Читать книгу Free Opinions, Freely Expressed on Certain Phases of Modern Social Life and Conduct - Marie Corelli - Страница 5

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Not very long ago a Royal hint was given by one of the wisest and most tactful among the great throned Rulers of the world, to that other ruling power which is frequently alluded to as “the Fourth Estate.” Edward the Seventh, King by the Grace of God over Great Britain and all the dependencies which flourish under the sign of the Rose, Shamrock and Thistle, using that courteous and diplomatic manner which particularly belongs to him, expressed his “hope” that the Gentlemen of the Press would do their best to foster amity and goodwill between the British Empire and other nations. Now amongst the many kindly, thoughtful, sagacious and farsighted things which His Majesty has done since he ascended the English Throne, that highest seat of honour in the world—perhaps this mild and friendly suggestion to the Press is one of the most pointed, necessary and admirable. It is a suggestion which, if accepted in the frank, manly and magnanimous spirit in which it has been conveyed, would make for the peace of Europe. Petty insult often begets serious strife, and the cheap sneer of a would-be “smart” journalist at another country’s governmental mistakes may lead to consequences undreamt of in newspaper-office philosophy. Yet the journalist, as journalist, is scarcely to blame if, in a praiseworthy desire to give a “selling” impetus to the paper on which he is employed, he gets up a little bit of speculative melodrama, such as “German Malignity,” “Russian Trickery,” “Mysterious Movements of the Fleet,” “French Insult to the King,” “America’s Secret Treaty,” or “Alarming Eastern Rumours.” He is perhaps not in any way departing from his own special line of business if he counts on the general gullibility of the public, though in this matter he is often liable to be himself gulled. For the public have been so frequently taken in by mere “sensationalism” in war news and the like, that they are beginning to view all such rumours with more contempt than credence. Nevertheless the ambitious little Press boys (for they are only boys in their lack of discernment, whatever may be their external appearance as grown men) do not deserve so much reproof for their hot-headed, impulsive and thoughtless ways as the personages set in authority over them, whose business it is to edit their “copy” before passing it on to the printers. They are the responsible parties,—and when they forget the dignity of their position so much as to allow a merely jejune view of the political situation to appear in their journals, under flamboyant headlines which catch the eye and ensnare the attention of the more or less uninstructed crowd, one naturally deplores the lapse of their honourable duty. For in this way a great deal of harm may be done and endless misunderstanding and mischief created. It is quite wrong and wholly unpatriotic that the newspapers of any country should strive to foster ill-feeling between conflicting nations or political parties. When they engage in this kind of petty strife one is irresistibly reminded of the bad child in the nursery who, seeing his two little brothers quarrelling, cries out: “Go it, Tom! Go it, Jack! Hit him in the eye!” and then, when the hit is given and mutual screams follow, runs to his mother with the news—“Ma! Tom and Jack are fighting!” carefully suppressing the fact that he helped to set them at it. And when the trouble begins to be serious, and national recriminations are freely exchanged, it is curious to note how quickly the Press, on both sides, assumes the attitude of an almost matronly remonstrance. One hears in every leading article the “How can you behave so, Jack? What a naughty boy you are, Tom! Positively, I am ashamed of you both!”

There would be no greater force existing in the world as an aid to civilization and human fraternity than the Press, if its vast powers were employed to the noblest purposes. It ought to resemble a mighty ship, which, with brave, true men at the helm, moves ever on a straight course, cleaving the waters of darkness and error, and making direct for the highest shores of peace and promise. But it must be a ship indeed,—grandly built, nobly manned, and steadily steered,—not a crazy, water-logged vessel, creaking with the thud of every wave, or bobbing backwards and forwards uncertainly in a gale. Its position at the present day is, or appears to be, rather the latter than the former. Unquestionably the people, taken in the mass, do not rely upon it. They read the newspapers—but they almost immediately forget everything in them except the headlines and one or two unpleasant police cases. And why do they forget? Simply because first of all they are not sufficiently interested; and, secondly, because they do not believe the news they read. A working man told me the other day that he had been saving sixpence a week on two halfpenny papers which he had been accustomed to take in for the past year. “I found ’em out in ten lies, all on top of one another, in two weeks,” he candidly explained; “and so I thought I might as well keep my money for something more useful. So I started putting the halfpence by for my little kiddie, and I’m going to stick to it. There’s five shillings in the Savings Bank already!”

