01x05 - Arabella

Episode transcripts for the 2015 UK TV show "Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell". Aired June 2015.
"Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell" is a seven-part British fantasy adapted from Susanna Clarke's book of the same name. Set in England at the beginning of the 19th century, the series presents an alternate history where magic is widely acknowledged, but rarely practiced. Two men are destined to bring it back; the reclusive Mr. Norrell and daring novice Jonathan Strange. So begins a dangerous battle between two great minds.
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01x05 - Arabella

Post by bunniefuu »

I am a king, you are a king.

Let's all be kings together.

Your Majesty.



My reputation has been ruined and my servant has been sh*t, sir.

Let me go!

Everyone will ask why she did this.

But nobody knows who sh*t at you.

Lady Pole may be put in an asylum.

You are Norrell's men. I am sold once more.

Stephen! Turn me...

We are no friends to Mr Norrell.

What happened behind the mirror?

The King's Roads.

Promise me you will not go out on those roads again.


Damn magic to hell.

Damn where it's lead us.

(Croaking howl)

Can a magician k*ll a man by magic?

I suppose a magician might.

But a gentleman never could.

He has m*rder my book.

We must not let this stand.

You must not!

I am home.

Oh, God...

We'll go back to Shropshire, and I will cease to do practical magic.

I will write down my thoughts in a book.

Once again, it is the stupid magician who thwarts us.

We must find and awaken a Moss-Oak.

He will bargain her life away and he will have no notion that he has done so.

Napoleon is back.


The Duke, he asks you to renew your commission.

I am sorry, Mrs Strange, but your husband is the army's magician, and we have need of him.

(g*n rumbles)

(Infantry roars)

Keep going, come on!

Move, move. Come on!

Hold the gates. Hold the gates!

Hold the gates!

Not rain, Merlin! Not rain!

You may have this rain, or that f*re!

(Whispers echo)

(Water gurgles)

Aim on the wall.

Merlin. Where is Wellington?

Can you see him? Find him.



Merlin. They are scaling the wall!


(Whispers echo)

(Soldiers scream)

Merlin, they're breaking through!

Stop messing around and find my reinforcements!

These gates won't hold much longer!


I att*ck!




(Jonathan screams)

['Merlin! Hold the gates! Hold the gates!']


Have you written much today?

Oh. Yes, quite a bit.

(Bell tolls sobbing)

I was told you were d*ad.

I felt certain you would be.

Well, gentlemen... the w*r is over.

What do you think they'll do with us now?

Come. I want to show you something.

The King's Roads. They're almost finished.

Bell, you are clever.

That's four of them done, but, of course, Mr Murray will want them engraved.

This is just how it looked.

You make me very proud.

The light's very good in here.

But why publish Strange's book, Mr Murray?

I am a book publisher, Mr Norrell.

Surely it should be no great surprise that I publish a book?

Magic is a very popular subject.

The Friends Of English Magic sells well.

Mr Lascelles' book sold very well, until Mr Strange reviewed it.

Why undo all this good work by putting out a book so at odds with the orthodoxy?

That would be with your orthodoxy, Mr Norrell.

And how do we know that it...?

Because that is what he does, sir!

Three volumes, laying English Magic naked for all who choose to salivate over!

I do not know what the end of it will be!

Well, the beginning of it will be that volume one of Mr Strange's book is published in August.

It is the most dangerous and seditious thing of which I have ever heard!

Publish and you shall have no more editions of The Friends Of English Magic, sir.

That is Mr Norrell's prerogative.

You have made an enemy of us, sir.

Aye, well...

There you go.

"The History And Practice Of English Magic. Marvel at what he has done. Dare to dream of what he may yet do. Mr Strange's remarkable book of magic."

Why on earth does he insist on punishing me in this manner?

Whatever wrong did I do him?

None, sir.

It is not for myself I fear, Mr Lascelles. It is for England.

There is a danger, both in what he will say and in the very fabric of the books themselves.

