“You know very well that I do not,” said Mr Norrell impatiently.
In the meantime, Mr Segundus laboured very long over his letter and it grieved him that he could not be more warm in his praise of Mr Norrell. It seemed to him that the readers of the London newspaper would expect him to say something of Mr Norrell’s personal virtues and would wonder why he did not.
In due course the letter appeared in The Times entitled: “EXTRAORDINARY OCCURRENCES IN YORK: AN APPEAL TO THE FRIENDS OF ENGLISH MAGIC.” Mr Segundus ended his description of the magic at York by saying that the Friends of English Magic must surely bless that love of extreme retirement which marked Mr Norrell’s character – for it had fostered his studies and had at last borne fruit in the shape of the wonderful magic at York Cathedral – but, said Mr Segundus, he appealed to the Friends of English Magic to join him in begging Mr Norrell not to return to a life of solitary study but to take his place upon the wider stage of the Nation’s affairs and so begin a new chapter in the History of English Magic.
AN APPEAL TO THE FRIENDS OF ENGLISH MAGIC had a most sensational effect, particularly in London. The readers of The Times were quite thunderstruck by Mr Norrell’s achievements. There was a general desire to see Mr Norrell; young ladies pitied the poor old gentlemen of York who had been so frightened by him, and wished very much to be as terrified themselves. Clearly such an opportunity as this was scarcely likely to come again; Mr Norrell determined to establish himself in London with all possible haste. “You must get me a house, Childermass,” he said. “Get me a house that says to those that visit it that magic is a respectable profession – no less than Law and a great deal more so than Medicine.”
Childermass inquired drily if Mr Norrell wished him to seek out architecture expressive of the proposition that magic was as respectable as the Church?
Mr Norrell (who knew there were such things as jokes in the world or people would not write about them in books, but who had never actually been introduced to a joke or shaken its hand) considered a while before replying at last that no, he did not think they could quite claim that.
So Childermass (perhaps thinking that nothing in the world is so respectable as money) directed his master to a house in Hanover-square among the abodes of the rich and prosperous. Now I do not know what may be your opinion yet to say the truth I do not much care for the south side of Hanover-square; the houses are so tall and thin – four storeys at least – and all the tall, gloomy windows are so regular, and every house so exactly resembles its neighbours that they have something of the appearance of a high wall blocking out the light. Be that as it may, Mr Norrell (a less fanciful person than I) was satisfied with his new house, or at least as satisfied as any gentleman could be who for more than thirty years has lived in a large country-house surrounded by a park of mature timber, which is in its turn surrounded by a good estate of farms and woods – a gentleman, in other words, whose eye has never been offended by the sight of any other man’s property whenever he looked out of the window.
“It is certainly a small house, Childermass,” he said, “but I do not complain. My own comfort, as you know, I do not regard.”
Childermass replied that the house was larger than most.
“Indeed?” said Mr Norrell, much surprized. Mr Norrell was particularly shocked by the smallness of the library, which could not be made to accommodate one third of the books he considered indispensable; he asked Childermass how people in London housed their books? Perhaps they did not read?
Mr Norrell had been in London not above three weeks when he received a letter from a Mrs Godesdone, a lady of whom he had never heard before.
“… I know it is very shoking that I should write to you upon no acquaintance whatsoever & no doubt you say to yourself who is this impertinent creachure? I did not now there was such a person in existence! and consider me shokingly bold etc. etc. but Drawlight is a dear freind of mine and assures me that you are the sweetest-natured creachure in the world and will not mind it. I am most impatient for the pleasure of your acquaintance and would consider it the greatest honour in the world if you would consent to give us the pleasure of your company at an evening-party on Thursday se’night. Do not let the apprehension of meeting with a croud prevent you from coming – I detest a croud of all things and only my most intimate freinds will be invited to meet you …”
It was not the sort of letter to make any very favourable impression upon Mr Norrell. He read it through very rapidly, put it aside with an exclamation of disgust and took up his book again. A short while later Childermass arrived to attend to the morning’s business. He read Mrs Godesdone’s letter and inquired what answer Mr Norrell intended to return to it?
