Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell

  By the time Lucas brought in the tray with the tea-things the two magicians seemed like their natural selves again (though Strange was perhaps a little quieter than usual). The quarrel seemed mended.

  Just before Strange left he asked if he might borrow Lord Portishead’s book.

  “Certainly!” cried Mr Norrell. “Keep it as your own! I have several other copies.”

  Despite all that Strange and Childermass had said against it Mr Norrell was unable to give up his plan to revive the Cinque Dragownes. The more he thought of it, the more it seemed to him that he would never enjoy peace again until there was a proper court of magical law in England. He felt that no punishment that might be meted out to Drawlight from any other quarter could ever satisfy him. So later that same day he sent Childermass to Lord Liverpool’s house to beg the favour of a few minutes’ conversation with his lordship. Lord Liverpool sent back a message that he would see Mr Norrell upon the following day.

  At the appointed hour Mr Norrell waited upon the Prime Minister and explained his plan. When he had finished Lord Liverpool frowned.

  “But magical law has fallen into disuse in England,” said his lordship. “There are no lawyers trained to practise in such a court. Who would take the cases? Who would judge them?”

  “Ah!” exclaimed Mr Norrell, producing a thick sheaf of papers. “I am glad your lordship asks such pertinent questions. I have drawn up a document describing the workings of the Cinque Dragownes. Sadly there are many lacunae in our knowledge, but I have suggested ways in which we might restore what has been lost. I have taken as my model the ecclesiastical courts of the Doctors Commons. As your lordship will see, we have a great deal of work before us.”

  Lord Liverpool glanced at the papers. “Too much work by far, Mr Norrell,” he declared flatly.

  “Oh, but it is very necessary I assure you! Very necessary indeed! How else will we regulate magic? How else will we guard against wicked magicians and their servants?”

  “What wicked magicians? There is only Mr Strange and you.”

  “Well, that is true, but …”

  “Do you feel particularly wicked at present, Mr Norrell? Is there some pressing reason that the British Government should establish a separate body of law to control your vicious tendencies?”

  “No, I …”

  “Or perhaps Mr Strange is exhibiting a strong inclination to murder, maim and steal?”

  “No, but …”

  “Then all we are left with is this Mr Drawlight – who, as far as I can tell, is not a magician at all.”

  “But his crimes are specifically magical crimes. Under English law he ought to be tried by the court of Cinque Dragownes – it is the proper place for him. These are the names of his crimes.” Mr Norrell placed yet another list before the Prime Minister. “There! False Magic, Evil Tendings and Malevolent Pedagogy. No ordinary court is competent to deal with them.”

  “No doubt. But, as I have already observed, there is no one who can try the case.”

  “If your lordship will only cast your eye over page forty-two of my notes, I propose employing judges, advocates and proctors from the Doctors Commons. I could explain the principles of thaumaturgic law to them – it will take no more than a week or so. And I could lend them my servant, John Childermass, for as long as the trial lasts. He is a very knowledgeable man and could easily tell them when they were going wrong.”

  “What! The judge and lawyers to be coached in their duties by the plaintiff and his servant! Certainly not! Justice recoils from the idea!”

  Mr Norrell blinked. “But what other security do I have that other magicians might not arise to challenge my authority and contradict me?”

  “Mr Norrell, it is not the duty of the court – any court – to exalt one person’s opinions above others! Not in magic nor in any other sphere of life. If other magicians think differently from you, then you must battle it out with them. You must prove the superiority of your opinions, as I do in politics. You must argue and publish and practise your magic and you must learn to live as I do – in the face of constant criticism, opposition and censure. That, sir, is the English way.”

  “But …”

  “I am sorry, Mr Norrell. I will hear no more. That is an end of it. The Government of Great Britain is grateful to you. You have done your country immeasurable service. Any one may know how highly we prize you, but what you ask is quite impossible.”

