Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell

  And she held out both her hands to him and he took them.

  “Oh! Madam!” he cried, all bows and smiles. “It was, I do assure you, the greatest hon …”

  And then he stopped and was silent a moment. “Madam?” he said. He gave a short, embarrassed laugh (which was odd enough in itself – Drawlight was not easily embarrassed). He did not let go of her hands, but looked around the room as if in search of someone to help him out of a difficulty. Then he lifted one of her own hands and shewed it to her. She did not appear in any way alarmed by what she saw, but she did look surprized; she raised the hand so that her mother could see it.

  The little finger of her left hand was gone.

  9

  Lady Pole

  October 1807

  It has been remarked (by a lady infinitely cleverer than the present author) how kindly disposed the world in general feels to young people who either die or marry. Imagine then the interest that surrounded Miss Wintertowne! No young lady ever had such advantages before: for she died upon the Tuesday, was raised to life in the early hours of Wednesday morning, and was married upon the Thursday; which some people thought too much excitement for one week.

  The desire to see her was quite universal. The full stretch of most people’s information was that she had lost a finger in her passage from one world to the next and back again. This was most tantalizing; was she changed in any other way? No one knew.

  On Wednesday morning (which was the morning that followed her happy revival) the principals in this marvellous adventure seemed all in a conspiracy to deprive the Town of news; morning-callers at Brunswick-square learnt only that Miss Wintertowne and her mother were resting; in Hanover-square it was exactly the same – Mr Norrell was very much fatigued – it was entirely impossible that he see any body; and as for Sir Walter Pole, no body was quite certain where to find him (though it was strongly suspected that he was at Mrs Wintertowne’s house in Brunswick-square). Had it not been for Mr Drawlight and Mr Lascelles (benevolent souls!) the Town would have been starved of information of any sort, but they drove diligently about London making their appearance in a quite impossible number of drawing-rooms, morning-rooms, dining-rooms and card-rooms. It is impossible to say how many dinners Drawlight was invited to sit down to that day – and it is fortunate that he was never at any time much of an eater or he might have done some lasting damage to his digestion. Fifty times or more he must have described how, after Miss Wintertowne’s restoration, Mrs Wintertowne and he had wept together; how Sir Walter Pole and he had clasped each other’s hand; how Sir Walter had thanked him most gratefully and how he had begged Sir Walter not to think of it; and how Mrs Wintertowne had insisted that Mr Lascelles and he both be driven home in her very own carriage.

  Sir Walter Pole had left Mrs Wintertowne’s house at about seven o’clock and had gone back to his lodgings to sleep for a few hours, but at about midday he returned to Brunswick-square just as the Town had supposed. (How our neighbours find us out!) By this time it had become apparent to Mrs Wintertowne that her daughter now enjoyed a certain celebrity; that she had, as it were, risen to public eminence overnight. As well as the people who left their cards at the door, great numbers of letters and messages of congratulation were arriving every hour for Miss Wintertowne, many of them from people of whom Mrs Wintertowne had never heard. “Permit me, madam,” wrote one, “to entreat you to shake off the oppression of that shadowy vale which has been revealed to you.”

  That unknown persons should think themselves entitled to comment upon so private a matter as a death and a resurrection, that they should vent their curiosity in letters to her daughter was a circumstance to excite Mrs Wintertowne’s utmost displeasure; she had a great deal to say in censure of such vulgar, ill-bred beings, and upon his arrival at Brunswick-square Sir Walter was obliged to listen to all of it.

  “My advice, ma’am,” he said, “is to think no more about it. As we politicians well know a policy of dignity and silence is our best defence against this sort of impertinence.”

  “Ah! Sir Walter!” cried his mother-in-law to be. “It is very gratifying to me to discover how frequently our opinions agree! Dignity and silence. Quite. I do not think we can ever be too discreet upon the subject of poor, dear Emma’s sufferings. After tomorrow I for one am determined never to speak of it again.”