“A refusal,” said Mr Norrell.
“Indeed? And shall I say that you have a prior engagement?” asked Childermass.
“Certainly, if you wish,” said Mr Norrell.
“And do you have a prior engagement?” asked Childermass.
“No,” said Mr Norrell.
“Ah!” said Childermass. “Then perhaps it is the overabundance of your engagements on other days that makes you refuse this one? You fear to be too tired?”
“I have no engagements. You know very well that I do not.” Mr Norrell read for another minute or two before remarking (apparently to his book), “You are still here.”
“I am,” said Childermass.
“Well then,” said Mr Norrell, “what is it? What is the matter?”
“I had thought you were come to London to shew people what a modern magician looked like. It will be a slow business if you are to stay at home all the time.”
Mr Norrell said nothing. He picked up the letter and looked at it. “Drawlight,” he said at last. “What does she mean by that? I know no one of that name.”
“I do not know what she means,” said Childermass, “but I do know this: at present it will not do to be too nice.”
At eight o’clock on the evening of Mrs Godesdone’s party Mr Norrell in his best grey coat was seated in his carriage, wondering about Mrs Godesdone’s dear friend, Drawlight, when he was roused to a realization that the carriage was no longer moving. Looking out of the window he saw a great lamp-lit chaos of people, carriages and horses. Thinking that everyone else must find the London streets as confusing as he did, he naturally fell into the supposition that his coachman and footman had lost their way and, banging on the roof of the carriage with his stick, he cried, “Davey! Lucas! Did not you hear me say Manchester-street? Why did you not make sure of the way before we set off?”
Lucas, on the box-seat, called down that they were already in Manchester-street, but must wait their turn – there was a long line of carriages that were to stop at the house before them.
“Which house?” cried Mr Norrell.
The house they were going to, said Lucas.
“No, no! You are mistaken,” said Mr Norrell. “It is to be a small gathering.”
But on his arrival at Mrs Godesdone’s house Mr Norrell found himself instantly plunged into the midst of a hundred or so of Mrs Godesdone’s most intimate friends. The hall and reception rooms were crowded with people and more were arriving at every moment. Mr Norrell was very much astonished, yet what in the world was there to be surprized at? It was a fashionable London party, no different from any other that might be held at any of half a dozen houses across Town every day of the week.
And how to describe a London party? Candles in lustres of cut-glass are placed everywhere about the house in dazzling profusion; elegant mirrors triple and quadruple the light until night outshines day; many-coloured hot-house fruits are piled up in stately pyramids upon white-clothed tables; divine creatures, resplendent with jewels, go about the room in pairs, arm in arm, admired by all who see them. Yet the heat is over-powering, the pressure and noise almost as bad; there is nowhere to sit and scarce anywhere to stand. You may see your dearest friend in another part of the room; you may have a world of things to tell him – but how in the world wil
l you ever reach him? If you are fortunate then perhaps you will discover him later in the crush and shake his hand as you are both hurried past each other. Surrounded by cross, hot strangers, your chance of rational conversation is equal to what it would be in an African desert. Your only wish is to preserve your favourite gown from the worst ravages of the crowd. Every body complains of the heat and the suffocation. Every body declares it to be entirely insufferable. But if it is all misery for the guests, then what of the wretchedness of those who have not been invited? Our sufferings are nothing to theirs! And we may tell each other tomorrow that it was a delightful party.
