mr Norrell to do that. The thought of another magician who might attach himself to Mr Norrell by closer ties than Drawlight or Lascelles could ever hope to forge, who might take upon himself the task of advising Mr Norrell was very disagreeable. Mr Drawlight told Mr Lascelles that Norrell should be discouraged from thinking of the Shropshire magician and, though Mr Lascelles’s whimsical nature never permitted him to agree outright with any one, there is little doubt that he thought the same.

But three or four days after Mr Strange’s visit, Mr Norrell said, “I have been considering the matter very carefully and I believe that something ought to be done for Mr Strange. He complained of his lack of materials. Well, of course, I can see that that might … In short I have decided to make him a present of a book.”

“But, sir!” cried Drawlight. “Your precious books! You must not give them away to other people — especially to other magicians who may not use them as wisely as yourself!”

“Oh!” said Mr Norrell. “I do not mean one of my own books. I fear I could not spare a single one. No, I have purchased a volume from Edwards and Skittering to give Mr Strange. The choice was, I confess, a difficult one. There are many books which, to be perfectly frank, I would not be quite comfortable in recommending to Mr Strange yet; he is not ready for them. He would imbibe all sorts of wrong ideas from them. This book,” Mr Norrell looked at it in an anxious sort of way, “has many faults — I fear it has a great many. Mr Strange will learn no actual magic from it. But it has a great deal to say on the subjects of diligent research and the perils of committing oneself to paper too soon — lessons which I hope Mr Strange may take to heart.”

So Mr Norrell invited Strange to Hanover-square again and as on the previous occasion Drawlight and Lascelles were present, but Strange came alone.

The second meeting took place in the library at Hanover-square. Strange looked about him at the great quantities of books, but said not a word. Perhaps he had got to the end of his anger. There seemed to be a determination on both sides to speak and behave more cordially.

“You do me great honour, sir,” said Strange when Mr Norrell gave him his present. “
English Magic
by Jeremy Tott.” He turned the pages. “Not an author I have ever heard of.”

“It is a biography of his brother, a theoretical magio-historian of the last century called Horace Tott,” said Mr Norrell.
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He explained about the lessons of diligent research and not committing oneself to paper that Strange was to learn. Strange smiled politely, bowed, and said he was sure it would be most interesting.

Mr Drawlight admired Strange’s present.

Mr Norrell gazed at Strange with an odd expression upon his face as though he would have been glad of a little conversation with him, but had not the least idea how to begin.

Mr Lascelles reminded Mr Norrell that Lord Mulgrave of the Admiralty was expected within the hour.

“You have business to conduct, sir,” said Strange. “I must not intrude. Indeed I have business for Mrs Strange in Bond-street that must not be neglected.”

“And perhaps one day,” said Drawlight, “we shall have the honour of seeing a piece of magic worked by Mr Strange. I am excessively fond of seeing magic done.”

“Perhaps,” said Strange.

Mr Lascelles rang the bell for the servant. Suddenly Mr Norrell said, “I should be glad to see some of Mr Strange’s magic now — if he would honour us with a demonstration.”

“Oh!” said Strange. “But I do not …”

“It would do me great honour,” insisted Mr Norrell.

“Very well,” said Strange, “I shall be very glad to shew you something. It will be a little awkward, perhaps, compared to what you are accustomed to. I very much doubt, Mr Norrell, that I can match you in elegance of execution.”

Mr Norrell bowed.

Strange glanced two or three times around the room in search of some magic to do. His glance fell upon a mirror that hung in the depths of a corner of the room where the light never penetrated. He placed
English Magic
by Jeremy Tott upon the library-table so that its reflection was clearly visible in the mirror. For some moments he stared at it and nothing happened. And then he made a curious gesture; he ran both hands through his hair, clasped the back of his neck and stretched his shoulders, as a man will do who eases himself of the cramps. Then he smiled and altogether looked exceedingly pleased with himself.

Which was odd because the book looked exactly as it had done before.

Lascelles and Drawlight, who were both accustomed to seeing — or hearing about — Mr Norrell’s wonderful magic, were scarcely impressed by this; indeed it was a great deal less than a common conjuror might manage at a fairground. Lascelles opened his mouth — doubtless to say some scathing thing — but was forestalled by Mr Norrell suddenly crying out in a tone of wonder, “But that is remarkable! That is truly …My dear Mr Strange! I never even heard of such magic before! It is not listed in Sutton-Grove. I assure you, my dear sir, it is not in Sutton-Grove!”

Lascelles and Drawlight looked from one magician to the other in some confusion.

Lascelles approached the table and stared hard at the book. “It is a little longer than it was perhaps,” he said.