  “Perhaps,” said Sir Walter, “I did not mean to go so far. Because, you know, we must not forget Mr Norrell. We shall always have a standing reminder of what has happened in Mr Norrell. I fear he must often be with us – after the service he has done us we can scarcely ever shew him consideration enough.” He paused and then added with a wry twist of his ugly face, “Happily Mr Norrell himself has been so good as to indicate how he thinks my share of the obligation might best be discharged.” This was a reference to a conversation which Sir Walter and Mr Norrell had had at four o’clock that morning, when Mr Norrell had waylaid Sir Walter upon the stairs and talked to him at great length about his plans to baffle the French by magic.

  Mrs Wintertowne said that she would, of course, be glad to distinguish Mr Norrell with marks of special respect and consideration; any one might know how highly she regarded him. Quite apart from his great magicianship – which, said Mrs Wintertowne, there was no need to mention when he came to the house – he seemed a very good sort of old gentleman.

  “Indeed,” said Sir Walter. “But for now our most pressing concern must be that Miss Wintertowne should not undertake more than she is equal to – and it was of this that I particularly wished to speak to you. I do not know what may be your opinion but it seems to me that it would be as well to put off the wedding for a week or two.”

  Mrs Wintertowne could not approve of such a plan; all the arrangements were made and so much of the wedding-dinner cooked. Soup, jellies, boiled meats, pickled sturgeon and so forth were all ready; what was the good of letting it all spoil now, only to have it all to do over again in a week or so? Sir Walter had nothing to say to arguments of domestic economy, and so he suggested that they ask Miss Wintertowne to say whether or not she felt strong enough.

  And so they rose from their seats in the icy drawing-room (where this conversation had taken place) and went up to Miss Wintertowne’s sitting-room on the second-floor where they put the question to her.

  “Oh!” said she. “I never felt better in my life. I feel very strong and well. Thank you. I have been out already this morning. I do not often walk. I rarely feel equal to exercise, but this morning I felt as if the house were a prison. I longed to be outside.”

  Sir Walter looked very concerned. “Was that wise?” He turned to Mrs Wintertowne. “Was that well done?”

  Mrs Wintertowne opened her mouth to protest but her daughter only laughed and exclaimed, “Oh! Mama knew nothing of it, I assure you. I went out while she was asleep in her room. Barnard went with me. And I walked round Brunswick-square twenty times. Twenty! – is not that the most ridiculous thing you ever heard? But I was possessed of such a desire to walk! Indeed I would have run, I think, if it were at all possible, but in London, you know …” She laughed again. “I wanted to go further but Barnard would not let me. Barnard was in a great flutter and worry lest I should faint away in the road. She would not let me go out of sight of the house.”

  They stared at her. It was – apart from anything else – probably the longest speech Sir Walter had ever heard her utter. She was sitting very straight with a bright eye and blooming complexion – the very picture of health and beauty. She spoke so rapidly and with such expression; she looked so cheerful and was so exceedingly animated. It was as if Mr Norrell had not only restored her to life, but to twice or thrice the amount of life she had had before.

  It was very odd.

  “Of course,” said Sir Walter, “if you feel well enough to take exercise, then I am sure that no one would wish to prevent you – nothing is so likely to make you strong, and to ensure your continuing health, as regular exercise. But perhaps, for the presen
t, it would be as well not to go out without telling any one. You should have someone more than Barnard to guard you. From tomorrow, you know, I may claim that honour for myself.”

  “But you will be busy, Sir Walter,” she reminded him. “You will have all your Government business to attend to.”

  “Indeed, but …”

  “Oh! I know that you will be pretty constantly engaged with business affairs. I know I must not expect anything else.”