Really, it would be most agreeable to me to never see or hear from that man again.

(Horse grunts)

(Bell tolls)


Madam! Madam, I beg your pardon!


Mrs Strange?

Mrs Strange!

Mrs Strange!

Mrs Strange!

A bell?

Yes, sir.

What bell could there have been, Mr Hyde?

Well, that was just the beginning.

I looked to the South, and I...

I saw a lady, walking away from me.

Just walking on, into the snow.

Black gown, no shawl, not even a pair of shoes.

Only, when I reached the top, she was nowhere.

Forgive me, I do not see why you come to me.

You should ride to the Magistrate.

It was Mrs Strange, sir.

My mother? My mother is d*ad.

You... you believe you saw her ghost?

Your wife, sir.

It could not have been my wife.

Mrs Strange's father was curate of my parish 47 years.

I've known her since she took her first steps in Clunbury churchyard.

Arabella has not left Ashfair these past five days.

Besides, she never wears black. I hate to see her in black.

I'm not the first to have seen a woman in black wandering hereabouts.

Well, whoever the poor woman is, she is not my wife.

We may call Mrs Strange here. You may see with your own eyes.


I do not wish to distress her.

Sir, could it not be something to do with... your magic?

I have ceased to do practical magic.

I did my last at Waterloo.

I just write my book now.

And Mrs Strange spends most of her time encouraging me to finish it.

Well, I'm glad Mrs Strange is safe.

Well... sorry for disturbing you, sir.

(Hyde coughs)

Thank you.

Look after her, sir.

Do you think there will be another w*r?

It is my most fervent hope that there will not be.

And how do you think things between you and Norrell will fall out?

Oh... like any other dull, academic controversy.

Books, articles, factions...

One of us will win, posterity will take a little from us both... and then we shall both be forgotten.

As for my own future...

I wish to spend it quietly, with my wife.


I should also like to cut down the copper beeches that my father planted and do something about the East garden.

And what about a child?

That would be a fine thing, would it not?

Then we should see what we can do about it.

Mr g*n, Mr g*n!

Mr Honeyfoot!

Good Lord. Whatever is it?

Mr g*n!

You must send a message to Jonathan Strange.

Something terrible is going to happen. You must send word.

What did she say?

She says we must go to Jonathan Strange's house.

(Horse and carriage clatter)

It is very important that you listen to me. Do you understand?

Wait a moment.

On a May morning in 1310, the wife of a Christian lighthouse keeper found a cupboard in her kitchen.

Do you understand?

No. I'm so sorry.

(Knocks at door)

The cupboard kept calling to her, again and again.

She told her husband, who thought she was mad.

But when she stepped inside the cupboard, she was never seen again.

I mean to say that she was stolen away.

Your friend, madam - she's in great distress.

May I take you to her?

You must send word to Jonathan Strange at Ashfair House.

Tell him he must not make the bargain. He must not.

I'm sorry, madam. I do not understand.

I mean... I mean to say Moss-Oak!



I mean to say Moss-Oak. Moss-Oak!

(She cries out)

Bell! No.

Bell! No.

(Wind whistles shutter bangs)

Mary, where is Mrs Strange?

Is she not still in bed, sir?


(Horse whinnies hooves clatter)

Would you find her for me, please?

An hour ago, I saw Mrs Strange upon the Welsh hills.

I am in no doubt, sir. It was her.

Bell? Arabella?

She is not in the house, sir.

We do not know where she is.

She'll freeze herself to death.

Bring me some water, Mary.


Fill it up.

Mr Strange, ought we not ride out...

Quiet. Quiet.

(Timbers creak)

Sir, what is this meant to do?

Find her.

Not in England, not in Wales, not in Scotland...

Yah! Yah!

Mary? Mary!

Fetch my coat and boots.

Mrs Strange! Mrs Strange!

Madam! Madam! Mrs Strange!

Arabella! Arabella!

Mrs Strange!


Mrs Strange? Madam!

Where are you?


Mrs Strange!


