So delighted was the Admiralty with all that Mr Norrell had accomplished that Lord Mulgrave and Mr Horrocks soon looked about them to see what other tasks they could find for the magician. His Majesty’s Navy had recently captured a French ship of the line with a very fine figurehead in the shape of a mermaid with bright blue eyes, coral-pink lips, a great mass of sumptuous golden curls artistically strewn with wooden representations of starfish and crabs, and a tail that was covered all over with silver-gilt as if it might be made of gingerbread inside. It was known that before it had been captured, the ship had been at Toulon, Cherbourg, Antwerp, Rotterdam and Genoa, and so the mermaid had seen a great deal of enemy defences and of the Emperor Napoleon Buonaparte’s great scheme of ship-building which was going forward at that time. Mr Horrocks asked Mr Norrell to put a spell on her so that she might tell all she knew. This Mr Norrell did. But though the mermaid could be made to speak she could not at first be brought to answer any questions. She considered herself the implacable enemy of the British and was highly delighted to be given powers of speech so that she could express her hatred of them. Having passed all her existence among sailors she knew a great many insults and bestowed them very readily on anyone who came near her in a voice that sounded like the creaking of masts and timbers in a high wind. Nor did she confine herself to abusing Englishmen with words. There were three seamen that had work to do about the ship, but the moment that they got within reach of the mermaid’s wooden arms she picked them up in her great wooden hands and threw them in the water.
Mr Horrocks who had gone down to Portsmouth to talk to her, grew tired of her and told her that he would have her chopped up and made a bonfire of. But, though French, she was also very brave and said she would like to see the man that would try to burn her. And she lashed her tail and waved her arms menacingly; and all the wooden starfish and crabs in her hair bristled.
The situation was resolved when the handsome young Captain who had captured her ship was sent to reason with her. He was able to explain to her in clear, comprehensible French the rightness of the British cause and the terrible wrongness of the French one, and whether it were the persuasiveness of his words or the handsomeness of his face that convinced her I do not know, but she told Mr Horrocks all he wished to know.
Mr Norrell rose every day to new heights of public greatness and an enterprising printmaker called Holland who had a print-shop in St Paul’s Churchyard was inspired to commission an engraving of him to be sold in the shop. The engraving shewed Mr Norrell in the company of a young lady, scantily dressed in a loose smock. A great quantity of stiff, dark material swirled and coiled about the young lady’s body without ever actually touching it and, for the further embellishment of her person, she wore a crescent moon tucked in among the tumbling locks of her hair. She had taken Mr Norrell (who appeared entirely astonished by the proceedings) by the arm and was energetically pulling him up a flight of stairs and pointing in most emphatic manner towards a lady of mature years who sat at the top. The lady of mature years was attired like the young lady in smock and draperies, with the handsome addition of a Roman helmet on her head; she appeared to be weeping in the most uninhibited fashion, while an elderly lion, her only companion, lay at her feet with a gloomy expression upon his countenance. This engraving, entitled The Spirit of English Magic urges Mr Norrell to the Aid of Britannia, was an immense success and Mr Holland sold almost seven hundred copies in a month.
Mr Norrell did not go out so much as formerly; instead he stayed at home and received respectful visits from all sorts of great people. It was not uncommon for five or six coronet-coaches to stop at his house in Hanover-square in the space of one morning. He was the still same silent, nervous little man he had always been and, had it not been for Mr Drawlight and Mr Lascelles, the occupants of those carriages must have found their visits dull indeed. Upon such occasions Mr Drawlight and Mr Lascelles supplied all the conversation. Indeed Mr Norrell’s dependence upon these two gentlemen increased daily. Childermass had once said that it would be an odd sort of magician that would employ Drawlight, yet Mr Norrell now employed him constantly; Drawlight was forever being driven about in Mr Norrell’s carriage upon Mr Norrell’s business. Every day he came early to Hanover-square to tell Mr Norrell what was being said about the Town, who was rising, who falling, who was in debt, who in love, until Mr Norrell, sitting alone in his library, began to know as much of the Town’s business as any City matron.
