Strange bent over these things, with a concentration to rival Minervois’s own, questioning, criticizing and proposing. Strange and the two engravers spoke French to each other. To Strange’s surprize Childermass understood perfectly and even addressed one or two questions to Minervois in his own language. Unfortunately, Childermass’s French was so strongly accented by his native Yorkshire that Minervois did not understand and asked Strange if Childermass was Dutch.
“Of course,” remarked Strange to Childermass, “they make these scenes altogether too Roman – too like the works of Palladio and Piranesi, but they cannot help that – it is their training. One can never help one’s training, you know. As a magician I shall never quite be Strange – or, at least, not Strange alone – there is too much of Norrell in me.”
“So this is what you saw upon the King’s Roads?” said Childermass.
“Yes.”
“And what is the country that the bridge crosses?”
Strange looked at Childermass ironically. “I do not know, Magician. What is your opinion?”
Childermass shrugged. “I suppose it is Faerie.”
“Perhaps. But I am beginning to think that what we call Faerie is likely to be made up of many countries. One might as well say ‘Elsewhere’ and say as much.”
“How far distant are these places?”
“Not far. I went there from Covent-garden and saw them all in the space of an hour and a half.”
“Was the magic difficult?”
“No, not really.”
“And will you tell me what it was?”
“With the greatest good will in the world. You need a spell of revelation – I used Doncaster. And another of dissolution to melt the mirror’s surface. There are no end of dissolution spells in the books I have seen, but as far as I can tell, they are all perfectly useless so I was obliged to make my own – I can write it down for you if you wish. Finally one must set both of these spells within an overarching spell of path-finding. That is important, otherwise I do not see how you would ever get out again.” Strange paused and looked at Childermass. “You follow me?”
“Perfectly, sir.”
“Good.” There was a little pause and then Strange said, “Is it not time, Childermass, that you left Mr Norrell’s service and came to me? There need be none of this servant nonsense. You would simply be my pupil and assistant.”
Childermass laughed. “Ha, ha! Thank you, sir. Thank you! But Mr Norrell and I are not done with each other. Not yet. And, besides, I think I would be a very bad pupil – worse even than you.”
Strange, smiling, considered a moment. “That is a good answer,” he said at last, “but not quite good enough, I am afraid. I do not believe that you can truly support Norrell’s side. One magician in England! One opinion upon magic! Surely you do not agree with that? There is at least as much contrariness in your character as in mine. Why not come and be contrary with me?”
“But then I would be obliged to agree with you, sir, would I not? I do not know how it will end with you and Norrell. I have asked my cards to tell me, but the answer seems to blow this way and that. What lies ahead is too complex for the cards to explain clearly and I cannot find the right question to ask them. I tell you what I will do. I will make you a promise. If you fail and Mr Norrell wins, then I will indeed leave his service. I will take up your cause, oppose him with all my might and find arguments to vex him – and then there shall still be two magicians in England and two opinions upon magic. But, if he should fail and you win, I will do the same for you. Is that good enough?”
Strange smiled. “Yes, that is good enough. Go back to Mr Norrell and present my compliments. Tell him I hope he will be pleased with the answers I have given you. If there is any thing else he wishes to know, you will find me at home tomorrow at about four.”
“Thank you, sir. You have been very frank and open.”
“And why should I not? It is Norrell who likes to keep secrets, not I. I have told you nothing that is not already in my book. In a month or so, every man, woman and child in the kingdom will be able to read it and form their own opinions upon it. I really cannot see that there is any thing Norrell can do to prevent it.”
49
Wildness and madness
March 1816
A few days after the visit to the engravers Strange invited Sir Walter and Lord Portishead to dinner. Both gentlemen had dined with Strange upon many occasions, but this was the first time they had entered the house in Soho-square since the death of Mrs Strange. They found it sadly changed. Strange seemed to have reverted to all his old bachelor habits. Tables and chairs were fast disappearing under piles of papers. Half-finished chapters of his book were to be found in every part of the house and in the drawing-room he had even taken to making notes upon the wallpaper.
Sir Walter started to remove a pile of books from a chair.
“No, no!” cried Strange, “Do not move those! They are in a very particular order.”
“But where shall I sit?” asked Sir Walter in some perplexity.
Strange made a small sound of exasperation as if this were a most unreasonable request. Nevertheless he moved the books and only once became distracted in the process and fell to reading one of them. As soon as he had read through the passage twice and made a note of it upon the wallpaper he was able to attend to his guests again.
“I am very pleased to see you here again, my lord,” he said to Portishead. “I have been asking everyone about Norrell – as much, I believe, as he has been asking about me. I hope you have a great deal to tell me.”
“I thought I had already told you all about that,” said Sir Walter, plaintively.
“Yes, yes. You told me where Norrell has been and whom he has been speaking to and how he is regarded by all the Ministers, but I am asking his lordship about magic and what you understand about magic would barely …”
“… fill a square inch of wallpaper?” offered Sir Walter.
“Quite. Come, my lord. Tell me. What has Mr Norrell been doing lately?”