  Drawlight’s deception soon became common knowledge and, as Strange had predicted, a certain amount of blame attached to the two magicians. Drawlight was, after all, the bosom companion of one of them. It made an excellent subject for the caricaturists and several quite startling examples were published. One by George Cruikshank shewed Mr Norrell making a long speech to a group of his admirers about the nobility of English magic, while in a backroom Strange dictated a sort of bill of fare to a servant who chalked it upon a blackboard; “For killing a slight acquaintance by magic – twenty guineas. For killing a close friend – forty guineas. For killing a relation – one hundred guineas. For killing a spouse – four hundred guineas.” In another caricature by Rowlandson a fashionable lady was walking in the street leading a fluffy little dog upon a leash. She was met by some of her acquaintance who began exclaiming over her dog: “La! Mrs Foulkes, what a sweet little pug!” “Yes,” replied Mrs Foulkes, “it is Mr Foulkes. I paid Mr Strange and Mr Norrell fifty guineas to make my husband obedient to my every desire and this is the result.”

  There is no doubt that the caricatures and malicious paragraphs in the newspapers did the cause of English magic considerable damage. It was now possible for magic to be considered in quite a different light – not as the Nation’s Greatest Defence, but as the tool of Malice and Envy.

  And what of the people whom Drawlight had harmed? How did they view matters? There is no doubt that Mr Palgrave – the ancient, sick and disagreeable person who had hoped to live for ever – intended to prosecute Drawlight for fraud, but he was prevented from doing so by the circumstance of his dying suddenly the next day. His children and heirs (who all hated him) were rather pleased than otherwise to discover that his last days had been characterized by frustration, misery and disappointment. Nor did Drawlight have any thing to fear from Miss Gray or Mrs Bullworth. Miss Gray’s friends and relations would not allow her to become embroiled in a vulgar court case and Mrs Bullworth’s instructions to Drawlight had been so malicious as to make her culpable herself; she was powerless to strike at him. That left Gatcombe and Tantony, the Nottinghamshire brewers. As a practical man of business Mr Gatcombe was chiefly concerned to recover the money and sent bailiffs to London to fetch it. Unfortunately, Drawlight was unable to oblige Mr Gatcombe in this small particular, as he had spent it all long ago.

  And so we come to Drawlight’s real downfall, for no sooner had he escaped the gallows than his true Nemesis appeared in the already-cloudy sky of his existence, whirling through the air upon black wings to crush him. He had never been rich, indeed quite the reverse. He lived chiefly upon credit and by borrowing from his friends. Sometimes he won money at gambling clubs, but more often he encouraged foolish young Toms and Jerrys to gamble, and when they lost (which they invariably did) he would take them by the arm and, talking all the while, would lead them to this or that money-lender of his acquaintance. “I could not honestly recommend you to any other money-lender,” he would tell them solicitously, “they require such monstrous amounts of interest – but Mr Buzzard is quite another sort. He is such a kindly old gentleman. He cannot bear to see any body denied a pleasure when he has the means of obtaining it for them. I truly think that he considers the lending of small sums of money more in the light of a work of charity than a business venture!” For this small but important role in luring young men into debt, vice and ruination, Drawlight received payment from the money-lenders – generally four per cent of the first year’s interest for the son of a commoner, six per cent for the son of a viscount or baronet and ten per cent for
the son of an earl or duke.

  News of his disgrace began to circulate. Tailors, hatters and glovemakers to whom he owed money became anxious and began to clamour for payment. Debts which he had confidently supposed might be put off for another four or five years were suddenly revived and made matters of urgency. Rough-faced men with sticks in their hands came pounding upon his door. He was advised by several people to go abroad immediately, but he could not quite believe that he was so entirely forsaken by his friends. He thought Mr Norrell would relent; he thought Lascelles, his dear, dear Lascelles, would help him. He sent them both respectful letters requesting the immediate loan of four hundred guineas. But Mr Norrell never replied and Lascelles only wrote to say that he made it a rule never to lend money to any one. Drawlight was arrested for debt upon the Tuesday morning and by the following Friday he was a prisoner in the King’s Bench Prison.

  On an evening towards the end of November, a week or so after these events, Strange and Arabella were sitting in the drawing-room at Soho-square. Arabella was writing a letter and Strange was plucking absent-mindedly at his hair and staring straight ahead of him. Suddenly he got up and went out of the room.

  He reappeared an hour later with a dozen sheets of paper covered in writing.

  Arabella looked up. “I thought the article for The Friends of English Magic was done,” she said.