Mrs Strange!


Mrs Strange!

Mrs Strange!

So, we have Clunbury, Ashfair, and the Marches.

I think I woke last night.

You did not say this before.

I did not remember before.

Arabella was getting out of the bed.


I thought I had dreamt it.

Bell. Oh, thank God.

Where on earth have you been?

Walking... in the woods... with my brothers and sisters.

Madam, you are as cold as the grave.

Bell, what have you got on?

It's this way, madam.


Madam. Madam, please. Quickly.

Am I... Am I your wife?

Of course you are. Of course you're my wife.

Do you... accept me as your wife?

Yes, yes. What...

Madam, madam. We must make haste. Please.

You renounce all other wives?

Bell, of course I do. Of course.

With all my heart.

Where is my friend?

I'm sorry, madam.


Welcome to Lost-Hope.

Oh, she's dreadful cold, sir.

Bell, my love. What were you thinking?

You are a poor husband.

Your husband has bargained you away, madam.

He has sold you to me in exchange for a piece of wood.

You are to be mine for all time... and never leave.

I tried to tell you of this.




Take us home, Stephen.


I do not offer anything that will not be exquisitely agreeable to you.

My husband will hear of this.

There is no husband. Not any more.



Bell? Bell, no!

It's me!

No! Bell! No!

Bell, no! It's me.


She is quite peaceful now.

What is this you do?

My mother used to tell me tales of magicians, different creatures.

It... it was really what first drew me to magic - er, the romance of it.

The tales I heard when I was a boy.

When she d... When she... when she d*ed, I went around collecting folk-tales, writing them up.

And that story Lady Pole told last night - the lighthouse keeper and his cupboard - it made me think I have heard it before.

It is much like a tale told by the fishwives of Flamborough, about a man called Bloodworth, who lit the lamp in the lighthouse during the 1500s.

Is it a common story?

No, and the way she told it, it's not quite the same as I have it in my book. But...

And what do you mean to say?

I do not believe Lady Pole's stories are nonsense.

I believe there is a pattern to them.


Oh, God, Bell.

And what do you consider so dangerous about this book?


Do you think I take the books of English magic to myself because I am some sort of miser, sir?

Because I rub my hands in glee, desiring to have it all?

No, sir, no. No, I gather these books because they are so very powerful and dangerous - and Mr Strange's book is the most dangerous of all.

You consider that his book will give amm*nit*on to the Johannites?

It is not a matter of consideration, my lord, it is a matter of...

I beg your pardon. Give amm*nit*on to...?

The Johannites. Machine-breakers. The rioters in the North.

I do not understand. What do rioters have to do with magic?

Do you never look in a newspaper, sir?


These men have lost their employment to the new machines.

They destroy factories and looms and proclaim themselves to be the followers of the Raven King.

They carry his banner, they daub his blazon on the walls of...

There is a ragged preacher going around the North telling people that the Raven King is coming back.

He's not coming back... is he?

That is a ridiculous notion.

But I see your anxiety. I... I see your anxiety.

After all, the Raven King has always been associated with riot and revolution.

You think Strange's book will support the Raven King?

Everything he's done and said would say so.

Then we must hope he sees sense.

Or that something occurs to stop him.

Yes. Yes, indeed.

Not now, Henry. Not now!

Whoa. Whoa.

I hope you'll forgive the mess, I rather thought it was...

(Henry sobs)

Now, Henry, do not take on. It is all right.

Come, now. Let's have something to eat.

I can spare half an hour.

May I conduct the funeral?

Funeral, Henry? What would be the point of that?

But, well - how else...?

There is to be no funeral, Henry.

I'm going to bring her back to life.

I must get on.

Jonathan, what do you mean?

Precisely what I say.

But... such a thing is not possible. You cannot just...

It is perfectly possible, Henry, believe me.

I did such a thing, of a rough sort, in Spain.

"Of a rough sort?"

Damn it, Jonathan, she's my flesh and blood.

And she is my heart and soul.

