Revelations, again, as we found to be the case with editing, do not
properly constitute a department of the art of letters. Though they
are of far more importance than any other branch of contemporary
journalism, yet it is impossible to compare their publication to a
creative act of pure literature.
It may be urged that such Revelations as are written in the office
of the newspaper publishing them are not only literature, but
literature of a very high order. They are, on the face of it,
extremely difficult to compose. If they are to have any chance of
deceiving the public, the writer must thoroughly know the world
which he counterfeits; he must be able to copy its literary style,
its air, its errors. It is even sometimes necessary for him to
attempt the exquisitely subtle art of forgery.
The objection is well found; but it is not of this kind of
Revelation that I propose to speak. It belongs to the higher
branches of our art, and is quite unsuited to a little elementary
manual.
The Revelation I speak of here is the ordinary type of private
communication, domestic treason, or accidental discovery, dealing,
as a rule, with public affairs, and brought to the office
spontaneously by servants, colonial adventurers, or ministers of
religion.
Nine Revelations out of ten are of this kind; and the young
journalist who may desire to rise in his great calling must make
himself thoroughly familiar with the whole process by which they
are to be procured and published.
A small amount of additional matter has, indeed, sometimes to be
furnished, but it is almost insignificant, and is, moreover, of so
conventional a nature, that it need not trouble us for a moment.
Some such phrase as “We have received the following communication
from a source upon which we place the firmest reliance,” will do
very well to open with, and at the end: “We shall be interested
to see what reply can be given to the above,” is a very useful
formula. Thus the words “To be continued,” added at the end
are often highly lucrative. They were used by the _Courrier
des Frises_ (a first-class authority on such matters), when it
recently published a number of private letters, written (alas!) in
the English tongue, and concerning the noblest figure in English
politics.
But though there is little to be done in the way of writing, there
is a considerable mental strain involved in judging whether a
particular Revelation will suit the proprietor of the newspaper
upon which one is employed, and one must not unfrequently be
prepared to suffer from exhausting terrors for some weeks after its
publication.
Difficult as is the art of testing Revelation, the rules that
govern it are few and simple. The Revelator, if a domestic servant,
wears a round black bowler hat and a short jacket, and a pair
of very good trousers stolen from his master; he will be clean
shaven. If an adventurer or minister of religion, he will wear a
soft felt hat and carry a large muffler round his throat. Either
sort walk noiselessly, but the first in a firm, and the second in a
shuffling manner. I am far from saying that all who enter newspaper
offices under this appearance bear with them Revelations even of
the mildest kind, but I do say that whenever Revelations come, they
are brought by one of these two kinds of men.
I should add that the Revelator like the moneylender, the spy,
and every other professional man whose livelihood depends upon
efficiency is invariably sober. If any man come to you with a
Revelation and seem even a trifle drunk, dismiss him without
inquiry, though not before you have admonished him upon his shame
and sin, and pointed out the ruin that such indulgence brings upon
all save the wealthy.
When a man arrives who seems at all likely to have a Revelation
in his pocket, and who offers it for sale, remember that you have
but a few moments in which to make up your mind; put him into the
little room next to the sub-editor, take his MS., tell him you will
show it to your chief, and, as you leave him, lock the door softly
on the outside.
The next moment may decide your whole career. You must glance at
the Revelation, and judge in that glance whether the public will
believe it even for two full hours. The whole difference between a
successful and an unsuccessful journalist lies in that power of
sudden vision; nor will experience alone achieve it, it must be
experience touched with something like genius.
Libellous matter you can delete. Matter merely false will not be
remembered against you; but if that rare and subtle character which
convinces the mob be lacking, _that_ is a thing which no one can
supply in the time between the Revelator’s arrival and the paper’s
going to press.
Finally, when you have made your decision, return, unlock, pay, and
dismiss. Never pay by cheque. Remember how short is the time at
your disposal. Remember that if your paper does not print a really
good Revelation when it is offered, some other paper will. Remember
the _Times_, the _Chronicle_, and Major Esterhazy. Remember Mr.
Gladstone’s resignation.
... Remember the “Maine.”
A few practical instances will help us to understand these abstract
rules.
Consider, for instance, the following--one of the wisest acts of
Dr. Caliban’s whole life.
Dr. Caliban was busy writing a leader for the _Sunday Englishman_
upon “Hell or Immortality”; for it was Saturday night, he had just
received the weekly papers, and, as he well said, “A strong Sunday
paper has this advantage, that it can do what it likes with the
weeklies.”
He was, I say in the midst of Hell or Immortality, when he was
interrupted by a note. He opened it, read it, frowned, and passed
it to me, saying:--
“What do you make of this?”