Glancing back to the early journalism of the past century, when Dickens and Thackeray wrote for the newspapers (“there were giants in those days”), one cannot help being struck by the great deterioration in the whole “tone” of the press at the present time, as contrasted with that which prevailed in the dawn of the Victorian era. There is dignity, refinement, and power in the leading articles of the Times and other journals then in vogue, such as must needs have compelled people not only to read, but to think. The vulgar “personal” note, the flippant sneer at this, that, or t’other personage,—the monkey-like mockery of women,—the senseless gibes flung at poets and poetry,—the clownish kick at sentiment,—were all apparently unknown.

True it is that the Times still holds its own as a journal in which one may look in vain for “sensationalism” but its position is rather like that of a grim old lion surrounded by cubs of all sizes and ages, that yap and snap at its whiskers and take liberties with its tail. It can be said, however, that all the better, higher-class periodicals are in the same situation—the yapping and snapping goes on around them precisely in the same way—“Circulation Five Times as Large as that of any Penny Morning Journal,” etcetera, etcetera. And the question of the circulation of any particular newspaper resolves itself into two points,—first, the amount of money it puts into the pockets of its proprietors or proprietor,—and secondly, the influence it has, or is likely to have, on the manners and morals of the public. The last is by far the most important matter, though the first is naturally the leading motive of its publication. Herein we touch the keynote of responsibility. How, and in what way are the majority of people swayed or affected by the statements and opinions of some one man or several men employed on the world’s press? On this point it may perhaps be asked whether any newspaper is really justified in setting before readers of all ages and temperaments, a daily fare of suicides, murders, divorce-cases, sudden deaths, or abnormal “horrors” of every kind to startle, depress or warp the mind away from a sane and healthful outlook upon life and the things of life in general? A very brilliant and able journalist tells me that “if we don’t put these things in, we are so deadly dull!” One can but smile at this candid statement of inefficiency. The idea that there can be any “lively” reading in the sorrowful details of sickness, crime or mania, leaves much room for doubt. And when it is remembered how powerfully the human mind is affected by suggestion, it is surely worth while enquiring as to whether the newspapers could not manage to offer their readers noble and instructive subjects of thought, rather than morbid or degrading ones. Fortunately for all classes, the bulk of what may be called “magazine literature” makes distinctly for the instruction and enlightenment of the public, and though a “gutter press” exists in Great Britain, as in America, a great portion of the public are now educated enough to recognize its type and to treat it with the contempt it merits. I quote here part of a letter which recently appeared in the Westminster Gazette signed “Observer,” and entitled:

“A Press-governed Empire.

“To the Editor of the Westminster Gazette.

“Sir,—We have it on the highest authority that the Government acts on the same information as is at the disposal of ‘the man in the street’ (vide Mr. Balfour at Manchester). The man in the street obviously must depend on the Press for his information. How has the Press served him?

“Let me take a recent illustration. A great experiment was to be made by the Navy. A battleship with all its tremendous armament was to pound a battleship. Naturally the Press was well represented, and the public was eager for its report.

“In due course a narrative appeared describing the terrible havoc wrought. The greatest stress was laid upon the instant ignition and complete destruction by fire of all the woodwork on the doomed ship. Elaborate leading articles appeared enforcing the lesson that wood was no longer a possible material for the accessory furniture of a battleship.

“A day or two after, a quiet answer in the House of Commons from Mr. Goschen informed the limited public who read it, that no fire whatever had occurred on the occasion so graphically described by the host of Press correspondents.

“The events dealt with on these occasions took place in our own country, and under our own eyes, so to speak. If such untrue reports are set forth with the verisimilitude of accurate and detailed personal description of eye-witnesses, what are we to say of the truth in the reports of events occurring at a distance?

“Special knowledge, special experience long continued, speaking under a sense of responsibility, are set at nought. The regular channels of information are neglected, and the conduct of affairs is based on newspaper reports. Any private business conducted and managed on these lines would be immediately ruined. The business of the Empire is more important, and the results of its mismanagement are more serious. For how long will it be possible to continue its management, trusting to the light thrown on events by an irresponsible Press?”

* * * * *

The “irresponsibility” here complained of comes out perhaps more often and most glaringly in those papers which profess to chronicle the sayings and doings of kings and queens, prime ministers, and personages more or less well known in the world of art, letters and society. In nine cases out of ten, the journalist who reports these sayings and doings has never set eyes on the people about whom he writes with such a free and easy flippancy. Even if he has, his authority to make their conversation public may be questioned. It is surely not too much to ask of the editors of newspapers that they should, by applying directly to the individuals concerned, ascertain whether such and such a statement made to them is true before giving it currency. A couple of penny stamps expended in private correspondence would settle the matter to the satisfaction of both parties.

