Jonathan Strange And Mr Norrell Part 7

The subject was not mentioned again.

A week or so later Lord Castlereagh proposed sending Mr Norrell to the Netherlands or possibly Portugal places where the Ministers entertained faint hopes of gaining some foothold against Buonaparte where Mr Norrell might do magic under the direction of the generals and the admirals. So Admiral Payc.o.c.ke, an ancient red-faced seaman, and Captain Harcourt-Bruce of the 20th Light Dragoons were dispatched as a joint military and naval expedition to Hanover-square to take an observation of Mr Norrell.

Captain Harcourt-Bruce was not only das.h.i.+ng, handsome and brave, he was also rather romantic. The reappearance of magic in England thrilled him immensely. He was a great reader of the more exciting sort of history and his head was full of ancient battles in which the English were outnumbered by the French and doomed to die, when all at once would be heard the sound of strange, unearthly music, and upon a hilltop would appear the Raven King in his tall, black helmet with its mantling of raven-feathers streaming in the wind; and he would gallop down the hillside on his tall, black horse with a hundred human knights and a hundred fairy knights at his back, and he would defeat the French by magic.

That was Captain Harcourt-Bruce's idea of a magician. was Captain Harcourt-Bruce's idea of a magician. That That was the sort of thing which he now expected to see reproduced on every battlefield on the Continent. So when he saw Mr Norrell in his drawing-room in Hanover-square, and after he had sat and watched Mr Norrell peevishly complain to his footman, first that the cream in his tea was too creamy, and next that it was too watery well, I shall not surprize you when I say he was somewhat disappointed. In fact he was so downcast by the whole undertaking that Admiral Payc.o.c.ke, a bluff old gentleman, felt rather sorry for him and only had the heart to laugh at him and tease him very moderately about it. was the sort of thing which he now expected to see reproduced on every battlefield on the Continent. So when he saw Mr Norrell in his drawing-room in Hanover-square, and after he had sat and watched Mr Norrell peevishly complain to his footman, first that the cream in his tea was too creamy, and next that it was too watery well, I shall not surprize you when I say he was somewhat disappointed. In fact he was so downcast by the whole undertaking that Admiral Payc.o.c.ke, a bluff old gentleman, felt rather sorry for him and only had the heart to laugh at him and tease him very moderately about it.

Admiral Payc.o.c.ke and Captain Harcourt-Bruce went back to the Ministers and said it was absolutely out of the question to send Mr Norrell anywhere; the admirals and the generals would never forgive the Government if they did it. For some weeks that autumn it seemed the Ministers would never be able to find employment for their only magician.

1 Burlington House in Piccadilly was the London residence of the Duke of Portland, the First Minister of the Treasury (whom many people nowadays like to call the Prime Minister Prime Minister in the French style). It had been erected in an Age when English n.o.blemen were not afraid to rival their Monarch in displays of power and wealth and it had no equal for beauty anywhere in the capital. As for the Duke himself, he was a most respectable old person, but, poor man, he did not accord with any body's idea of what a Prime Minister ought to be. He was very old and sick. Just at present he lay in a curtained room somewhere in a remote part of the house, stupefied by laudanum and dying by degrees. He was of no utility whatsoever to his country and not much to his fellow Ministers. The only advantage of his leaders.h.i.+p as far as they could see was that it allowed them to use his magnificent house as their meeting-place and to employ his magnificent servants to fetch them any little thing they might fancy out of his cellar. (They generally found that governing Great Britain was a thirsty business.) in the French style). It had been erected in an Age when English n.o.blemen were not afraid to rival their Monarch in displays of power and wealth and it had no equal for beauty anywhere in the capital. As for the Duke himself, he was a most respectable old person, but, poor man, he did not accord with any body's idea of what a Prime Minister ought to be. He was very old and sick. Just at present he lay in a curtained room somewhere in a remote part of the house, stupefied by laudanum and dying by degrees. He was of no utility whatsoever to his country and not much to his fellow Ministers. The only advantage of his leaders.h.i.+p as far as they could see was that it allowed them to use his magnificent house as their meeting-place and to employ his magnificent servants to fetch them any little thing they might fancy out of his cellar. (They generally found that governing Great Britain was a thirsty business.) 2 William Pitt the Younger (17591806). It is very doubtful that we will ever see his like again, for he became Prime Minister at the age of twenty-four and led the country from that day forth, with just one brief interval of three years, until his death.

11.