“I do not think so,” said Drawlight.

“It is tan leather now,” said Lascelles. “Was it blue before?”

“No,” said Drawlight, “it was always tan.”

Mr Norrell laughed out loud; Mr Norrell, who rarely even smiled, laughed at them. “No, no, gentlemen! You have not guessed it! Indeed you have not! Oh! Mr Strange, I cannot tell how much … but they do not understand what it is you have done! Pick it up!” he cried. “Pick it up, Mr Lascelles!”

More puzzled than ever Lascelles put out his hand to grasp the book, but all he grasped was the empty air. The book lay there in appearance only.

“He has made the book and its reflection change places,” said Mr Norrell. “The real book is over there, in the mirror.” And he went to peer into the mirror with an appearance of great professional interest. “But how did you do it?”

“How indeed?” murmured Strange; he walked about the room, examining the reflection of the book upon the table from different angles like a billiards-player, closing one eye and then the other.

“Can you get it back?” asked Drawlight.

“Sadly, no,” said Strange. “To own the truth,” he said at last, “I have only the haziest notion of what I did. I dare say it is just the same with you, sir, one has a sensation like music playing at the back of one’s head — one simply knows what the next note will be.”

“Quite remarkable,” said Mr Norrell.

What was perhaps rather more remarkable was that Mr Norrell, who had lived all his life in fear of one day discovering a rival, had finally seen another man’s magic, and far from being crushed by the sight, found himself elated by it.

Mr Norrell and Mr Strange parted that afternoon on very cordial terms, and upon the following morning met again without Mr Lascelles or Mr Drawlight knowing any thing about it. This meeting ended in Mr Norrell’s offering to take Mr Strange as a pupil. Mr Strange accepted.

“I only wish that he had not married,” said Mr Norrell fretfully. “Magicians have no business marrying.”

25
The education of a magician

September-December 1809

On the first morning of Strange’s education, he was invited to an early breakfast at Hanover-square. As the two magicians sat down at the breakfast-table, Mr Norrell said, “I have taken the liberty of drawing up a plan of study for you for the next three or four years.”

Strange looked a little startled at the mention of three or four years, but he said nothing.

“Three or four years is such a very short time,” continued Mr Norrell with a sigh, “that, try as I can, I cannot see that we will achieve very much.”

He passed a dozen or so sheets of paper to Strange. Each sheet was covered in three columns of Mr Norrell’s small, precise handwriting; each column contained a long list of different sorts of magic.
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Strange looked them over and said that there was more to learn than he had supposed.

“Ah! I envy you, sir,” said Mr Norrell. “Indeed I do. The
practice
of magic is full of frustrations and disappointments, but the
study
is a continual delight! All of England’s great magicians are one’s companions and guides. Steady labour is rewarded by increase of knowledge and, best of all, one need not so much as look upon another of one’s fellow creatures from one month’s end to the next if one does not wish it!”

For a few moments Mr Norrell seemed lost in contemplation of this happy state, then, rousing himself, he proposed that they deny themselves the pleasure of Strange’s education no longer but go immediately into the library to begin.

Mr Norrell’s library was on the first floor. It was a charming room in keeping with the tastes of its owner who would always chuse to come here for both solace and recreation. Mr Drawlight had persuaded Mr Norrell to adopt the fashion of setting small pieces of mirror into odd corners and angles. This meant that one was constantly meeting with a bright gleam of silver light or the sudden reflection of someone in the street where one least expected it. The walls were covered with a light green paper, with a pattern of green oak leaves and knobbly oak twigs, and there was a little dome set into the ceiling which was painted to represent the leafy canopy of a glade in spring. The books all had matching bindings of pale calf leather with their titles stamped in neat silver capitals on the spine. Among all this elegance and harmony it was somewhat surprizing to observe so many gaps among the books, and so many shelves entirely empty.

Strange and Mr Norrell seated themselves one on each side of the fire.

“If you will permit me, sir,” said Strange, “I should like to begin by putting some questions to you. I confess that what I heard the other day concerning fairy-spirits entirely astonished me, and I wondered if I might prevail upon you to talk to me a little upon this subject? To what dangers does the magician expose himself in employing fairy-spirits? And what is your opinion of their utility?”

“Their utility has been greatly exaggerated, the danger much underestimated,” said Mr Norrell.

“Oh! Is it your opinion that fairies are, as some people think, demons?” asked Strange.

“Upon the contrary. I am quite certain that the common view of them is the correct one. Do you know the writings of Chaston upon the subject? It would not surprize me if Chaston turned out to have come very near the truth of it.
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No, no, my objection to fairies is quite another thing. Mr Strange, tell me, in your opinion why does so much English magic depend — or appear to depend — upon the aid of fairy-spirits?”