What is magic to me, otherwise?

How did it go?

It is the problem of the Johannites which concerns them.

Of course, you are aware of the Johannites?


I fear, and I said it to them, that Mr Strange's book will put f*re into their hearts.

Mr Lascelles is of the opinion that I should have an attorney serve Mr Strange...

Forgive me, sir.

I think you take the advice of Mr Lascelles a little too freely.

Do you indeed? Well, I may say that it was you who suggested that I turn to him and Drawlight in the first place.

Yes, sir, I know...

If I did not have Mr Lascelles, I would be quite alone.

Then Mr Strange would be free to dictate the direction that English magic will take, and spoil everything I have done.

I will not have this book, Childermass, and Mr Lascelles will help me to ensure that.

I do not think Mr Strange will be publishing anything any time soon, sir.

His wife is d*ad.


She went walking in the snow and caught a chill.

Mr Strange will feel that very badly.

"And so I beg of you, dear sir, for the sake of any friendship that once we enjoyed, you tell me what magic you employed to bring her Ladyship back to the bloom of life. Tell me but this one thing, whatever magic it is, and I promise you I shall tell no-one and that furthermore, I shall put aside magic entirely, cease to call myself magician, and trouble you no more. Your affectionate friend, Jonathan Strange."

What shall I do?

Nothing, sir. There's no need. There is already talk in Shropshire that he k*lled his wife by black magic - that he has another wife somewhere.

If it were now known he plans to raise the original from the d*ad, as he did those Italians - his reputation will be ruined.

And no-one would buy his book.

I rather think Mr Norrell was asking what he should do to help.

Were you not?

Can we talk without the servants present, sir?

No, let's not talk without the servants present.

Strange has made his promise. He's a man of his word.

You and he can bring Mrs Strange back between you, I'm sure.

I presume you now understand what went amiss with Lady Pole.

She need not come back mad.

Could we talk without the servants present, sir?

It is most vexing.

I mean to say, his first reaction when his wife dies is to turn to black magic.

It is the measure of the man, sir.

But perhaps Childermass is...

Well, perhaps if I just explained...

Childermass has his own reasons for doing anything.

Mr Strange has broken with you, sir.

He has gone against your wishes, time and again.

Sir, all you have done is for the good of English magic.

You are the good of English magic.

Do not allow your goodness to be used against you.

Yes, but...

Write to him if you wish, but I could not, in all conscience, stand by and see you inflict such damage upon your own cause.

I fear I could no longer be your friend.

(Timbers creak)

Poor man.

There is no need to whisper, dear Stephen.

He can neither see nor hear us.

He is attempting to summon me.

Ignorant fool.

He may be ignorant, but he still succeeded, sir.


After all, you are here, sir.

Yes, I dare say.

But if I choose not to make myself heard, nor seen, what use is that?

Stephen, quick, turn the pages of that book.

There is no breeze in the room and it will perplex him.

Really, watching this fellow try to do magic is like seeing a man sit down to eat dinner with his coat on backwards.

He has just lost his wife, sir.

Yes - and what a delicious irony that he summons me.

Oh, give his neck a pinch, Stephen.

He will think it is a gnat.

It is said the Raven King brought the son of a nobleman, with whom he quarrelled back to life.

Henry Barbatus, d*ed of a fever - the King had his body dug up out of its grave.

Perhaps it involved some exchange of... the life of trees, or dogs, or...


The Raven King was nothing if not practical.

You will not come back speaking in the tongues of Hell.

You will come back with the voices of Heaven.

Bell? Wake up.

If you please.

Please, wake up.

I am sorry, my love.


Nothing from Norrell. Nothing!

It is seven days, Jonathan.

One more day, I beg you.

No, Jonathan. I believe in the resurrection to eternal life.

Norrell does not want to tell me.

I will go to him. I will make him.

Jonathan, stop!

Get out of my way.

Do you honestly believe this is what Arabella would wish?

Do you think she would be pleased with you?