Brest November 1807

IN THE FIRST week of November a squadron of French s.h.i.+ps was preparing to leave the port of Brest which lies on the west coast of Brittany in France. The intention of the French was to cruise about the Bay of Biscay looking for British s.h.i.+ps to capture or, if they were unable to do that, to prevent the British from doing any thing which they appeared to want to do.

The wind blew steadily off the land. The French sailors made their preparations quickly and efficiently and the s.h.i.+ps were almost ready when heavy black clouds appeared suddenly and a rain began to fall.

Now it was only natural that such an important port as Brest should contain a great number of people who studied the winds and the weather. Just as the s.h.i.+ps were about to set sail several of these persons hurried down to the docks in great excitement to warn the sailors that there was something very queer about the rain: the clouds, they said, had come from the north, whereas the wind was blowing from the east. The thing was impossible, but it had happened. The captains of the s.h.i.+ps just had time to be astonished, incredulous or unnerved as their characters dictated when another piece of news reached them.

Brest harbour consists of an inner bay and an outer, the inner bay being separated from the open sea by a long thin peninsula. As the rain grew heavier the French officers in charge of the s.h.i.+ps learnt that a great fleet of British s.h.i.+ps had appeared in the outer bay.

How many s.h.i.+ps were there? The officers' informants did not know. More than could be easily counted perhaps as many as a hundred. Like the rain, the s.h.i.+ps had seemingly arrived in a single instant out of an empty sea. What sort of s.h.i.+ps were they? Ah! That was the strangest thing of all! The s.h.i.+ps were all s.h.i.+ps of the line, heavily armed two-and three-decked wars.h.i.+ps.

This was astonis.h.i.+ng news. The s.h.i.+ps' great number and their great size was, in truth, more puzzling than their sudden appearance. The British Navy blockaded Brest continually, but never with more than twenty-five s.h.i.+ps at a time, of which only ten or twelve were s.h.i.+ps of the line, the remainder being agile little frigates, sloops and brigs.

So peculiar was this tale of a hundred s.h.i.+ps that the French captains did not believe it until they had ridden or rowed to Lochrist or Camaret Saint-Julien or other places where they could stand upon the clifftops and see the s.h.i.+ps for themselves.

Days went by. The sky was the colour of lead and the rain continued to fall. The British s.h.i.+ps remained stubbornly where they were. The people of Brest were in great dread lest some of the s.h.i.+ps might attempt to come up to the town and bombard it. But the British s.h.i.+ps did nothing.

Stranger still was the news that came from other ports in the French Empire, from Rochefort, Toulon, Ma.r.s.eilles, Genoa, Venice, Flus.h.i.+ng, Lorient, Antwerp and a hundred other towns of lesser importance. They too were blockaded by British fleets of a hundred or so wars.h.i.+ps. It was impossible to comprehend. Added together these fleets contained more wars.h.i.+ps than the British possessed. Indeed they contained more wars.h.i.+ps than there were upon the face of the earth.

The most senior officer at Brest at that time was Admiral Desmoulins. He had a servant, a very small man no bigger than an eight-year-old child, and as dark as a European can be. He looked as if he had been put into the oven and baked for too long and was now rather overdone. His skin was the colour of a coffee-bean and the texture of a dried-up rice-pudding. His hair was black, twisted and greasy like the spines and quills you may observe on the less succulent parts of roasted chickens. His name was Perroquet (which means parrot). Admiral Desmoulins was very proud of Perroquet; proud of his size, proud of his cleverness, proud of his agility and most of all, proud of his colour. Admiral Desmoulins often boasted that he had seen blacks who would appear fair next to Perroquet.

It was Perroquet who sat in the rain for four days studying the s.h.i.+ps through his eye-gla.s.s. Rain spurted from his child-size bicorn hat as if from two little rainspouts; it sank into the capes of his child-size coat, making the coat fearfully heavy and turning the wool into felt; and it ran in little streams down his baked, greasy skin; but he paid it not the slightest attention.

After four days Perroquet sighed, jumped to his feet, stretched himself, took off his hat, gave his head a good scratch, yawned and said, "Well, my Admiral, they are the queerest s.h.i.+ps I have ever seen and I do not understand them."

"In what way, Perroquet?" asked the Admiral.

Gathered on the cliffs near Camaret Saint-Julien with Perroquet were Admiral Desmoulins and Captain Jumeau, and rain spurted from their their bicorn hats and turned the wool of bicorn hats and turned the wool of their their coats into felt and filled their boots with half an inch of water. coats into felt and filled their boots with half an inch of water.