  She seemed so cheerfully resigned to his neglecting her that he could not help opening his mouth to protest – but the justice of what she said prevented him from saying a word. Ever since he had first seen her at Lady Winsell’s house in Bath he had been greatly struck by her beauty and elegance – and had quickly concluded that it would be a very good thing, not only to marry her as soon as it could conveniently be contrived, but also to get better acquainted with her – for he had begun to suspect that, setting aside the money, she might suit him very well as a wife. He thought that an hour or so of conversation might accomplish a great deal towards setting them upon that footing of perfect unreserve and confidence which was so much to be desired between husband and wife. He had high hopes that such a tête-à-tête would soon provide ample proofs of their mutual sympathies and tastes. Several things she had said had encouraged him to hope that it might be so. And being a man – and a clever one – and forty-two years old, he naturally had a great deal of information and a great many opinions upon almost every subject you care to mention, which he was eager to communicate to a lovely woman of nineteen – all of which, he thought, she could not fail but to find quite enthralling. But, what with his great pre occupation with business and her poor health they had yet to have this interesting conversation; and now she told him that she expected things to continue much the same after they were married. She did not appear to resent it. Instead, with her new, lively spirits, she seemed quite entertained that he should ever have deceived himself that matters could be otherwise.

  Unfortunately he was already late for an appointment with the Foreign Secretary so he took Miss Wintertowne’s hand (her whole, right hand) and kissed it very gallantly; told her how much he looked forward to the morrow that would make him the happiest of men; attended politely – hat in hand – to a short speech by Mrs Wintertowne upon the subject; and left the house resolving to consider the problem further – just as soon, in fact, as he could find the time.

  Upon the following morning the wedding did indeed take place at St George’s Hanover-square. It was attended by almost all of His Majesty’s Ministers, two or three of the Royal Dukes, half a dozen admirals, a bishop and several generals. But I am sorry to say that, vital as such great men must always be to a Nation’s peace and prosperity, on the day that Miss Wintertowne married Sir Walter Pole, no body cared tuppence for any of them. The man who drew most eyes, the man whom every body whispered to his neighbour to point out to him, was the magician, Mr Norrell.

  10

  The difficulty of finding employment for a magician

  October 1807

  Sir Walter intended to introduce the subject of magic among the other Ministers by degrees, allowing them to grow gradually accustomed to the idea before proposing that they make trial of Mr Norrell in the war. He was afraid that they would oppose him; he was sure that Mr Canning would be sarcastic, that Lord Castlereagh would be uncooperative, and the Earl of Chatham merely bemused.

  But all of these fears were entirely unfounded. The Ministers, he soon discovered, were quite as alive to the novelty of the situation as any one else in London. The next time the cabinet met at Burlington House1 they declared themselves eager to employ England’s only magician. But it was by no means clear what ought to be done with him. It had been two hundred years since the English Government had last commissioned a magician and they were a little out of the habit of it.

  “My chief problem,” explained Lord Castlereagh, “is in finding men for the Army – a quite impossible task, I assure you; the British are a peculiarly unmilitary race. But I have my eye on Lincolnshire; I am told that the pigs in Lincolnshire are particularly fine and by eating them the population grows very stout and strong. Now what would suit me best would be a general spell cast over Lincolnshire so that three or four thousand young men would all at once be filled with a lively desire to become soldiers and fight the French.” He looked at Sir Walter rather wistfully. “Would your friend know of such a spell, Sir Walter, do you think?”

  Sir Walter did not know but he said he would ask Mr Norrell.

  Later that same day Sir Walter called upon Mr Norrell and put the question to him. Mr Norrell was delighted. He did not believe that anyone had ever proposed such a piece of magic before and begged Sir Walter to convey his compliments to Lord Castlereagh as the possessor of a most original brain. As to whether or not it were possible; “The difficulty lies in confining the application of the spell to Lincolnshire – and to young men. There is a danger that if we were successful – which I flatter myself we would be – then Lincolnshire – and several of the neighbouring counties – might be entirely emptied of people.”

  Sir Walter went back to Lord Castlereagh and told him no.