She would be alive, Henry. I wish her to be alive!

But she's d*ad.

The corpse lying upstairs is no longer your wife or my sister.

What would it be if you brought it back now?

Please, stop.

Please, respect her and respect yourself.

It breaks my heart to say this, Jonathan.

She's the only family I will ever have.

She's my most beloved sister.

But she must... be let go.

(Jonathan sobs)

You were the very reason I did magic.

You were the reason I did anything.

The excitement of it was very much to see how you would look at me.

The excitement of life was very much to see how you would look at me.

Goodbye, my love.
(Bell tolls)

I know that my redeemer liveth and that I shall rise out of the earth in the last day.

And shall be covered again with my skin.

And shall see God in my flesh.

Yea, and I myself shall behold him.

Not with other, but with these same eyes.

For as much as it has pleased Almighty God to take unto himself the soul of our dear sister here departed, we therefore commit her body to the ground.

Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

In the sure and certain hope of resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ.


It seems a waste for you to have come all this way, Stephen.

Sir Walter wished you to be told in person.

He wishes me to stay by you.

He considered you might be very distressed by the death of Mrs Strange.

I am very distressed by what has happened.

No-one is more distressed than I.

I had considered at least it would have given me someone to talk to.

But she is so very, very far away.

So it is, when someone is d*ad.

Mr Black, my colleague and I consider we would fail in our duty of care if we did not ask you something.

What is it, gentleman?

We know how impatient you and her Ladyship are of magicians, sir, but, um...

The nonsense that she speaks, sir - well, we have been listening to it when it comes.

I have been reading my old notes and I believe it has a pattern, sir.

We were wondering if you think we might induce her to speak in that way, in order to study...

No. I think you may not.

But, you see, sir, she speaks in faerie tales, as we would call them...

Gentlemen. Do not meddle in such things.

You have no idea where it will end.

And you are not fit to do it.

But, surely if we can help...

No, you cannot. No-one can help.

We must accept that she cannot be cured.

And yourself?

You do not have my permission.

And I do not want any more talk of it.

Did you see it?


Well, I see it plainly on both of them.

I vote we go ahead.

You are changed.

Truth to tell, I was not quite myself for a time.

Would you give this to Lady Pole?

I think Bell would be pleased to know that your wife had something to remember her by.

I'm sure she would be most comforted.

You have not given up magic, then?

It is just... I had heard...

What had you heard?

I am no longer a practical magician.

That does not mean I have abandoned magic.

Norrell is in agonies whenever your book is mentioned.


Well, the book is only the beginning.

I mean to say, when you consider the matter, what does our so-called "restoration of English magic" really amount to?

What have Norrell and I actually done?

Illusions. Storms and bad weather. His silly sea-beacons.

He still has not completed them.

Compare our sorry reckoning with the magicians of the Golden Age.

They transformed themselves into mice, foxes, rivers.

They made ships out of cobwebs and houses out of rose-bushes...

Mr Strange, I...

I do not much like saying it, but it occurs to me Norrell may be right.

These kinds of magic will not suit us nowadays.

How can you say that when none of us knows what magic it is?

No, we must turn our attention to the life and magic of the Raven King, and when we do...

I am sorry, Mr Strange.

That is the one thing we must not do.

I am serious. I tell you this as a friend.

Too much talk of other kings is bound to make the Government nervous.

How can we restore English magic until we know what it is we're supposed to be restoring?

We do not require English magic to be restored any more than it already has been.

Leave John Uskglass in the obscurity Mr Norrell has placed him.

Norrell has poisoned your minds. Literally, in your case.

Do you not consider...

Do you not consider what happened to your wife?

Do you not question why she went mad?


This idea is madness.

Madness is what it is not.

Whatever you hope to gain from this...

My liberty, Stephen - mine and hers.

You cannot fight him.

.. Page 72.

Mrs Strange. She doesn't know what is done.

She is happy.

You and I...

We have survived, so far.

What would you suggest, Stephen?

We should accept our position... and be thankful for it.