More surprizing, perhaps, was Mr Lascelles’s devotion to the cause of English magic. The explanation, however, was quite simple. Mr Lascelles was one of that uncomfortable breed of men who despise steady employment of any sort. Though perfectly conscious of his own superior understanding, he had never troubled to acquire any particular skills or knowledge, and had arrived at the age of thirty-nine entirely unfitted for any office or occupation. He had looked about him and seen men, who had worked diligently all the years of their youth, risen to positions of power and influence; and there is no doubt that he envied them. Consequently it was highly agreeable to Mr Lascelles to become counsellor-in-chief to the greatest magician of the Age, and have respectful questions put to him by the King’s Ministers. Naturally, he made a great shew of being the same careless, indifferent gentleman as before, but in truth he was extremely jealous of his new-found importance. He and Drawlight had come to an understanding one night in the Bedford over a bottle of port. Two friends, they had agreed, were quite sufficient for a quiet gentleman such as Mr Norrell, and they had formed an alliance to guard each other’s interest and to prevent any other person from gaining any influence over the magician.
It was Mr Lascelles who first encouraged Mr Norrell to think of publication. Poor Mr Norrell was constantly affronted by people’s misconceptions concerning magic and was forever lamenting the general ignorance upon the subject. “They ask me to shew them fairy-spirits,” he complained, “and unicorns and manticores and things of that sort. The utility of the magic I have done is entirely lost on them. It is only the most frivolous sorts of magic that excite their interest.”
Mr Lascelles said, “Feats of magic will make your name known everywhere, sir, but they will never make your opinions understood. For that you must publish.”
“Yes, indeed,” cried Mr Norrell, eagerly, “and I have every intention of writing a book – just as you advise – only I fear it will be many years before I have leisure enough to undertake it.”
“Oh! I quite agree – a book would mean a world of work,” said Mr Lascelles, languidly, “but I had no notion of a book. Two or three articles was what I had in mind. I dare say there is not an editor in London or Edinburgh who would not be delighted to publish any little thing you cared to send him – you may make your choice of the periodicals, but if you take my advice, sir, you will chuse The Edinburgh Review. There is scarcely a household in the kingdom with any pretensions to gentility that does not take it. There is no quicker way of making your views more widely understood.”
Mr Lascelles was so persuasive upon the subject and conjured up such visions of Mr Norrell’s articles upon every library-table and Mr Norrell’s opinions discussed in every drawing-room that, had it not been for the great dislike that Mr Norrell had to The Edinburgh Review, he would have sat down there and then to begin writing. Unfortunately, The Edinburgh Review was a publication renowned chiefly for radical opinions, criticism of the Government and opposition to the war with France – none of which Mr Norrell could approve.
“Besides,” said Mr Norrell, “I really have no desire to write reviews of other people’s books. Modern publications upon magic are the most pernicious things in the world, full of misinformation and wrong opinions.”
“Then sir, you may say so. The ruder you are, the more the editors will be delighted.”
“But it is my own opinions which I wish to make better known, not other people’s.”
“Ah, but, sir,” said Lascelles, “it is precisely by passing judgements upon other people’s wor
k and pointing out their errors that readers can be made to understand your own opinions better. It is the easiest thing in the world to turn a review to one’s own ends. One only need mention the book once or twice and for the rest of the article one may develop one’s theme just as one chuses. It is, I assure you, what every body else does.”
“Hmm,” said Mr Norrell thoughtfully, “you may be right. But, no. It would seem as if I were lending support to what ought never to have been published in the first place.”
And upon this point Mr Norrell proved unpersuadable.
Lascelles was disappointed; The Edinburgh Review far surpassed its rivals in brilliance and wit. Its articles were devoured by everyone in the kingdom from the meanest curate to the Prime Minister. Other publications were very dull in comparison.
He was inclined to abandon the notion altogether and had almost forgotten all about it when he happened to receive a letter from a young bookseller named Murray. Mr Murray respectfully requested that Mr Lascelles and Mr Drawlight would do him the honour of permitting him to wait upon them at any hour and upon any day to suit them. He had, he said, a proposal to put before them, a proposal which concerned Mr Norrell.