“Personalities,” however, would seem to be greatly in vogue. Note the following:

“At seven o’clock the King left the hotel and walked to the spring to drink more of the water. Altogether, His Majesty has to drink about a quart of the water every morning, before breakfast.

“Standing among the throng, in which every type and nationality of humanity was represented, the King sipped his second pint glass of water.

“After drinking the quart of water, the regulations laid down for the ‘cure’ further require the King to walk for two hours before eating a morsel of food.

“This His Majesty performed by pacing up and down the promenade from the Kruez spring at one end, to the Ferdinand spring at the other.

“Notwithstanding all the appeals of the local authorities to the visitors, King Edward was [1]much greatly inconvenienced by the snobbish curiosity of the crowd.”

One may query whether “the snobbish curiosity of the crowd” or the snobbish information as to how “the King sipped his second pint glass of water” was the more reprehensible. Of course there are both men and women who delight in the personalities of the Press, especially when they concern themselves. Many ladies of rank and title are only too happy to have their dresses described to the man in the street, and their physical charms discussed by Tom, Dick and Harry. And when the Press is amiable enough to oblige them in these little yearnings for personal publicity, let us hope that the labourer, being worthy of his hire, hath his reward.

The following extract, taken from a daily journal boasting a large circulation, can be called little less than a pandering to the lowest tastes of the abandoned feminine snob, as well as a flagrant example of the positively criminal recklessness with which irresponsible journalists permit themselves to incite, by their flamboyant praise of the demi-mondaine, the envy and cupidity of thoughtless girls and women, who perhaps but for the perusal of such tawdry stuff, would never have known of, or half-unconsciously coveted the dress-and-diamond gew-gaws which are the common reward of female degradation and dishonesty:

“Miss W., a young American actress, has burst upon London. She has brought back from Paris to the Savoy Hotel, along with her golden hair and lovely brown eyes, an enormous jewel-case, innumerable dress-baskets—and a story. It concerns herself and how she made a fortune on the Paris Bourse, and she told it to our representative yesterday.

“She is an American, and was eating candy when she met M. J—— L——. ‘Ah!’ said he, ‘give up stick and buy stock.’ She ‘took the tip,’ she says, and staked her fortune—every penny—on the deal. A fortnight later she came back one night to her flat in the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne, from the Olympia, where she plays a leading part. A telegram from her bankers was waiting. It said: ‘You have been successful.’ ‘Next day,’ says Miss W., ‘I called on those bankers and picked up the £20,000 I had made.’

“Inveterate Gambler.

“‘Wonderful, wasn’t it?’ said Miss W., and our representative agreed that it was. ‘Oh, but it was a mere nothing!’ she said. ‘I have gambled since I was seven. Then I used to bet in pop-corn and always won. At seventeen I was quite ‘a dab’ at spotting winners on the Turf.

“‘Monte Carlo? Oh, yes. I won a trifle there this year—£800 or so. And Trouville! Why, you may not believe it, but I won £4,000 there this year in a few weeks.

“‘Of course, I don’t know the tricks of the Stock Exchange, though I was once chased by a bull,’ observed Miss W., with a smile. ‘Still, I think I’ll stick to it.’

“Opposite the Bourse is a shop where fashionable Parisians buy their furs. She spent £1,600 in a sable coat and hat on the day that the Bourse made her. Her other purchases include:—

Paris hats to the value of £200.

A robe of baby lamb, £150.

Fifteen Paquin gowns.

Two long fur coats.

Five short fur coats.

Three sets of furs.

“She also admits that she bought such trifles in the way of jewellery as:—

A corsage with thirteen large diamonds.

Eighteen rows of pearls.

Eighteen diamond rings.

Two diamond butterflies.

One emerald ring.

Several pendants.

“Diamonds, says Miss W., are the joy of her life. Each night on the stage of the Olympia she wears between £30,000 and £40,000 worth of jewellery.”

The woman who confides her wardrobe list and the prices of her clothes to a Fleet Street hack of the pen is far gone past recall, but her manner of misdemeaning herself should not be proclaimed in the Press under “headings” as if it were news of importance to the country; and it would not be so proclaimed were the Press entirely, instead of only partially, in the hands of educated men.

