“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.”
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.2 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.1
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.2 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 exa
mple 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.”3 Mr Norrell stood up and fetched it from the shelves. But he did not give it to Strange straightaway.