"Well," said Perroquet, "the s.h.i.+ps sit upon the sea as if they were becalmed and yet they are not becalmed. There is a strong westerly wind which ought by rights to blow them on to these rocks, but does it? No. Do the s.h.i.+ps beat off? No. Do they reduce sail? No. I cannot count the number of times the wind has changed since I have sat here, but what have the men on those s.h.i.+ps done? Nothing."

Captain Jumeau, who disliked Perroquet and was jealous of his influence with the Admiral, laughed. "He is mad, my Admiral. If the British were really as idle or ignorant as he says, their s.h.i.+ps would all be heaps of broken spars by now."

"They are more like pictures of s.h.i.+ps," mused Perroquet, paying the Captain no attention, "than the s.h.i.+ps themselves. But a queerer thing still, my Admiral, is that s.h.i.+p, the three-decker at the northernmost tip of the line. On Monday it was just like the others but now its sails are all in tatters, its mizzen mast is gone and there is a ragged hole in its side."

"Huzza!" cried Captain Jumeau. "Some brave French crew has inflicted this damage while we stand here talking."

Perroquet grinned. "And do you think, Captain, that the British would permit one French s.h.i.+p to go up to their hundred s.h.i.+ps and blow one of them to bits and then sail calmly away again? Ha! I should like to see you do it, Captain, in your little boat. No, my Admiral, it is my opinion that the British s.h.i.+p is melting."

"Melting!" declared the Admiral in surprize.

"The hull bulges like an old woman's knitting bag," said Perroquet. "And the bowsprit and the spritsail yard are drooping into the water."

"What idiotic nonsense!" declared Captain Jumeau. "How can a s.h.i.+p melt?"

"I do not know," said Perroquet, thoughtfully. "It depends upon what it is made of."

"Jumeau, Perroquet," said Admiral Desmoulins, "I believe that our best course will be to sail out and examine those s.h.i.+ps. If the British fleet seems likely to attack, we will turn back, but in the meantime perhaps we may learn something."

So Perroquet and the Admiral and Captain Jumeau set sail in the rain with a few brave men; for sailors, though they face hards.h.i.+p with equanimity, are superst.i.tious, and Perroquet was not the only person in Brest who had noticed the queerness of the British s.h.i.+ps.

After they had gone some way, our adventurers could see that the strange s.h.i.+ps were entirely grey and that they glittered; even under that dark sky, even in all that drenching rain they shone. Once, for a moment, the clouds parted and a ray of sunlight struck the sea. The s.h.i.+ps disappeared. Then the clouds closed and the s.h.i.+ps were there again.

"Dear G.o.d!" cried the Admiral. "What does all this mean?"

"Perhaps," said Perroquet uneasily, "the British s.h.i.+ps have all been sunk and these are their ghosts."

Still the strange s.h.i.+ps glittered and shone, and this led to some discussion as to what they might be made of. The Admiral thought perhaps iron or steel. (Metal s.h.i.+ps indeed! The French are, as I have often supposed, a very whimsical nation.) Captain Jumeau wondered if they might not be of silver paper.

"Silver paper!" exclaimed the Admiral.

"Oh, yes!" said Captain Jumeau. "Ladies, you know, take silver paper and roll it into quills and make little baskets of it, which they then decorate with flowers and fill with sugar plums."

The Admiral and Perroquet were surprized to hear this, but Captain Jumeau was a handsome man, and clearly knew more of the ways of ladies than they did.

But if it took one lady an evening to make a basket, how many ladies would it take to make a fleet? The Admiral said it made his head hurt to think of it.

The sun came out again. This time, since they were closer to s.h.i.+ps, they could see how the sunlight shone through through them and made them colourless until they were just a faint sparkle upon the water. them and made them colourless until they were just a faint sparkle upon the water.

"Gla.s.s," said the Admiral, and he was near to the mark, but it was clever Perroquet who finally hit upon the truth.

"No, my Admiral, it is the rain. They are made of rain."

As the rain fell from the heavens the drops were made to flow together to form solid ma.s.ses pillars and beams and sheets, which someone had shaped into the likeness of a hundred s.h.i.+ps.

Perroquet and the Admiral and Captain Jumeau were consumed with curiosity to know who could have made such a thing and they agreed he must be a master-rainsmith.

"But not only a master-rainsmith!" exclaimed the Admiral, "A master-puppeteer! See how they bob up and down upon the water! How the sails billow and fall!"

"They are certainly the prettiest things that ever I saw, my Admiral," agreed Perroquet, "but I repeat what I said before; he knows nothing of sailing or seamans.h.i.+p, whoever he is."