  “This is not the article for The Friends of English Magic. It is a review of Portishead’s book.”

  Arabella frowned. “But you cannot review a book which you yourself helped write.”

  “I believe I might. Under certain circumstances.”

  “Indeed! And what circumstances are those?”

  “If I say it is an abominable book, a wicked fraud perpetrated upon the British public.”

  Arabella stared at him. “Jonathan!” she said at last.

  “Well, it is an abominable book.”

  He handed her the sheaf of papers and she began to read them. The mantelpiece clock struck nine and Jeremy brought in the tea-things. When she had finished, she sighed. “What are you going to do?”

  “I do not know. Publish it, I suppose.”

  “But what of poor Lord Portishead? If he has written things in his book that are wrong, then of course someone ought to say so. But you know very well that he only wrote them because you told him to. He will feel himself very ill used.”

  “Oh, quite! It is a wretched business from start to finish,” said Strange unconcernedly. He sipped his tea and ate a piece of toast. “But that is not the point. Ought I to allow my regard for Portishead to prevent me from saying what I think is true? I do not think so. Do you?”

  “But must it be you?” said Arabella with a miserable look. “Poor man, he will feel it so much more coming from you.”

  Strange frowned. “Of course it must be me. Who else is there? But, come. I promise you I will make him a very handsome apology just as soon as the occasion arises.”

  And with that Arabella was obliged to be content.

  In the meantime Strange considered where he should send his review. His choice fell upon Mr Jeffrey, the editor of The Edinburgh Review in Scotland. The Edinburgh Review, it may be remembered, was a radical publication in favour of political reform, emancipation of Catholics and Jews, and all sorts of other things Mr Norrell did not approve. As a consequence, in recent years Mr Jeffrey had seen reviews and articles upon the Revival of English Magic appear in rival publications, while he, poor fellow, had none. Naturally he was delighted to receive Strange’s review. He was not in the least concerned about its astonishing and revolutionary content, since that was the sort of thing that he liked best. He wrote Strange a letter immediately, assuring him that he would publish it as soon as possible, and a couple of days later he sent Strange a haggis (a sort of Scotch pudding) as a present.

  38

  From The Edinburgh Review

  January 1815

  Art. XIII. Essay on the Extraordinary Revival of English Magic, &c. By JOHN WATERBURY, Lord PORTISHEAD, with an Account of the Magic done in the late Peninsular War: By JONATHAN STRANGE, Magician-in-Ordinary to His Grace the Duke of WELLINGTON. London, 1814. John Murray.

  As the valued aide and confidant of Mr NORRELL and the friend of Mr STRANGE, Lord PORTISHEAD is admirably fitted to write the history of recent magical events, for he has been at the centre of many of them. Each of Mr NORRELL and Mr STRANGE’s achievements has been widely discussed in the newspapers and reviews, but Lord PORTISHEAD’s readers will have their understanding much improved by having the tale set out for them in its entirety.

  Mr NORRELL’s more enthusiastic admirers would have us believe that he arrived in London in the Spring of 1807 fully formed as England’s Greatest Magician and the First Phenomenon of the Age, but it is clear from PORTISHEAD’s account that both he and STRANGE have grown in confidence and skill from very tentative beginnings. PORTISHEAD does not neglect to mention their failures as well as their successes. Chapter Five contains a tragi-comic account of their long-running argument with the HORSE GUARDS which began in 1810 when one of the generals had the original notion of replacing the Cavalry’s horses with unicorns. In this way it was hoped to grant the soldiers the power of goring Frenchmen through their hearts. Unfortunately, this excellent plan was never implemented since, far from finding unicorns in sufficient number for the Cavalry’s use, Mr NORRELL and Mr STRANGE have yet to discover a single one.

  Of more dubious value is the second half of his lordship’s book, wherein he leaves description behind and begins to lay down rules to determine what is, and is not, respectable English magic – in other words what shall be called White Magic and what Black. There is nothing new here. Were the reader to cast his eye over the offerings of the recent commentators upon Magic, he would begin to perceive a curious uniformity of opinion. All recite the same history and all use the same arguments to establish their conclusions.

