Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell Read Free Page A

with the three tall twelve-paned windows, so that once again Mr Segundus was made uncomfortable by a persistent feeling that there ought to have been other candles in the room, other windows or another fire to account for the light. What windows there were looked out upon a wide expanse of dusky English rain so that Mr Segundus could not make out the view nor guess where in the house they stood.
    The room was not empty; there was a man sitting at a table who rose as they entered, and whom Mr Norrell briefly declared to be Childermass, his man of business.
    Mr Honeyfoot and Mr Segundus, being magicians themselves, had not needed to be told that the library of Hurtfew Abbey was dearer to its possessor than all his other riches; and they were not surprized to discover that Mr Norrell had constructed a beautiful jewel box to house his heart’s treasure. The bookcases which lined the walls of the room were built of English woods and resembled Gothic arches laden with carvings. There were carvings of leaves (dried and twisted leaves, as if the season the artist had intended to represent were autumn), carvings of intertwining roots and branches, carvings of berries and ivy — all wonderfully done. But the wonder of the bookcases was nothing to the wonder of the books.
    The first thing a student of magic learns is that there are books about magic and books of magic. And the second thing he learns is that a perfectly respectable example of the former may be had for two or three guineas at a good bookseller, and that the value of the latter is above rubies. 5 The collection of the York society was reckoned very fine — almost remarkable; among its many volumes were five works written between 1550 and 1700 and which might reasonably be claimed as books of magic (though one was no more than a couple of ragged pages). Books of magic are rare and neither Mr Segundus nor Mr Honeyfoot had ever seen more than two or three in a private library. At Hurtfew all the walls were lined with bookshelves and all the shelves were filled with books. And the books were all, or almost all, old books; books of magic. Oh! to be sure many had clean modern bindings, but clearly these were volumes which Mr Norrell had had rebound (he favoured, it seemed, plain calf with the titles stamped in neat silver capitals). But many had bindings that were old, old, old, with crumbling spines and corners.
    Mr Segundus glanced at the spines of the books on a nearby shelf; the first title he read was How to putte Questiones to the Dark and understand its Answeres .
    “A foolish work,” said Mr Norrell. Mr Segundus started — he had not known his host was so close by. Mr Norrell continued, “I would advise you not to waste a moment’s thought upon it.”
    So Mr Segundus looked at the next book which was Belasis’s instructions .
    “You know Belasis, I dare say?” asked Mr Norrell.
    “Only by reputation, sir,” said Mr Segundus, “I have often heard that he held the key to a good many things, but I have also heard — indeed all the authorities agree — that every copy of The Instructions was destroyed long ago. Yet now here it is! Why, sir, it is extraordinary! It is wonderful!”
    “You expect a great deal of Belasis,” remarked Norrell, “and once upon a time I was entirely of your mind. I remember that for many months I devoted eight hours out of every twenty-four to studying his work; a compliment, I may say, that I have never paid any other author. But ultimately he is disappointing. He is mystical where he ought to be intelligible — and intelligible where he ought to be obscure. There are some things which have no business being put into books for all the world to read. For myself I no longer have any very great opinion of Belasis.”
    “Here is a book I never even heard of, sir,” said Mr Segundus, “ The Excellences of Christo-Judaic Magick . What can you tell me of this?”
    “Ha!” cried Mr Norrell. “It dates from the seventeenth century,