Lascelles and Drawlight met the bookseller at Mr Lascelles’s house in Bruton-street a few days later. His manner was energetic and businesslike and he laid his proposal before them immediately.
“Like every other inhabitant of these isles, gentlemen, I have been amazed and delighted at the recent extraordinary revival of English magic. And I have been equally struck by the enthusiasm with which the British Public has greeted this reappearance of an art long thought dead. I am convinced that a periodical devoted to magic would achieve a wide circulation. Literature, politics, religion and travel are all very well – they will always be popular subjects for a periodical, but magic – real, practical magic like Mr Norrell’s – has the advantage of complete novelty. I wonder, gentlemen, if you could tell me whether Mr Norrell would look favourably upon my proposal? I have heard that Mr Norrell has a great deal to say upon the subject. I have heard that Mr Norrell’s opinions are quite surprizing! Of course we all learnt a little of the history and theory of magic in our schoolrooms, but it is so long since any magic was practised in these islands that I dare say what we have been taught is full of errors and misconceptions.”
“Ah!” cried Mr Drawlight. “How perceptive of you, Mr Murray! How happy it would make Mr Norrell to hear you say so! Errors and misconceptions – exactly so! Whenever, my dear sir, you are privileged to enjoy Mr Norrell’s conversation – as I have been upon many occasions – you will learn that such is the exact state of affairs!”
“It has long been the dearest wish of Mr Norrell’s heart,” said Lascelles, “to bring a more precise understanding of modern magic before a wider audience, but alas, sir, private wishes are often frustrated by public duties, and the Admiralty and the War Office keep him so busy.”
Mr Murray replied politely that of course all other considerations must give way before the great consideration of the war and Mr Norrell was a National Treasure. “But I hope that some way might be found to arrange matters so that the chief burden did not fall upon Mr Norrell’s shoulders. We would employ an editor to plan each issue, solicit articles and reviews, make changes – all under Mr Norrell’s guidance, naturally.”
“Ah, yes!” said Lascelles. “Quite. All under Mr Norrell’s guidance. We would insist upon that.”
The interview ended very cordially upon both sides with Lascelles and Drawlight promising to speak to Mr Norrell immediately.
Drawlight watched Mr Murray leave the room. “A Scotchman,” he said as soon as the door was closed.
“Oh, quite!” agreed Lascelles. “But I do not mind that. The Scotch are often very able, very canny in business. I believe this might do very well.”
“He seemed quite a respectable person – almost a gentleman in fact. Except that he has a queer trick of fixing his right eye upon one while his other eye travels the room. I found that a little disconcerting.”
“He is blind in his right eye.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes. Canning told me. One of his schoolmasters stuck a penknife in it when he was boy.”
“Dear me! But, just imagine, my dear Lascelles! A whole periodical devoted to one person’s opinions! I would never have believed it possible! The magician will be astonished when we tell him.”
Mr Lascelles laughed. “He will consider it the most natural thing in the world. His vanity is beyond any thing.”
As Lascelles had predicted, Mr Norrell found nothing extraordinary in the proposal, but straightaway he began to make difficulties. “It is an excellent plan,” he said, “but unfortunately completely impracticable. I have no time to edit a periodical and I could scarcely entrust so important a task to any one else.”
“I was quite of the same mind, sir,” said Mr Lascelles, “until I thought of Portishead.”
“Portishead? Who is Portishead?” asked Mr Norrell.
“Well,” said Lascelles, “He was a theoretical magician, but …”
“A theoretical magician?” interrupted Mr Norrell in alarm. “You know what I think of that!”
“Ah, but you have not heard what follows,” said Lascelles. “So great is his admiration of you, sir, that on being told you did not approve of theoretical magicians he immediately gave up his studies.”
“Did he indeed?” said Mr Norrell, somewhat placated by this information.
