Four-and-twenty Hours at the Times' Office.
CROSSING THE ROAD.--THE OWNERS OF THE "TIMES."--ITS SOUL; ITS
EDITORS.--DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE "TIMES'" EDITORS AND THE
"REDACTEURS" OF GERMAN NEWSPAPERS.--THE POLITICS OF THE
"TIMES."--HOW THEY WRITE THE "LEADERS."--SECRETS.--LETTERS TO THE
EDITOR.--THE MANAGER'S DEPARTMENT.--WHAT THE EDITORS DO.--THE
PARLIAMENTARY CORPS.--THE REPORTER'S GALLERY AND
REFECTORY.--DIVISION, DISCIPLINE, AND OCCUPATION OF THE
REPORTERS.--MR. DOD.--THE SUMMARY-MAN.--THE STAFF.--THE
PENNY-A-LINERS.--SOCIAL POSITION OF ENGLISH JOURNALISM.
Eleven A.M. One of the wheelers of a four-horse omnibus slipped on the
pavement and fell down at the foot of the Holborn-side obelisk, between
Fleet-street and Ludgate-hill. There's a stoppage. The horse makes vain
endeavours to get up; there is no help for it, they must undo reins,
buckles and straps to free him. But a stoppage of five minutes in
Fleet-street creates a stoppage in every direction to the distance of
perhaps half a mile or a mile. Leaning as we do against the railings of
the obelisk, we look forwards towards St. Paul's, and back to
Chancery-lane, up to Holborn on our left, and down on our right to
Blackfriar's-bridge; and this vast space presents the curious spectacle
of scores of omnibuses, cabs, gigs, horses, carts, brewer's drays, coal
waggons, all standing still, and jammed into an inextricable fix. Some
madcap of a boy attempts the perilous passage from one side of the
street to the other; he jumps over carts, creeps under the bellies of
horses, and, in spite of the manifold dangers which beset him, he gains
the opposite pavement. But those who can spare the time or who set some
store by their lives, had better wait. Besides it is pleasant to look at
all this turmoil and confusion. And how, in the name of all that is
charitable, are the London pickpockets to live if people will never
stand still on any account?
The difficulty is soon got over. Two policemen, a _posse_ of idle cabmen
and sporting amateurs, and a couple of ragged urchins, to whom the being
allowed to touch a horse is happiness indeed, have come to the rescue,
loosening chains and traces, getting the horse up and putting him to
again. It's all right. The fall of a horse gives exciting occupation to
a score of persons, and even those who cannot assist with their hands,
have at least a piece of excellent advice to give to those who can,
exactly as if this sort of thing happened only once in every century in
the crowded streets of London.
We may now go on. Halfway up Ludgate-hill, where the shops are largest
and their silks and Indian shawls most precious and tempting to female
eyes, is a small gateway, through which we pass on our road to the
_Times_ office. It leads us into a labyrinth of the narrowest, the most
wretched, ill-paved, and unsavoury streets of London. We stumble over a
couple of surly curs, that would gladly bask in the sun if sun there
were to bask in, and over a troop of dirty boys that are trundling their
hoops, and twice we stumble over orange-peel, lying on the pavement
conspicuously as if this were Naples. At length we turn to the left,
into a narrow street, and reach a small square of the exact dimensions
and appearance of a German back-yard. There are two trees quite lonely
behind an iron railing, and a door with the words "THE TIMES" on it.
A porter takes our cards; a messenger leads the way into the interior of
the building. Glad as we are to see the kind old gentleman who does the
honours of the house, and acts as _cicerone_ on such occasions, we can
do without him. We propose trying the trick of the _diable boiteux_, and
for the term of a day and a night to watch the proceedings of the
editorial department of the _Times_ for the benefit of foreign
journalists generally, whose introductions procure them admission to
the printing-office only.
It is ten minutes past eleven o'clock. Mr. M. M.--the manager, the
factotum, the soul, and, at the same time, the sovereign of the
_Times_--has been in his office these ten minutes. We were detained by
that wretched wheeler.
The soul, then, of the _Times_ has taken his place in the editorial
body. Who is this "manager," and what are his functions?
Mr. Walter founded the _Times_; he reared it, fostered and organised it,
and gave it the stamina by means of which it has reached its height of
power. It was he who first attempted the use of machinery; he invented a
new system of composing the type; he was a writer on the paper, and, in
extreme cases, he has been known to act as compositor. His was a
universal genius, and one of no mean order. He died in 1847, and
bequeathed the _Times_ to his family.
The present Mr. Walter, the chief proprietor of the _Times_, is a member
of Parliament, and, as such, his time and energies are devoted to public
business. The care and the responsibility of conducting the business of
the _Times_ has devolved on a manager, Mr. M. M. This gentleman is
neither what we in Germany call a _redacteur_, nor is he what we would
call an expeditor or accountant. He is just all in all, being the
sovereign lord and master within the precincts of Printing-house Square.
A heap of papers lies on his desk. At his side sits the editor _du
jour_. What his functions are will be seen in the following lines:--
The editorial functions of the _Times_ are in the hands of several
individuals, exactly as in the case of the great German journals. But,
in Germany, each editor has his own separate department, for instance,
home politics and foreign politics, or the literary and critical
departments. They come to an understanding on the most important points,
and then act altogether independently of one another. Besides, they meet
frequently, and have plenty of opportunities to exchange their views and
defend their opinions. Hence they very often quarrel, and their quarrels
lead to frequent editorial crises. Far different is the case with the
_Times_, where, besides the manager, there are two editors--Mr. John
D---- and Mr. George D----, with a third gentleman as sub-editor. The
two editors take the service by turns, but they do not confine
themselves to separate departments. Each of them has, at the time he
conducts the paper, to see that it has that tone which has been decided
upon in council. However, we will not anticipate. Having here hinted at
the many merits of the editorial department, we continue to act as
invisible spectators in the _Times_ office.
