Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell (91 page)

"Yes, yes!" interrupted Sir Walter. "I understand that you are impatient to try all these different sorts of magic. But though I do not much like saying it, it seems to me that Norrell may be right. Not all these sorts of magic will suit us nowadays. Shape-changing and so on were all very well in the past. It makes a vivid incident in a story, I grant you. But surely, Strange, you would not want to practise it? A gentleman cannot change his shape. A gentleman scorns to seem any thing other than what he is. You yourself would never wish to appear in the character of a pastry-cook or a lamplighter . . ."

Strange laughed.

"Well then," said Sir Walter, "consider how much worse it would be to appear as a dog or a pig."
²
"You are deliberately chusing low examples."

"Am I? A lion, then! Would you like to be a lion?"

"Possibly. Perhaps. Probably not. But that is not the point! I agree that shape-changing is a sort of magic which requires delicate handling, but that is not to say that some useful applica- tion might not exist. Ask the Duke of Wellington whether he would have liked to be able to turn his exploring officers into foxes or mice and have them slip about the French camps. I assure you his Grace will not be so full of qualms."

"I do not think you could have persuaded Colquhoun Grant to become a fox."
³

"Oh! Grantwouldnot havemindedbeing a fox as long as he could have been a fox in a uniform. No, no,weneed to turn our attention to the
Aureates
. A great deal more energy ought to be applied to the study of the life and magic of John Uskglass and when we . . ."

"That is the one thing you must not do. Do not even think of it." "What are you talking about?"

"I am serious, Strange. I say nothing against the
Aureates
in general. Indeed, upon the whole, I think you are right. Englishmen take great pride in their ancient magical history - in Godbless, Stokesey, Pale and the rest. They do not like to read in their newspapers that Norrell makes light of their achievements. But you are liable to fall into the opposite mistake. Too much talk of other kings is bound to make the Government nervous. Particularly when we are liable to be overrun by Johannites at any moment."

"Johannites? Who are the Johannites?"

"What? Good Lord, Strange! Do you never look into a news- paper?"

Strange looked a little put out. "My studies take up a great deal of my time. All of it in fact. And besides, you know, in the past month I can plead distractions of a very particular nature."

"But we are not speaking of the past month. There have been Johannites in the northern counties for four years."

"Yes, but who are they?"

"They are craftsmen who creep into mills at dead of night and destroy property. They burn down factory-owners' houses. They hold pernicious meetings inciting the common people to riotous acts and they loot marketplaces."
⁴

"Oh,
machine-breakers
. Yes, yes, I understand you now. It is just that you misled me by that odd name. But what have machine- breakers to do with the Raven King?"

"Many of them are, or rather claim to be, his followers. They daub the Raven-in-Flight upon every wall where property is destroyed. Their captains carry letters of commission purporting to come from John Uskglass and they say that he will shortly appear to re-establish his reign in Newcastle."

"And the Government believes them?" asked Strange in aston- ishment.

"Of course not! We are not so ridiculous. What we fear is a great deal more mundane - in a word, revolution. John Uskglass's banner is flying everywhere in the north from Nottingham to Newcastle. Of course we have our spies and informers to tell us what these fellows are doing and thinking. Oh, I do not say that they all believe that John Uskglass is coming back. Most are as rational as you or I. But they know the power of his name among the common people. Rowley Fisher-Drake, the Member for Hampshire, has brought forward a Bill in which he proposes to make it illegal to raise the Raven-in-Flight. But we cannot forbid people to fly their own flag, he flag of their legitimate King."
⁵
Sir Walter sighed and poked a beefsteak upon his plate with a fork. "Other countries," he said, "have stories of kings who will return at times of great need. Only in England is it part of the constitution."

Strange waved a fork impatiently at the Minister. "But all that is politics. It is nothing to do with me. I am not going to call for the re-establishment of John Uskglass's kingdom. My only wish is to examine, in a calm and rational manner, his accomplishments as a magician. How can we restore English magic until we understand what it is we are supposed to be restoring?"