Strange thought a moment. “I suppose because all English magic comes from the Raven King who was educated at a fairy court and learnt his magic there.”

“I agree that the Raven King has every thing to do with it,” said Mr Norrell, “but not, I think, in the way you suppose. Consider, if you will, Mr Strange, that all the time the Raven King ruled Northern England, he also ruled a fairy kingdom. Consider, if you will, that no king ever had two such diverse races under his sway. Consider, if you will, that he was as great a king as he was a magician — a fact which almost all historians are prone to overlook. I think there can be little doubt that he was much preoccupied with the task of binding his two peoples together — a task which he accomplished, Mr Strange,
by deliberately exaggerating the role of fairies in magic
. In this way he increased his human subjects’ esteem for fairies, he provided his fairy subjects with useful occupation, and made both peoples desire each other’s company.”

“Yes,” said Strange, thoughtfully, “I see that.”

“It seems to me,” continued Mr Norrell, “that even the greatest of
Aureate
magicians miscalculated the extent to which fairies are necessary to human magic. Look at Pale! He considered his fairy-servants so essential to the pursuit of his art that he wrote that his greatest treasures were the three or four fairy-spirits living in his house! Yet my own example makes it plain that almost all
respectable
sorts of magic are perfectly achievable without assistance from any one! What have I ever done that has needed the help of a fairy?”

“I understand you,” said Strange, who imagined that Mr Norrell’s last question must be rhetorical. “And I must confess, sir, that this idea is quite new to me. I have never seen it in any book.”

“Neither have I,” said Mr Norrell. “Of course there are some sorts of magic which are entirely impossible without fairies. There may be times — and I sincerely hope that such occasions will be rare — when you and I shall have to treat with those pernicious creatures. Naturally we shall have to exercise the greatest caution. Any fairy we summon will almost certainly have dealt with English magicians before. He will be eager to recount for us all the names of the great magicians he has served and the services he has rendered to each. He will understand the forms and precedents of such dealings a great deal better than we do. It puts us — will put us — at a disadvantage. I assure you, Mr Strange, nowhere is the decline of English magic better understood than in the Other Lands.”

“Yet fairy-spirits hold a great fascination for ordinary people,” mused Strange, “and perhaps if you were occasionally to employ one in your work it might help make our art more popular. There is still a great deal of prejudice against using magic in the war.”

“Oh! Indeed!” cried Mr Norrell, irritably. “People believe that magic begins and ends with fairies! They scarcely consider the skill and learning of the magician at all! No, Mr Strange, that is no argument with me for employing fairies! Rather the reverse! A hundred years ago the magio-historian, Valentine Munday, denied that the Other Lands existed. He thought that the men who claimed to have been there were all liars. In this he was quite wrong, but his position remains one with which I have a great deal of sympathy and I wish we could make it more generally believed. Of course,” said Mr Norrell thoughtfully, “Munday went on to deny that America existed, and then France and so on. I believe that by the time he died he had long since given up Scotland and was beginning to entertain doubts of Carlisle … I have his book here.”
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Mr Norrell stood up and fetched it from the shelves. But he did not give it to Strange straightaway.

After a short silence Strange said, “You advise me to read this book?”

“Yes, indeed. I think you should read it,” said Mr Norrell.

Strange waited, but Norrell continued to gaze at the book in his hand as though he were entirely at a loss as to how to proceed. “Then you must give it to me, sir,” said Strange gently.

“Yes, indeed,” said Mr Norrell. He approached Strange cautiously and held the book out for several moments, before suddenly tipping it up and off into Strange’s hand with an odd gesture, as though it was not a book at all, but a small bird which clung to him and would on no account go to any one else, so that he was obliged to trick it into leaving his hand. He was so intent upon this manoeuvre that fortunately he did not look up at Strange who was trying not to laugh.

Mr Norrell remained a moment, looking wistfully at his book in another magician’s hand.

But once he had parted with one book the painful part of his ordeal seemed to be over. Half an hour later he recommended another book to Strange and went and got it with scarcely any fuss. By midday he was pointing out books on the shelves to Strange and allowing him to fetch them down for himself. By the end of the day Mr Norrell had given Strange a quite extraordinary number of books to read, and said that he expected him to have read them by the end of the week.

A whole day of conversation and study was a luxury they could not often afford; generally they were obliged to spend some part of every day in attending to Mr Norrell’s visitors — whether these were the fashionable people whom Mr Norrell still believed it essential to cultivate or gentlemen from the various Government departments.