“Well,” said Lord Portishead, “at the request of Lord Liverpool he has been working on some magic to help guard against Napoleon Buonaparte ever escaping again – and he has been studying the Discourses upon the Kingdom of Light and the Kingdom of Darkness. He believes he has made some discoveries.”
“What is this?” cried Strange in alarm. “Something new in the Discourses?”1
“It is something he has found on page 72 of Cromford’s edition. A new application of the Spell to Conjure Death. I do not understand it very well.2 Mr Norrell seems to think that the principle might be adapted to cure diseases in men and animals – by conjuring the disease to come forth out of the body as if it were a demon.”
“Oh, that!” exclaimed Strange in relief. “Yes, yes! I know what you mean now. I made the connexion last June. So Norrell has only just arrived there, has he? Oh, excellent!”
“Many people were surprized that he did not take another pupil after you,” continued Lord Portishead, “and I know that he has received a number of applications. But he has taken none of them. Indeed I do not believe he even spoke to the young men in question or answered their letters. His standards are so very exacting and no one comes up to you, sir.”
Strange smiled. “Well, all that is just as I would have expected. He can scarcely bear the existence of a second magician. A third will probably be the death of him. I shall soon have the advantage of him. In the struggle to decide the character of English magic the sides will be very unevenly matched. There will only be one Norrellite magician and dozens of Strangite magicians. Or at least, as many as I can educate. I am thinking of setting up Jeremy Johns as a sort of anti-Childermass. He can go about the country seeking out all the people whom Norrell and Childermass have persuaded out of the study of magic and then he and I can persuade them back into it. I have had conversations with several young men already. Two or three are very promising. Lord Chaldecott’s second son, Henry Purfois, has
read a great many fourth-rate books about magic and fifth-rate biographies of magicians. It makes his conversation a little tedious, but he is scarcely to blame for that, poor fellow. Then there is William Hadley-Bright who was one of Wellington’s aides-de-camp at Waterloo, and an odd little man called Tom Levy who is presently employed as a dancing-master in Norwich.”
“A dancing-master?” frowned Sir Walter. “But is that really the sort of person whom we should be encouraging to take up magic? Surely it is a profession that ought to be reserved for gentlemen?”
“I do not see why. And besides I like Levy best. He is the first person I have met in years who regards magic as something to be enjoyed – and he is also the only one of the three who has managed to learn any practical magic. He made the window frame over there sprout branches and leaves. I dare say you were wondering why it is in that odd condition.”
“To own the truth,” said Sir Walter, “the room is so full of oddities that I had not even noticed.”
“Of course Levy did not intend that it should remain like that,” said Strange, “but after he did the magic he could not make it go back – and neither could I. I suppose I must tell Jeremy to find a carpenter to repair it.”
“I am delighted you have found so many young men to suit you,” said Sir Walter. “That bodes well for English magic.”
“I have also had several applications from young ladies,” said Strange.
“Ladies!” exclaimed Lord Portishead.
“Of course! There is no reason why women should not study magic. That is another of Norrell’s fallacies.”
“Hmm. They come thick and fast now,” remarked Sir Walter.
“What do?”
“Norrell’s fallacies.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing! Nothing! Do not take offence. But I notice you do not mention taking any ladies as pupils yourself.”
Strange sighed. “It is purely a matter of practicalities. That is all. A magician and his pupil must spend a great deal of time together, reading and discussing. Had Arabella not died, then I believe I might have taken female pupils. But now I would be obliged to rely upon chaperones and all sorts of tediousness that I do not have patience for at the moment. My own researches must come first.”
“And what new magic are you intending to shew us, Mr Strange?” asked Lord Portishead, eagerly.
“Ah! I am glad you ask me that! I have been giving the matter a great deal of consideration. If the revival of English magic is to continue – or rather if it is not to remain under the sole direction of Gilbert Norrell – then I must learn something new. But new magic is not easily come by. I could go upon the King’s Roads and try and reach those countries where magic is the general rule, rather than the exception.”
“Good God!” exclaimed Sir Walter. “Not this again! Are you quite mad? I thought we had agreed that the King’s Roads were far too dangerous to justify …”
“Yes, yes! I am well acquainted with your opinions. You lectured me long enough upon the subject. But you do not let me finish! I merely name possibilities. I shall not go upon the King’s Roads. I gave my word to my … to Arabella that I would not.”3
There was a pause. Strange sighed and his expression darkened. He was clearly now thinking of something – or someone – else.
Sir Walter observed quietly, “I always had the highest regard for Mrs Strange’s judgement. You cannot do better than follow her advice. Strange, I sympathize – of course you wish to do new magic – any scholar would – but surely the only safe way to learn magic is from books?”
“But I do not have any books!” exclaimed Strange. “Good God! I promise to be as meek and stay-at-home as any maiden aunt if the Government will just pass a law saying Norrell must shew me his library! But as the Government will not do me this kindness, I have no choice but to increase my knowledge in any way I can.”
“So what will you do?” asked Lord Portishead.
“Summon a fairy,” said Strange, briskly. “I have made several attempts already.”