"Then study the
Aureates
, but leave John Uskglass in the obscurity in which Norrell has placed him."

Strange shook his head. "Norrell has poisoned your minds against John Uskglass. Norrell has bewitched you all."

They ate in silence for a while and then Strange said, "Did I ever tell you that there is a portrait of him at Windsor Castle?" "Who?"

"Uskglass. A fanciful scene painted upon a wall of one of the state rooms by some Italian painter. It shews Edward III and John Uskglass - warrior-king and magician-king seated side by side. It has been almost four hundred years since John Uskglass went out of England and still the English cannot quite make up their minds whether to adore him or hate him."

"Ha!" exclaimed Sir Walter. "In the north they know exactly what to think of him. They would exchange the rule of Westmin- ter for his rule tomorrow if they could."
⁶

A week or so later the first issue of
The Famulus
was published and, owing to the sensational nature of one of the articles, the entire run sold out within two days. Mr Murray, who was soon to publish the first volume of Strange's
The History and Practice of English Magic
, was filled with a happy anticipation of making a very large profit. The article which so thrilled the public was a description of how magicians might summon up dead people for the purposes of learning useful information from them. This shocking (but deeply interesting) subject caused such a sensation that several young ladies were reported to have fainted merely pon learning that
The Famulus
was in the house.
⁷
No one could imagine Mr Norrell ever approving such a publication and so every body who did not like Mr Norrell took a particular pleasure in buying a copy.

In Hanover-square Mr Lascelles read it out loud for the benefit of Mr Norrell. " `. . . Where the magician is deficient in skill and knowledge - and this must include all modern magicians, our National Genius in such matters being sadly fallen off from what it was in former times - then he or she might be best advised to conjure up the spirit of someone who was in life a magician or had at least some talent for the art. For, if we are uncertain of the path ourselves, it is best to call on someone in possession of a little knowledge and who is able, as it were, to meet us halfway.' "

"He will undo every thing!" cried Norrell with a wild passion. "He is determined to destroy me!"

"It is certainly very aggravating," remarked Lascelles with all the calm in the world, "and after he swore to Sir Walter that he had given up magic when his wife died."

"Oh! We might all die - half of London might be swept away, but Strange will always do magic - he cannot help himself. He is too much a magician ever to stop now. And the magic that he will do is evil - and I do not know how I shall prevent him!"

"Pray, calm yourself, Mr Norrell," said Lascelles, "I am sure you will soon think of something."

"When is his book to be published?"

"Murray's advertisements say that the first volume will appear in August."

"The first volume!"

"Oh, yes! Did you not know? It will be a three-volume work. The first volume lays before the public the complete history of English magic. The second volume furnishes them with a precise understanding of its nature and the third provides the foundation for its future practice."

Mr Norrell groaned aloud, bowed his head and hid his face in his hands.

"Of course," said Lascelles thoughtfully, "as mischievous as the text undoubtedly will be, what I find even more alarming are the engravings . . ."

"Engravings?" cried Mr Norrell, aghast. "What engravings are these?"

"Oh," said Lascelles, "Strange has discovered some emigrant or other who has studied under all the best masters of Italy, France and Spain and he is paying this man a most extravagant amount of money to make the engravings."

"But what are they of? What is the subject?"

"What indeed?" said Lascelles with a yawn. "I have not the least idea." He took up
The Famulus
again and began to read silently to himself.

Mr Norrell sat for some time deep in thought, chewing at his fingernails. By and by he rang the bell and sent for Childermass. East of the City of London lies the suburb of Spitalfields, famed far and wide as a place where wonderful silks are made. There is not now, nor ever will be, silk produced any where else in England of so fine a quality as Spitalfields silk. In the past good houses were built to accommodate the silk merchants, master-weavers and dyers who prospered from the trade. But, though the silk that comes out of the weavers' attics nowadays is every bit as remark- able as ever it was, Spitalfields itself is much fallen off. Its houses have grown dirty and shabby. The wealthy merchants have moved to Islington, Clerkenwell and (if they are very wealthy indeed) to the parish of Mary-le-bone in the west. Today Spital- fields is inhabited by the low and the poor and is much plagued with small boys, thieves and other persons inimicable to the peace of the citizens.