  Perhaps the time has come to ask why this should be so. In every other branch of Knowledge our understanding is enlarged by rational opposition and debate. Law, Theology, History and Science have their various factions. Why then, in Magic, do we hear nothing but the same tired arguments? One begins to wonder why any one troubles to argue at all, since everyone appears to be convinced of the same truths. This dreary monotone is particularly evident in recent accounts of ENGLISH MAGICAL HISTORY which are growing more eccentric with each retelling.

  Eight years ago this very author published A Child’s History of the Raven King, one of the most perfect things of its kind. It conveys to the reader a vivid sense of the eeriness and wonder of JOHN USKGLASS’s magic. So why does he now pretend to believe that true English Magic began in the sixteenth century with MARTIN PALE? In Chapter 6 of the Essay on the Extraordinary Revival of English Magic, &c., he declares that PALE consciously set out to purge English Magic of its darker elements. He does not attempt to present any evidence for this extraordinary claim – which is just as well, since no evidence exists.

  According to PORTISHEAD’s present view, the tradition which began with PALE was more perfectly elaborated by HICKMAN, LANCHESTER, GOUBERT, BELASIS et al (those we term the ARGENTINE magicians), and has now reached its glorious apogee with Mr NORRELL and Mr STRANGE. It is certainly a view that Mr STRANGE and Mr NORRELL have worked hard to perpetrate. But it simply will not do. MARTIN PALE and the ARGENTINE magicians never intended to lay the foundations of English Magic. In every spell they recorded, in every word they wrote, they were trying to re-create the glorious Magic of their predecessors (those we term the Golden Age or AUREATE magicians): THOMAS GODBLESS, RALPH DE STOKESEY, CATHERINE OF WINCHESTER and, above all, JOHN USKGLASS. MARTIN PALE was the devoted follower of these magicians. He never ceased to regret that he had been born two hundred years out of his proper time.

  One of the most extraordinary characteristics of the revival of English Magic has been its treatment of JOHN USKGLASS. Nowadays it seems that his name is only spoken in order to revile him. It is a
s if Mr DAVY and Mr FARADAY and our other Great Men of Science felt obliged to begin their lectures by expressing their contempt and loathing of ISAAC NEWTON. Or as if our eminent Physicians prefaced every announcement of a new discovery in Medicine with a description of the wickedness of WILLIAM HARVEY.

  Lord PORTISHEAD devotes a long chapter of his book to trying to prove that JOHN USKGLASS is not, as is commonly supposed, the founder of English Magic since there were magicians in these islands before his time. I do not deny it. But what I do most vehemently deny is that there was any tradition of Magic in England before JOHN USKGLASS.

  Let us examine these earlier magicians that PORTISHEAD makes so much of. Who were they? JOSEPH OF ARIMATHEA was one, a magician who came from the Holy Lands and planted a magic tree to protect England from harm – but I never heard that he stayed long enough to teach any of the inhabitants his skills. MERLIN was another but, as he was upon his mother’s side Welsh and upon his father’s Infernal, he will scarcely do for that pattern of respectable English Magic upon which PORTISHEAD, NORRELL and STRANGE have set their hearts. And who were MERLIN’s pupils and followers? We cannot name a single one. No, for once the common view is the correct one: Magic had been long extinct in these islands until JOHN USKGLASS came out of Faerie and established his Kingdom of Northern England.

  PORTISHEAD seems to have had some doubts upon this point himself and in case his arguments have failed to convince his readers he sets about proving that JOHN USKGLASS’s magic was inherently wicked. But it is far from clear that the examples he chuses support this conclusion. Let us examine one of them. Everyone has heard of the four magical woods that surrounded JOHN USKGLASS’s capital city of Newcastle. Their names were Great Tom, Asmody’s Citadel, Petty Egypt and Serlo’s Blessing. They moved from place to place and were known, upon occasion, to swallow up people who approached the city intending harm to the inhabitants. Certainly the notion of man-eating woods strikes us as eerie and horrible, but there is no evidence that JOHN USKGLASS’s contemporaries found it so. It was a violent Age; JOHN USKGLASS was a mediaeval king and he acted as a mediaeval king should, to protect his city and his citizens.