“He has published one or two books. I forget what exactly – a history of sixteenth-century magic for children or something of that sort.2 I really feel that you might safely entrust the periodical to Lord Portishead, sir. There is no danger of him publishing any thing of which you disapprove; he is known as one of most honourable men in the kingdom. His first wish will be to please you, I am quite certain.”3
Somewhat reluctantly Mr Norrell agreed to meet Lord Portishead and Mr Drawlight wrote a letter summoning him to Hanover-square.
Lord Portishead was about thirty-eight years of age. He was very tall and thin with long, thin hands and feet. He habitually wore a whitish coat and light-coloured breeches. He was a gentle soul whom everything made uncomfortable: his excessive height made him uncomfortable; his status as a former theoretical magician made him uncomfortable (being an intelligent man he knew that Mr Norrell disapproved of him); meeting such polished men of the world as Drawlight and Lascelles made him uncomfortable and meeting Mr Norrell – who was his great hero – made him most uncomfortable of all. At one point he became so agitated that he began to sway backwards and forwards – which, taken in conjunction with his height and whitish clothes, gave him the appearance of a silver-birch tree in a high wind.
Despite his nervousness he managed to convey his great sense of the honour done to him in being summoned to meet Mr Norrell. Indeed so gratified was Mr Norrell by Lord Portishead’s extreme deference towards him that he graciously gave his permission for Lord Portishead to study magic again.
Naturally Lord Portishead was delighted, but when he heard that Mr Norrell desired him to sit for long periods of time in a corner of Mr Norrell’s own drawing-room, soaking up Mr Norrell’s opinions upon modern magic, and then to edit, under Mr Norrell’s direction, Mr Murray’s new periodical, it seemed that he could conceive of no greater happiness.
The new periodical was named The Friends of English Magic, the title being taken from Mr Segundus’s letter to The Times in the previous spring. Curiously none of the articles which appeared in The Friends of English Magic were written by Mr Norrell, who was found to be entirely incapable of finishing a piece of writing; he was never satisfied with what he had written. He could never be sure that he had not said too much or too little.4
There is not much to interest the serious student of magic in the early issues and the only entertainment to be got from them is contained in several articles in which Portishead attacks on Mr Norrell’s behalf: gentleman-magicians; lady-magicians; str
eet-magicians; vagabond-magicians; child-prodigy-magicians; the Learned Society of York Magicians; the Learned Society of Manchester Magicians; learned societies of magicians in general; any other magicians whatsoever.
13
The magician of Threadneedle-street
December 1807
The most famous street-magician in London was undoubtedly Vinculus. His magician’s booth stood before the church of St Christopher Le Stocks in Threadneedle-street opposite the Bank of England, and it would have been difficult to say whether the bank or the booth were the more famous.
Yet the reason for Vinculus’s celebrity – or notoriety – was a little mysterious. He was no better a magician than any of the other charlatans with lank hair and a dirty yellow curtain. His spells did not work, his prophecies did not come true and his trances had been proven false beyond a doubt.
For many years he was much addicted to holding deep and weighty conference with the Spirit of the River Thames. He would fall into a trance and ask the Spirit questions and the voice of the Spirit would issue forth from his mouth in accents deep, watery and windy. On a winter’s day in 1805 a woman paid him a shilling to ask the Spirit to tell her where she might find her runaway husband. The Spirit provided a great deal of quite surprizing information and a crowd began to gather around the booth to listen to it. Some of the bystanders believed in Vinculus’s ability and were duly impressed by the Spirit’s oration, but others began to taunt the magician and his client. One such jeerer (a mostingenious fellow) actually managed to set Vinculus’s shoes on fire while Vinculus was speaking. Vinculus came out of his trance immediately: he leapt about, howling and attempting to pull off his shoes and stamp out the fire at one and the same time. He was throwing himself about and the crowd were all enjoying the sight immensely, when something popt out of his mouth. Two men picked it up and examined it: it was a little metal contraption not more than an inch and a half long. It was something like a mouth-organ and when one of the men placed it in his own mouth he too was able to produce the voice of the Spirit of the River Thames.
Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell Page 14