On a particularly gloomy day when a cold, grey rain fell in the dirty streets and pooled in the mud, a carriage came down Elder- street in Spitalfields and stopped at a tall, thin house. The coach- man and footman belonging to this carriage wore deep mourning. The footman jumped down from the box, put up a black umbrella and held it up as he opened the door for Jonathan Strange to get out.

Strange paused a moment on the pavement to adjust his black gloves and to cast his glance up and down Elder-street. Apart from two mongrel dogs industriously excavating a heap of refuse, the street was deserted. Yet he continued to look about him until his eye was caught by a doorway on the opposite side of the street.

It was the most unremarkable of doorways - the entrance to a merchant's warehouse or some such. Three worn stone steps led up to a massive black door of venerable construction, surmounted by a great jutting pediment. The door was much papered over with tattered playbills and notices informing the reader that upon such- and-such a day at such-and-such a tavern all the property of Mr So-and-so Esq. (Bankrupt) would be put up for sale.

"George," said Strange to the footman who held the umbrella, "do you draw?"

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"Were you ever taught drawing? Do you understand its prin- ciples? Fore-grounds, side-screens, perspective, that sort of thing?"

"Me, sir? No, sir."

"A pity. It was part of my education. I could draw you a landscape or portrait perfectly proficient and perfectly uninterest- ing. Exactly like the productions of any other well-educated
amateur
. Your late mistress had none of the advantages of expensive drawing-masters that I had, yet I believe she had more talent. Her watercolours of people and children would horrify a fashionable drawing-master. He would find the figures too stiff and the colours too bright. But Mrs Strange had a genius for capturing expressions both of face and figure, for finding charm and wit in the most commonplace situations. There is something in her pictures, altogether lively and pretty which . . ." Strange broke off and was silent a moment. "What was I saying? Oh, yes. Drawing teaches habits of close observation that will always be useful. Take that doorway for instance . . ."

The footman looked at the doorway.

". . . Today is cold, dark, rainy. There is very little light and therefore no shadows. One would expect the interior of that doorway to be gloomy and dim; one would not expect that shadow to be there - I mean the strong shadow going from left to right, keeping the left-hand of the doorway in utter blackness. And I believe I am right in saying that even if today were sunny and bright, a shadow would fall in the opposite direction. No, that shadow is altogether an oddity. It is not a thing that appears in Nature."

The footman looked at the coachman for some assistance, but the coachman was determined not to be drawn in and stared off into the distance. "I see, sir," said the footman.

Strange continued to regard the doorway with the same ex- pression of thoughtful interest. Then he called out, "Childermass! Is that you?"

For a moment nothing happened and then the dark shadow which Strange objected to so strongly moved. It came away from the doorway like a wet sheet being peeled from a bed and as it did so, it changed and shrank and altered and became a man: John Childermass.

Childermass smiled his wry smile. "Well, sir, I could not expect to stay hidden from you for long."

Strange sniffed. "I have been expecting you this past week or more. Where have you been?"

"My master did not send me until yesterday."

"And how is your master?"

"Oh, poorly, sir, very poorly. He is beset with colds and headachs and tremblings in his limbs. All his usual symptoms when someone has vexed him. And no one vexes him as you do."

"I am pleased to hear it."

"By the by, sir, I have been meaning to tell you. I have some money at Hanover-square for you. Your fees from the Treasury and the Admiralty for the last quarter of 1814."

Strange opened his eyes in surprize. "And does Norrell really intend to let me have my share? I had supposed that money was gone for good."