“Did not Mr Norrell lay it down as a general rule that summoning fairies is full of hazards?” asked Sir Walter.
“There is not much that Mr Norrell does not regard as full of hazards,” said Strange in tones of some irritation.
“True.” Sir Walter was satisfied. After all, summoning fairies was a long-established part of English magic. All the Aureates had done it and all the Argentines had wished to.
“But are you sure that it is even possible, sir?” asked Lord Portishead. “Most authorities agree that fairies hardly ever visit England any more.”
“That is indeed the general opinion, yes,” agreed Strange, “but I am almost certain that I was in company with one in November 1814, a month or two before Norrell and I parted.”
“Were you indeed!” exclaimed Lord Portishead.
“You never mentioned this before,” said Sir Walter.
“I was quite unable to mention it before,” said Strange. “My position as Norrell’s pupil depended upon my never breathing a word of it. Norrell would have fallen over in a blue fit at the least suggestion of such a thing.”
“What did he look like, Mr Strange?” asked Lord Portishead.
“The fairy? I do not know. I did not see him. I heard him. He played music. There was someone else present who, I believe, both heard and saw him. Now, consider the advantages of dealing with such a person! No magician, living or dead, could teach me as much. Fairies are the source of everything we magicians desire. Magic is their native condition! As for the disadvantages, well, there is only the usual one – that I have almost no idea how to accomplish it. I have cast spells by the dozen, done everything I ever heard or read of, to try and get this fairy back again, but it has all been to no avail. I cannot for the life of me tell why Norrell expends so much energy in proscribing what no one can achieve. My lord, I don’t suppose you know any spells for raising fairies?”
“Many,” said Lord Portishead, “but I am sure you will have tried them all already, Mr Strange. We look to you, sir, to reconstruct for us all that has been lost.”
“Oh!” sighed Strange. “Sometimes I think that nothing has been lost. The truth is that it is all at the library at Hurtfew.”
“You said there was another person present who both saw and heard the fairy?” said Sir Walter.
“Yes.”
“And I take it that this other person was not Norrell?”
“No.”
“Very well then. What did this other person say?”
“He was … confused. He believed he was seeing an angel, but owing to his general style of living and habits of mind he did not find this quite as extraordinary as you might think. I beg your pardon but discretion forbids me to say any thing more of the circumstances.”
“Yes, yes! Very well! But your companion saw the fairy. Why?”
“Oh, I know why. There was something very particular about him which enabled him to see fairies.”
“Well, can you not use that somehow?”
Strange considered this. “I do not see how. It is a mere chance like one man having blue eyes and another brown.” He was silent a moment, musing. “But then again perhaps not. Perhaps you are right. It is not such a very outlandish notion when you come to consider it. Think of the Aureates! Some of them were the fairies’ near-neighbours in wildness and madness! Think of Ralph Stokesey and his fairy-servant, Col Tom Blue! When Stokesey was a young man there was scarcely any thing to chuse between them. Perhaps I am too tame, too domestic a magician. But how does one work up a little madness? I meet with mad people every day in the street, but I never thought before to wonder how they got mad. Perhaps I should go wandering on lonely moors and barren shores. That is always a popular place for lunatics – in novels and plays at any rate. Perhaps wild England will make me mad.”
Strange got up and went to the drawing-room window, as if he expected to be able to survey wild England from there – although all it s
hewed was the very ordinary sight of Soho-square in a thick and mizzling rain. “I think you may have hit upon something, Pole.”
“I?” cried Sir Walter, somewhat alarmed at where his remarks appeared to be leading, “I meant to suggest no such thing!”
“But, Mr Strange,” reasoned the gentle Lord Portishead, “you cannot possibly mean this. For a man of such erudition as you possess to propose that he become a … a vagabond. Well, sir, it is a very shocking thought.”
Strange crossed his arms and took another look at Soho-square and said, “Well, I shall not go today.” And then he smiled his self-mocking smile and looked almost like his old self. “I shall wait,” he said, “until it stops raining.”4
50
The History and Practice of English Magic
April to late September 1816
Strange’s friends were glad to be assured that he did not intend to give up his comfortable houses, his good income and his servants to go and be a gypsy in the wind and the rain, but still very few of them were entirely comfortable with his new practices. They had good reason to fear that he had lost all restraint and was prepared to indulge in any and all kinds of magic. His promise to Arabella kept him from the King’s Roads for the present, but all Sir Walter’s warnings could not prevent him from continually talking and wondering about John Uskglass and his fairy subjects.
By the end of April, Strange’s three new pupils, the Honourable Henry Purfois, William Hadley-Bright and Tom Levy, the dancing-master, had all taken lodgings near Soho-square. Every day they attended Strange’s house to study magic. In the intervals between directing their magical education Strange worked at his book and performed magic on behalf of the Army and the East India Company. He had also received applications for assistance from the Corporation of Liverpool and the Society of Merchant Venturers in Bristol.
That Strange should still receive commissions from official bodies – or indeed from any one at all – so incensed Mr Norrell that he complained to Lord Liverpool, the Prime Minister, about it.
Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell Page 65