In olden days it would seem that a great part of the responsibility of the Press lay in its criticism of art and literature. That burden, however, no longer lies upon its shoulders. Since the people began to read for themselves, newspaper criticism, so far as books are concerned, carries little weight. When some particular book secures a great success, we read this kind of thing about it: “In argument, intrigue and style it captures the fancy of the masses without attracting the slightest attention from the critical and discriminating few whose approval alone gives any chance of permanence to work.” This is, of course, very old hearing. “The critical and discriminating few” in Italy long ago condemned Dante as a “vulgar” rhymer, who used the “people’s vernacular.” Now the much-abused Florentine is the great Italian classic. The same “critical and discriminating few” condemned John Keats, who is now enrolled among the chiefest of English poets. Onslaughts of the bitterest kind were hurled at the novels of Charles Dickens by the “critical and discriminating few”—in the great writer’s time—but he “captured the fancy of the masses” and lives in the hearts and homes of thousands for whom the “critical and discriminating few” might just as well never have existed. And when we look up the names of the “critical and discriminating few” in our own day, we find, strange to say, that they are all disappointed authors! All of them have-written poems or novels, which are failures. So we must needs pity their “criticism” and “discrimination” equally, knowing the secret fount of gall from which these delicate emotions spring. At the same time, the “responsibility” of the Press might still be appealed to in literary, dramatic and artistic matters as, for example:

Why allow an unsuccessful artist to criticize a successful picture?

Why ask an unlucky playwright who cannot get even a farce accepted by the managers, to criticize a brilliant play?

Why depute a gentleman or lady who has “essayed” a little unsuccessful fiction to “review” a novel which has “captured the fancy of the masses” and is selling well?

These be weighty matters! Common human nature is common human nature all the world over, and it is not in common human nature to give praise to another for qualities we ourselves envy. Every one has not the same fine endowment of generosity as Sir Walter Scott, who wrote an anonymous review of Lord Byron’s poems, giving them the most enthusiastic praise, and frankly stating that after the appearance of so brilliant a luminary of genius, Walter Scott could no longer be considered worthy of attention as a poet. What rhymer of to-day would thus nobly condemn himself in order to give praise to a rival?

May it not, with due respect, be suggested to those who have the handling of such matters that neither the avowed friends nor the avowed foes of authors be permitted to review their books?—the same rule of criticism to apply equally to the works of musicians, painters, sculptors and playwrights? Neither personal prejudice nor personal favouritism should be allowed to interfere with the impression produced on the mind by a work of art. Vulgar abuse and fervid eulogy are alike out of place. In the productions of the human brain nothing is wholly bad and nothing is wholly good. Perfection is impossible of attainment on our present plane of existence. We do not find it in Nature,—still less shall we find it in ourselves. The critic can show good in everything if he himself is of a good mind. Or he can show bad in everything as easily, should his digestion be out of order. Unfortunately the “wear and tear of life”—to quote the patent medicine advertisements, wreaks natural havoc on the physical composition of the gentleman who is perhaps set down to review twenty novels in one column of print for the trifling sum of a guinea. All sorts of difficulties beset him. For instance, he may be employed on a certain “literary” paper which, being the property of the relatives of a novelist, exists chiefly to praise that novelist, even though it be curiously called an “organ of English literature,”—and woe betide the miserable man who dares to praise anyone else! Knowing much of the ins and outs of the literary grind, I tender my salutations to all reviewers of books, together with my respectful sympathy. I am truly sorry for them, and I do not in the least wonder that they hate with a deadly hatred every scribbling creature who writes a “long” novel. Because the “pay” for reviewing such a book is never in proportion to its length, as of course it ought to be. But anyway it doesn’t matter how much or how little of it is criticized. The bulk of the public do not read reviews. That is left to the “discriminating few.” And oh, how that “discriminating few” would love to “capture the fancy of the masses” if they could only manage to do it! Yet—“Never mind!” they say, with the tragedian’s glare and scowl—“Our names will be inscribed upon the scroll of fame when all ye are forgotten!” Dear things! Heaven grant them this poor comfort in their graves!

One cannot but regret that in these days of wonderful research, discovery and invention, so little is done to popularize science in the columns of the daily Press. The majority of the public are appallingly ignorant of astronomy for instance. Would it not be as interesting to instruct them in a simple and easy style as to the actual wonders of the heavens about us, as to fill their minds with the details of a murder? I hardly like to touch on the subject of geography, for out of fifteen “educated” persons I asked the question of recently, not one knew the actual situation on the map, of Tibet. Now it seems to me that the Press could work wonders in the way of education,—much more than the “Bill” will ever do. Books on science and learning are often sadly dull and generally expensive, and the public cannot afford to buy them largely, nor do they ask for them much at the libraries. If the daily journals made it a rule to give bright picturesque articles on some grand old truths or great new discoveries of science, such a course of procedure would be far more productive of good than any amount of “Short Sermons” such as we have lately heard discussed in various quarters. For the Press is a greater educational force than the Pulpit. In its hands it has the social moulding of a people, and the dignity of a nation as represented to other nations. There could hardly be a nobler task,—there can certainly never be a higher responsibility.