For two hours the Admiral's wooden s.h.i.+p sailed in and out of the rain-s.h.i.+ps. Being s.h.i.+ps of rain they made no sound at all no creaking of timber, no slap of sail in the wind, no call of sailor to his mate. Several times groups of smooth-faced men of rain came to the s.h.i.+p's rail to gaze out at the wooden s.h.i.+p with its crew of flesh-and-blood men, but what the rain-sailors were thinking, no one could tell. Yet the Admiral, the Captain and Perroquet felt themselves to be perfectly safe, for, as Perroquet remarked, "Even if the rain-sailors wish to fire upon us, they only have rain-cannonb.a.l.l.s to do it with and we will only get wet."

Perroquet and the Admiral and Captain Jumeau were lost in admiration. They forgot that they had been tricked, forgot that they had wasted a week and that for a week the British had been slipping into ports on the Baltic coast and ports on the Portuguese coast and all sorts of other ports where the Emperor Napoleon Buonaparte did not want them to go. But the spell which held the s.h.i.+ps in place appeared to be weakening (which presumably explained the melting s.h.i.+p at the northernmost point of the fleet). After two hours it stopped raining and in the same moment the spell broke, which Perroquet and the Admiral and Captain Jumeau knew by a curious twist of their senses, as if they had tasted a string quartet, or been, for a moment, deafened by the sight of the colour blue. For the merest instant the rain-s.h.i.+ps became mist-s.h.i.+ps and then the breeze gently blew them apart.

The Frenchmen were alone upon the empty Atlantic.

12.

The Spirit of English Magic urges Mr Norrell to the Aid of Britannia December 1807

ON A DAY in December two great draycarts happened to collide in Cheapside. One, which was loaded with barrels of sherry-wine, overturned. While the draymen argued about which of them was to blame, some pa.s.sers-by observed that sherry-wine was leaking from one of the barrels. Soon a crowd of drinkers gathered with gla.s.ses and pint-pots to catch the sherry, and hooks and bars to make holes in those casks which were still undamaged. The draycarts and crowd had soon so effectively stopt up Cheapside that queues of carriages formed in all the neighbouring streets, Poultry, Threadneedle-street, Bartholomew-lane and, in the other direction, Aldersgate, Newgate and Paternoster-row. It became impossible to imagine how the knot of carriages, horses and people would ever get undone again.

Of the two draymen one was handsome and the other was fat and, having made up their quarrel, they became a sort of Bacchus and Silenus to the revel. They decided to entertain both themselves and their followers by opening all the carriage-doors to see what the rich people were doing inside. Coachmen and footmen tried to prevent this impertinence but the crowd were too many to be held off and too drunk to mind the blows of the whip which the crosser sort of coachmen gave them. In one of these carriages the fat drayman discovered Mr Norrell and cried, "What! Old Norrell!" The draymen both climbed into the carriage to shake Mr Norrell's hand and breathe sherry fumes all over him and a.s.sure him that they would lose no time in moving everything out of the way so that he the hero of the French Blockade might pa.s.s. Which promise they kept and respectable people found their horses unhitched and their carriages pushed and shoved into tanners' yards and other nasty places, or backed into dirty brick-lanes where they got stuck fast and all the varnish was sc.r.a.ped off; and when the draymen and their friends had made this triumphal path for Mr Norrell they escorted him and his carriage along it, as far as Hanover-square, cheering all the way, flinging their hats in the air and making up songs about him.

Everyone, it seemed, was delighted with what Mr Norrell had done. A large part of the French Navy had been tricked into remaining in its ports for eleven days and during that time the British had been at liberty to sail about the Bay of Biscay, the English Channel and the German Sea, just as it pleased and a great many things had been accomplished. Spies had been deposited in various parts of the French Empire and other spies brought back to England with news about what Buonaparte was doing. British merchant s.h.i.+ps had unloaded their cargoes of coffee and cotton and spices in Dutch and Baltic ports without any interference.

Napoleon Buonaparte, it was said, was scouring France to find a magician of his own but with no success. In London the Ministers were quite astonished to find that, for once, they had done something the Nation approved.

Mr Norrell was invited to the Admiralty, where he drank madeira-wine in the Board Room. He sat in a chair close to the fire and had a long comfortable chat with the First Lord of the Admiralty, Lord Mulgrave, and the First Secretary to the Admiralty, Mr Horrocks. Above the fireplace there were carvings of nautical instruments and garlands of flowers which Mr Norrell greatly admired. He described the beautiful carvings in the library at Hurtfew Abbey; "And yet," said Mr Norrell, "I envy you, my lord. Indeed I do. Such a fine representation of the instruments of your profession! I wish that I might have done the same. Nothing looks so striking. Nothing, I believe, inspires a man with such eagerness to begin his day's work as the sight of his instruments neatly laid out or their images in good English oak as we have here. But really a magician has need of so few tools. I will tell you a little trick, my lord, the more apparatus a magician carries about with him coloured powders, stuffed cats, magical hats and so forth the greater the fraud you will eventually discover him to be!"