It so happened that Mr Norrell arrived at the same moment as a very old lady. Though small and disagreeable-looking she was clearly someone of importance (she was all over diamonds). The servants clustered round her and Mr Norrell proceeded into the house, unobserved by any of them. He entered a room full of people where he discovered a cup of punch upon a little table. While he was drinking the punch it occurred to him that he had told no one his name and consequently no one knew he was here. He found himself in some perplexity as to how to proceed. His fellow-guests were occupied in greeting their friends, and as for approaching one of the servants and announcing himself, Mr Norrell felt quite unequal to the task; their proud faces and air of indescribable superiority unnerved him. It was a great pity that one or two of the late members of the Society of York Magicians were not there to see him looking so all forlorn and ill at ease; it might have cheered them up immeasurably. But it is the same with all of us. In familiar surroundings our manners are cheerful and easy, but only transport us to places where we know no one and no one knows us, and Lord! how uncomfortable we become!
Mr Norrell was wandering from room to room, wishing only to go away again, when he was stopped in mid-perambulation by the sound of his own name and the following enigmatic words: “… assures me that he is never to be seen without a mystic robe of midnight blue, adorned with otherlandish symbols! But Drawlight – who knows this Norrell very well – says that …”
The noise of the room was such that it is to be marvelled at that Mr Norrell heard anything at all. The words had been spoken by a young woman and Mr Norrell looked frantically about him to try and discover her, but without success. He began to wonder what else was being said about him.
He found himself standing near to a lady and a gentleman. She was unremarkable enough – a sensible-looking woman of forty or fifty – he, however, was a style of man not commonly seen in Yorkshire. He was rather small and was dressed very carefully in a good black coat and linen of a most exquisite whiteness. He had a little pair of silver spectacles that swung from a black velvet ribbon around his neck. His features were very regular and rather good; he had short, dark hair and his skin was very clean and white – except that about his cheeks there was the faintest suggestion of rouge. But it was his eyes that were remarkable: large, well-shaped, dark and so very brilliant as to have an almost liquid appearance. They were fringed with the longest, darkest eyelashes. There were many little feminine touches about him that he had contrived for himself, but his eyes and eyelashes were the only ones which nature had given him.
Mr Norrell paid good attention to their conversation to discover if they were talking about him.
“… the advice that I gave Lady Duncombe about her own daughter,” said the small man. “Lady Duncombe had found a most unexceptional husband for her daughter, a gentleman with nine hundred a year! But the silly girl had set her heart upon a penniless Captain in the Dragoons, and poor Lady Duncombe was almost frantic. ‘Oh, your ladyship!’ I cried the instant that I heard about it, ‘Make yourself easy! Leave everything to me. I do not set up as any very extraordinary genius, as your ladyship knows, but my odd talents are exactly suited to this sort of thing.’ Oh, madam! you will laugh when you hear how I contrived matters! I dare say no one else in the world would have thought of such a ridiculous scheme! I took Miss Susan to Gray’s in Bond-street where we both spent a very agreeable morning in trying on necklaces and earrings. She has passed most of her life in Derbyshire and has not been accustomed to really remarkable jewels. I do not think she had ever thought seriously upon such things before. Then Lady Duncombe and I dropt one or two hints that in marrying Captain Hurst she would put it quite out of her power to make such delightful purchases ever again, whereas if she married Mr Watts she might make her choice of the best of them. I next took pains to get acquainted with Captain Hurst and persuaded him to accompany me to Boodle’s where – well I will not deceive you, madam – where there is gambling!” The small man giggled. “I lent him a little money to try his luck – it was not my own money you understand. Lady Duncombe had given it to me for the purpose. We went three or four times and in a remarkably short space of time the Captain’s debts were – well, madam, I cannot see how he will ever get clear of them! Lady Duncombe and I represented to him that it is one thing to expect a young woman to marry upon a small income, but quite another to expect her to take a man encumbered with debts. He was not inclined to listen to us at first. At first he made use of – what shall I say? – some rather military expressions. But in the end he was obliged to admit the justice of all we said.”
Mr Norrell saw the sensible-looking woman of forty or fifty give the small man a look of some dislike. Then she bowed, very slightly and coldly, and passed without a word away into the crowd; the small man turned in the other direction and immediately hailed a friend.