He has poisoned your mind.

So, gentlemen - what are we to do?

Try and, er... describe... what most distresses you, my lady.

'Bell, no! It's me! (Bells jingle and echo) Bell!'

There was once a Christian who went hunting in a wood of wych-elm.

His horse got its hoof caught in a rabbit-hole and he tumbled in.

He found himself in a strange country, lit by its own sun and nurtured by its own rain.

In a wood very much like the one he had just left, he found a brugh where a party of gentlemen - some of them rather odd - were playing napdraw.

Here. The Huntsman And The Rabbit-Hole.

Er... but you heard her say "brugh"?

Hmm. And, um, "napdraw" - what is that?

Er... I think it is a card game, rather like what we would call "Spoil Five".

I think it best if you speak generally, my lady.

If you aim right for the truth, you veer off at even stranger angles.


Speak around it, this time.

There was once a farmer of Harrogate, who desired very greatly... (Knocks at door) .. to grow broad beans bigger than any in Yorkshire.

To this end, he enlisted the assistance of Col Tom Blue, who helped him grow beans as large as a man's foot.

(Knocks at door)

Madam. Please, we must stop this.

Go on.

Col Tom Blue had enchanted the beans as a means to capture the souls of the little children.

The little children were then carried off to the Castles of the Five.

I have it. She said "Castles of the Five."

(Knocks at door)

That's a common story about a faerie, but he is unnamed.

You called him "Col Tom Blue".


I think what you are telling, my lady, are faerie tales - but told, in some way, from the point of view of the faerie himself.

"Human tales", as it were.

(Knocks at door)

Is this the madhouse?

Yes, it most certainly is.

I've a madman for you. He's blue.


With your permission, madam, we would like to write to Mr Strange.

Yes. Please!

Mr g*n, Mr Honeyfoot?

Excuse us, ma'am.

I don't know, he's been going round markets pinching, shouting all sorts of nonsense about "Raven King".

I need all of you to bring him.

What is the matter?


I've met you before.

And you.

I have a message for you... nameless sl*ve.

(Vinculus cackles)

Unhand me.

The rain shall make a door for me and I shall go through it.

Unhand me!

Do you see anything in this that might be called seditious?

I see that he will tear England to pieces.

I see that he will spoil magic for generations to come.

Why did you not let me have my magical court?

From what I understand from my man at Murray's, there is no direct call for the restoration of the Raven King.

But such a call would not be against the law - as it currently stands.

May we keep this... for a while?

We will remain in touch.

I do not know how I shall prevent him.

I do not know.

Oh, what do you want to prevent him for?

Call a halt to this bloody stupid feud.

It won't end well for you both.

Join him, if you wish.

Join him and Murray and the other traitors.

I'm not going anywhere. Don't worry.

That is a shame.

I agree with you, though.

Between us, I'm sure we can put a halt to Strange's book.


Is that you?

I've been expecting you.

How is your master?

Poorly, sir.

Colds and headaches and tremblings in the limbs.

All the usual symptoms when someone has vexed him.

And no-one vexes him as you do.

And what does he think about you turning yourself into shadows and making yourself invisible?

I have been 18 years in Mr Norrell's service, and before that, I was a pickpocket.

I would have to be a dull fellow to have learnt nothing at all.

That was not what I asked.

Well, come and see what you were sent to see.

I have nothing to hide.

They are very beautiful.

I aim for the whole book to be a work of beauty.

So, these are the King's Roads?

Built by the Raven King himself.

What is the country that the bridges cross?

I do not know.

What is your opinion, Magician?

I suppose it is Faerie.

Was the magic difficult?

You need a spell of revelation - I used Doncaster - and another of dissolution, to melt the mirror's surface.

Do you follow me?

Yes, sir.

Have these landscapes always been there?

I believe so.

Well, why have magicians not been able to go about upon them?

These roads were all closed, hidden behind mirrors.

But now, something has occurred to open up them up again.