And what, inquired Mr Horrocks politely, were the few tools that a magician did require?

"Why! Nothing really," said Mr Norrell. "Nothing but a silver basin for seeing visions in."

"Oh!" cried Mr Horrocks. "I believe I would give almost any thing to see that that magic done would not you, my lord? Oh, Mr Norrell, might we prevail upon you to shew us a vision in a silver basin?" magic done would not you, my lord? Oh, Mr Norrell, might we prevail upon you to shew us a vision in a silver basin?"

Usually Mr Norrell was the last man in the world to satisfy such idle curiosity, but he had been so pleased with his reception at the Admiralty (for the two gentlemen paid him a world of compliments) that he agreed almost immediately and a servant was dispatched to find a silver basin; "A silver basin about a foot in diameter," said Mr Norrell, "which you must fill with clean water."

The Admiralty had lately sent out orders for three s.h.i.+ps to rendezvous south of Gibraltar and Lord Mulgrave had a great curiosity to know whether or not this had occurred; would Mr Norrell be able to find it out? Mr Norrell did not know, but promised to try. When the basin was brought and Mr Norrell bent over it, Lord Mulgrave and Mr Horrocks felt as if nothing else could have so conjured up the ancient glories of English magic; they felt as if they were living in the Age of Stokesey, G.o.dbless and the Raven King.

A picture appeared upon the surface of the water in the silver basin, a picture of three s.h.i.+ps riding the waves of a blue sea. The strong, clear light of the Mediterranean shone out into the gloomy December room and lit up the faces of the three gentlemen who peered into the bowl.

"It moves!" cried Lord Mulgrave in astonishment.

It did indeed. The sweetest white clouds imaginable were gliding across the blue sky, the s.h.i.+ps rode the waves and tiny people could be seen moving about them. Lord Mulgrave and Mr Horrocks had no difficulty in recognizing HMS Catherine of Winchester Catherine of Winchester, HMS Laurel Laurel and HMS and HMS Centaur Centaur.

"Oh, Mr Norrell!" cried Mr Horrocks. "The Centaur Centaur is my cousin's s.h.i.+p. Can you shew me Captain Barry?" is my cousin's s.h.i.+p. Can you shew me Captain Barry?"

Mr Norrell fidgeted about and drew in his breath with a sharp hiss and stared fiercely at the silver basin, and by and by appeared a vision of a pink-faced, gold-haired, overgrown cherub of a man walking about a quarterdeck. This, Mr Horrocks a.s.sured them, was his cousin, Captain Barry.

"He looks very well, does he not?" cried Mr Horrocks. "I am glad to know he is in such good health."

"Where are they? Can you tell?" Lord Mulgrave asked Mr Norrell.

"Alas," said Mr Norrell, "this art of making pictures is the most imprecise in the world.1 I am delighted to have had the honour of shewing your lords.h.i.+p some of His Majesty's s.h.i.+ps. I am yet more pleased that they are the ones you want which is frankly more than I expected but I fear I can tell you nothing further." I am delighted to have had the honour of shewing your lords.h.i.+p some of His Majesty's s.h.i.+ps. I am yet more pleased that they are the ones you want which is frankly more than I expected but I fear I can tell you nothing further."

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 s.h.i.+p of the line with a very fine figurehead in the shape of a mermaid with bright blue eyes, coral-pink lips, a great ma.s.s 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 s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p-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 pa.s.sed 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 s.h.i.+p, 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 s.h.i.+p 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 quant.i.ty 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 fas.h.i.+on, while an elderly lion, her only companion, lay at her feet with a gloomy expression upon his counteance. This engraving, ent.i.tled The Spirit of English Magic urges Mr Norrell to the Aid of Britannia 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 s.p.a.ce 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. Childerma.s.s 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 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." 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 name known everywhere, sir, but they will never make your known everywhere, sir, but they will never make your opinions opinions understood. For that you must publish." 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 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 The Edinburgh Review, he would have sat down there and then to begin writing. Unfortunately, The Edinburgh Review 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. 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 pa.s.sing judgements upon other people's work 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 a.s.sure 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 The Edinburgh Review far surpa.s.sed 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. far surpa.s.sed 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.