By the end of a fortnight Mr Norrell’s enthusiasm for his new pupil knew no bounds. “One has but to explain something to him once,” Norrell told Sir Walter, “and he understands it immediately! I well remember how many weeks I laboured to comprehend Pale’s Conjectures Concerning the Foreshadowing of Things To Come, yet Mr Strange was master of this exceptionally difficult theory in little more than four hours!”

Sir Walter smiled. “No doubt. But I think you rate your own achievements too low. Mr Strange has the advantage of a teacher to explain the difficult parts to him, whereas you had none —
you
have prepared the way for him and made everything smooth and easy.”

“Ah!” cried Mr Norrell. “But when Mr Strange and I sat down to talk of the Conjectures some more, I realized that they had a much wider application than I had supposed. It was his questions, you see, which led me to a new understanding of Dr Pale’s ideas!” Sir Walter said, “Well, sir, I am glad that you have found a friend whose mind accords so well with your own — there is no greater comfort.”

“I agree with you, Sir Walter!” cried Mr Norrell. “Indeed I do!”

Strange’s admiration for Mr Norrell was of a more restrained nature. Norrell’s dull conversation and oddities of behaviour continued to grate upon his nerves; and at about the same time as Mr Norrell was praising Strange to Sir Walter, Strange was complaining of Norrell to Arabella.

“Even now I scarcely know what to make of him. He is, at one and the same time, the most remarkable man of the Age and the most tedious. Twice this morning our conversation was interrupted because he
thought
he heard a mouse in the room — mice are a particular aversion of his. Two footmen, two maids and I moved all the furniture about looking for the mouse, while he stood by the fireplace, rigid with fear.”

“Has he a cat?” suggested Arabella. “He should get a cat.”

“Oh, but that is quite impossible! He hates cats even more than mice. He told me that if he is ever so unlucky as to find himself in the same room as a cat, then he is sure to be all over red pimples within an hour.”

It was Mr Norrell’s sincere wish to educate his pupil thoroughly, but the habits of secrecy and dissimulation which he had cultivated all his life were not easily thrown off. On a day in December, when snow was falling in large, soft flakes from heavy, greenishgrey clouds, the two magicians were seated in Mr Norrell’s library. The slow drifting motion of the snow outside the windows, the heat of the fire and the effects of a large glass of sherry-wine which he had been so ill-advised as to accept when Mr Norrell offered it, all combined to make Strange very heavy and sleepy. His head was supported upon his hand and his eyes were almost closing.

Mr Norrell was speaking. “Many magicians,” he said, steepling his hands, “have attempted to confine magical powers in some physical object. It is not a difficult operation and the object can be any thing the magician wishes. Trees, jewels, books, bullets, hats have all been employed for this purpose at one time or another.” Mr Norrell frowned hard at his fingertips. “By placing some of his power in whatever object he chuses, the magician hopes to make himself secure from those wanings of power, which are the inevitable result of illness and old age. I myself have often been severely tempted to do it; my own skills can be quite overturned by a heavy cold or a bad sore throat. Yet after careful consideration I have concluded that such divisions of power are most ill-advised. Let us examine the case of rings. Rings have long been considered peculiarly suitable for this sort of magic by virtue of their small size. A man may keep a ring continually upon his finger for years, without exciting the smallest comment — which would not be the case if he shewed the same attachment to a book or a pebble — and yet there is scarcely a magician in history who, having once committed some of his skill and power to a magic ring, did not somehow lose that ring and was put to a world of trouble to get it back again. Take for example, the twelfth-century Master of Nottingham, whose daughter mistook his ring of power for a common bauble, put it on her finger, and went to St Matthew’s Fair. This negligent young woman …”

“What?” cried Strange, suddenly.

“What?” echoed Mr Norrell, startled.

Strange gave the other gentleman a sharp, questioning look. Mr Norrell gazed back at him, a little frightened.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Strange, “but do I understand you aright? Are we speaking of magical powers that are got by some means into rings, stones, amulets — things of that sort?”

Mr Norrell nodded cautiously.

“But I thought you said,” said Strange. “That is,” he made some effort to speak more gently, “I
thought
that you told me some weeks ago that magic rings and stones were a fable.”

Mr Norrell stared at his pupil in alarm.

“But perhaps I was mistaken?” said Strange.

Mr Norrell said nothing at all.

“I was mistaken,” said Strange again. “I beg your pardon, sir, for interrupting you. Pray, continue.”

But Mr Norrell, though he appeared greatly relieved that Strange had resolved the matter, was no longer equal to continuing and instead proposed that they have some tea; to which Mr Strange agreed very readily.
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