Mr Norrell’s eye was next caught by an excessively pretty young woman in a white-and-silver gown. A tall, handsome-looking man was talking to her and she was laughing very heartily at everything he said.
“… and what if he should discover two dragons – one red and one white – beneath the foundations of the house, locked in eternal struggle and symbolizing the future destruction of Mr Godesdone? I dare say,” said the man slyly, “you would not mind it if he did.”
She laughed again, even more merrily than before, and Mr Norrell was surprized to hear in the next instant someone address her as “Mrs Godesdone”.
Upon reflection Mr Norrell thought that he ought to have spoken to her but by then she was nowhere to be seen. He was sick of the noise and sight of so many people and determined to go quietly away, but it so happened that just at that moment the crowds about the door were particularly impenetrable; he was caught up in the current of people and carried away to quite another part of the room. Round and round he went like a dry leaf caught up in a drain; in one of these turns around the room he discovered a quiet corner near a window. A tall screen of carved ebony inlaid with mother-of-pearl half-hid – ah! what bliss was this! – a bookcase. Mr Norrell slipped behind the screen, took down John Napier’s A Plaine Discouverie of the Whole Revelation of St John and began to read.
He had not been there very long when, happening to glance up, he saw the tall, handsome man who had been speaking to Mrs Godesdone and the small, dark man who had gone to such trouble to destroy the matrimonial hopes of Captain Hurst. They were discoursing energetically, but the press and flow of people around them was so great that, without any ceremony, the tall man got hold of the small man’s sleeve and pulled him behind the screen and into the corner which Mr Norrell occupied.
“He is not here,” said the tall man, giving each word an emphasis with a poke of his finger in the other’s shoulder. “Where are the fiercely burning eyes that you promised us? Where the trances that none of us can explain? Has any one been cursed? – I do not think so. You have called him up like a spirit from the vasty deep, and he has not come.”
“I was with him only this morning,” said the small man defiantly, “to hear of the wonderful magic that he has been doing recently and he said then that he would come.”
“It is past midnight. He will not come now.” The tall man smiled a very superior smile. “Confess, you do not know him.”
Then the small man smiled in rivalry of the other’s smile (these two gentlemen positively jousted in smil
es) and said, “No one in London knows him better. I shall confess that I am a little – a very little – disappointed.”
“Ha!” cried the tall man. “It is the opinion of the room that we have all been most abominably imposed upon. We came here in the expectation of seeing something very extraordinary, and instead we have been obliged to provide our own amusement.” His eye happening to light upon Mr Norrell, he said, “That gentleman is reading a book.”
The small man glanced behind him and in doing so happened to knock his elbow against A Plaine Discouverie of the Whole Revelation of St John. He gave Mr Norrell a cool look for filling up so very small a space with so very large a book.
“I have said that I am disappointed,” continued the small man, “but I am not at all surprized. You do not know him as I do. Oh! I can assure you he has a pretty shrewd notion of his value. No one can have a better. A man who buys a house in Hanover-square knows the style in which things ought to be done. Oh, yes! He has bought a house in Hanover-square! You had not heard that, I dare say? He is as rich as a Jew. He had an old uncle called Haythornthwaite who died and left him a world of money. He has – among other trifles – a good house and a large estate – that of Hurtfew Abbey in Yorkshire.”
“Ha!” said the tall man drily. “He was in high luck. Rich old uncles who die are in shockingly short supply.”
“Oh, indeed!” cried the small man. “Some friends of mine, the Griffins, have an amazingly rich old uncle to whom they have paid all sorts of attentions for years and years – but though he was at least a hundred years old when they began, he is not dead yet and it seems he intends to live for ever to spite them, and all the Griffins are growing old themselves and dying one by one in a state of the most bitter disappointment. Yet I am sure that you, my dear Lascelles, need not concern yourself with any such vexatious old persons – your fortune is comfortable enough, is it not?”
Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell Page 6