Now, there is more magic in England than either you or I can understand.

I think that is true.

Is it not time, Childermass, that you left Gilbert Norrell's service and came to me?

There need be none of this "servant" nonsense.

You would be my pupil and assistant.

Thank you, sir. Thank you.

But Mr Norrell and I are not done with each other yet.

And besides, I think I would make a very bad pupil.

Worse, even, than you.

Was I so very bad?

I merely asked questions.

Surely that is the prerogative of any pupil?

I do not know how it will end with you and Norrell, but I tell you what I'll do.

If you fail and Norrell wins, I shall leave his service.

I'll take up your cause, and then there will still be two magicians in England and two opinions upon magic.

But, if he should fail and you win, I'll do the same against you.

Good enough?


Thank you for your frankness, sir.

It is Norrell who likes to keep secrets, not I.

Besides, I have told you nothing that is not already in my book.

Within a month, every man, woman and child in the kingdom will be able to read it and form his own opinions on it.

Which is just as it should be.

Regarding that, sir - I think I should warn you to be careful.

Of what?

Of your book, sir.

What do you mean?

He's trying to have it stopped.


By whatever means he can, I think.

God damn him.

God damn him.

What have I ever done to him, Childermass?

What did I ever do, apart from be frank and pleasant?

This book will stand as tribute to my wife.

Mr Strange...

God damn him!


Bloody idiot!

Mr Norrell! Mr Norrell!

It is your former pupil and former friend!

Mr Norrell is not at home, sir...


Mr Norrell! What is this? You quarrel with my book?

Your book cannot be published, sir. We will not allow it.

Why? What on earth does it matter? Leave me be!

Do you not consider you have hurt me enough?

Do you not consider you have hurt Mr Norrell enough?

What hurt? I wrote, begging with everything I could offer BELL RINGS that he help do for my wife what he did for Lady Pole!

I pleaded, sir, on any condition, that he help me bring my wife back, and he did not even reply.

What was the magic?

Why will you not tell me?

I know why.

I know why!


(Glass shatters)

You're no friend of mine!



Hold him there!

Get on your feet.


I'm here to help you.

The most terrible things are being done against you.

They seek to arraign you for breaking into Norrell's house.

They say I k*lled Bell.

They say that if a charge can be found under modern law, they plan to try you for m*rder by witchcraft.


So, what do you mean to do?

I shall summon a faerie.

I do not think that germane to your situation.

You are wrong. You wonder if such a thing is even possible.

The received opinion is that faeries do not visit England any more.

But I tell you, I was in company with one at Windsor Castle.

No magician, of any era, could help me as much as a faerie.

I've tried every spell I know, this way and that.

Nothing seems to work.

But then I thought on it.

I did not see the faerie.

That is the difficulty - to see and hear them.

Yet there was one present who perceived him very clearly.

Why could he, when I could not?

Merlin, let me bring you out of here.

It is very important that I do this, Grant.

Well, was this fellow a magician?

No, no. This man was just... mad.

Now, what must be done is to get you away from here.

We will enlist Sir Wellington's help.

Sir - open this door. This is the Duke of Wellington's man!

He will not have you slandered so.

But then again, madness is not such a very q*eer notion.

Think of the magicians of the Golden Age.

They were the faeries' near-neighbours in wildness, insanity...

Perhaps I am too tame...

Mr Strange, listen...

But how does one work up a little madness in oneself?

Perhaps I should go wandering.

Perhaps the wilderness will make me mad.

I think you've h*t upon something, Grant. My book is finished.

London is set against me.

It is time for me to become the magician I am destined to become.

Merlin, you cannot propose that you purposely become a... a lunatic.

You'll only help your enemies.

What must be done now is to take you away from here.

My man...

Gaoler? Gaoler?

Come on, man.

Unlock this door.

Look sharp.

At the double, man. Come on.

Come on, man. At the double.


The prisoner is missing.


The magician has escaped.

Guards, search the jail.

Move it, move it!

(Alarms clang)
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