  The next magic which the Ministers proposed pleased Mr Norrell a great deal less. The resurrection of Lady Pole engrossed the thoughts of everyone in London and the Ministers were by no means exempt from the general fascination. Lord Castlereagh began it when he asked the other Ministers who was it that Napoleon Buonaparte had feared most in all the world? Who had always seemed to know what the wicked French emperor would do next? Who had inflicted so resounding a defeat upon the French that they dare not stick their French noses out of their ports? Who had united in one person all the virtues that make up an Englishman? Who else, said Lord Castlereagh, but Lord Nelson? Clearly the first thing to be done was to bring back Lord Nelson from the dead. Lord Castlereagh begged Sir Walter’s pardon – perhaps he had not understood something – but why they were wasting time talking about it?

  Whereupon Mr Canning, an energetic and quarrelsome person, replied quickly that of course Lord Nelson was sadly missed, Nelson had been the Nation’s hero, Nelson had done everything Lord Castlereagh said he did. But when all was said and done – and Mr Canning meant no disrespect to the Navy, that most glorious of British institutions – Nelson had only been a sailor, whereas the late Mr Pitt had been everything.2 If anyone dead was going to be brought back to life then really there was no choice – it must be Pitt.

  Lord Chatham (who was also the late Mr Pitt’s brother) naturally seconded this proposal but he wondered why they had to make a choice – why not resurrect both Pitt and Nelson? It would only be a question of paying the magician twice and there could not be any objection to that, he supposed?

  Then other Ministers proposed other dead gentlemen as candidates for restoration until it seemed that half the vaults in England might be emptied. Very soon they had quite a long list and were, as usual, starting to argue about it.

  “This will not do,” said Sir Walter. “We must begin somewhere and it seems to me that every one of us was helped to his present position by the friendship of Mr Pitt. We would do very wrong to give some other gentleman the preference.”

  A messenger was sent to fetch Mr Norrell from Hanover-square to Burlington House. Mr Norrell was led into the magnificent painted saloon where the Ministers were sitting. Sir Walter told him that they were contemplating another resurrection.

  Mr Norrell turned very pale and muttered something of how his special regard for Sir Walter had compelled him to undertake a sort of magic which otherwise he would not have attempted – he really had no wish to make a second attempt – the Ministers did not know what they were asking.

  But when Mr Norrell understood better who it was that they proposed as a candidate, he looked a great deal relieved and was heard to say something about the condition of the body.

  Then the Ministers thought how Mr Pitt had been dead for almost two years, and that
, devoted as they had been to Pitt in his life, they really had very little desire to see him in his present condition. Lord Chatham (Mr Pitt’s brother) remarked sadly that poor William would certainly have come a good deal unravelled by now.

  The subject was not mentioned again.

  A week or so later Lord Castlereagh proposed sending Mr Norrell to the Netherlands or possibly Portugal – places where the Ministers entertained faint hopes of gaining some foothold against Buonaparte – where Mr Norrell might do magic under the direction of the generals and the admirals. So Admiral Paycocke, an ancient red-faced seaman, and Captain Harcourt-Bruce of the 20th Light Dragoons were dispatched as a joint military and naval expedition to Hanover-square to take an observation of Mr Norrell.

  Captain Harcourt-Bruce was not only dashing, handsome and brave, he was also rather romantic. The reappearance of magic in England thrilled him immensely. He was a great reader of the more exciting sort of history – and his head was full of ancient battles in which the English were outnumbered by the French and doomed to die, when all at once would be heard the sound of strange, unearthly music, and upon a hilltop would appear the Raven King in his tall, black helmet with its mantling of raven-feathers streaming in the wind; and he would gallop down the hillside on his tall, black horse with a hundred human knights and a hundred fairy knights at his back, and he would defeat the French by magic.

  That was Captain Harcourt-Bruce’s idea of a magician. That was the sort of thing which he now expected to see reproduced on every battlefield on the Continent. So when he saw Mr Norrell in his drawing-room in Hanover-square, and after he had sat and watched Mr Norrell peevishly complain to his footman, first that the cream in his tea was too creamy, and next that it was too watery – well, I shall not surprize you when I say he was somewhat disappointed. In fact he was so downcast by the whole undertaking that Admiral Paycocke, a bluff old gentleman, felt rather sorry for him and only had the heart to laugh at him and tease him very moderately about it.