We mentioned before, that a large heap of papers was lying on the desk
of Mr. M. M., and that the editor _du jour_ was sitting by his side.
What are these two gentlemen doing? They read the most important
journals of the day, take notes of their leading features, they talk
over the topics of the leading articles for the next day's paper; but
this is not enough. The material for the leaders having been selected,
they are discussed in detail; notes are taken of some of the more
leading features of the subject, and, if need be, the tendency is marked
out. In many cases there is no need of this, but on some occasions the
last measure is indispensable. The extraordinary and quick transitions
of the _Times_ are sufficiently known in Germany. The politics of the
_Times_ are an inscrutable mystery to most men, even to the majority of
Englishmen; but the simple solution of the mystery is, that the _Times_
either follows the lead of public opinion, or that it contradicts public
opinion only when--more far-sighted than its contemporaries--it foresees
a change; that under all circumstances, and at all times, it aims at a
special critical interest; and with an iron consistency, and in an
astonishing sobriety, it advocates this critical interest unsparingly,
to the sacrifice of every other interest. That is the whole enigma of
its seemingly changeable politics. It seizes with an unerring grasp that
which is profitable for England, no matter how pernicious it may be for
the outside barbarians. It is humane, constitutional, liberal, and even
sentimental in its views of foreign countries, if England finds her
advantage thereby; but it is also capable of imagining an eternal spring
in the icy plains of Siberia, if an alliance with Russia should happen
to advance English interests. It would even defend the slave trade, if
it could be convinced that the cessation of that traffic would ruin the
Lancashire cotton manufacturers.
The _Times_ has often been reproached with its sudden and unaccountable
changes of policy, and these reproaches have been made in England and
out of England; but surely there is a rigid political consistency, one
which sometimes becomes demoniacal, in this _Times'_ policy. It may here
be said, that the _Times_ has now and then advocated views which
certainly were not very advantageous to the interests of Great Britain.
Such cases there may have been; but then we have never said that the
_Times_ is infallible. With all its prescience and circumspection, the
_Times_ has sometimes been wrong in its views; but we ought to remember
that the very best editors are not omniscient, and that the strongest of
us are occasionally influenced by human sympathies and antipathies,
which stand in the way of an impartial decision. What we have said is of
general application, namely, that the leading idea of the _Times_
policy, which is carried out with an iron consistency, is the promotion
of British interests; that for the sake of this consistency, it is not
afraid of committing the most flagrant apparent inconsistencies, and
that this is the simple explanation of its mysterious character. At no
one time has the _Times_ been the organ of the Government or of the
opposition: it was always independent. On certain questions it supported
the ministers of the day, on others it opposed them; but it never made
opposition for the sake of opposition, and was unbending only in those
questions which really affected the existence of the nation, for
instance, in the contest between Free Trade and Protection. It may well
be said of the _Times_, that it adheres to no one principle, merely on
account of the excellence of its theory. Tried practical usefulness is
the faith to which it adheres under all circumstances.
In England, the _Times_ is the champion of gradual and reasonable
progress; while, in its foreign policy, it clings to old allies and
time-honoured systems of government; and the very _Times_ which the
English justly consider as a moderately liberal paper, is abused among
the liberals of the Continent as a moderately reactionary organ. While
Protectionist papers have, for years past, accused the _Times_ of
having given itself up to the evil genius of democracy and the demons of
Manchester: the Radicals of all countries, are fully persuaded that the
same _Times_ is in the pay of Austria, Russia, and of all the devils
generally. But the fact is, that the _Times_ is as little democratic as
it is Russian; it is as little paid by Willich as by Rothschild; and,
under all circumstances, and for very good reasons, it will always be
found to be rather Russian than Austrian; and rather Austrian than
French; and always, above all things, it will be found to the English,
egotistical; that is to say, political. To ask the _Times_, or any other
reasonable political paper, to take a general purely humanistic standing
point, and to ground its verdicts on the politics of the day, on the
eternal laws of the history of civilization, and of moral philosophy; to
ask it, in short, to write morals instead of politics, is absurd; and he
who can make such a demand, knows nothing whatever of the position or
the duties of a political journal. As well might he desire that
diplomatists should always scrupulously adhere to the truth, or that a
political paper, renouncing the interests of its own country, should
devote itself to moral philosophy; in which case, we would advise it to
establish its office in the most lonely island of all the lonely islands
in the Pacific. But to what regions have our thoughts taken flight! We
ask the reader's pardon for this monstrous digression; the temptation
was too great, and we naturally thought of the tendencies of the _Times_
while the manager and editor consulted about to-morrow morning's
leaders.
The consultation is over. A few short notes have been taken of its
results, and a sort of programme been made for every leader. Documents,
letters from correspondents, and other papers are added to each
programme, which is put into an envelope, and sent by messenger to a
certain leading article writer, who, a few hours afterwards, sends in
his article ready written. These leading article writers of the _Times_
are altogether in an exceptional position. At the German newspapers, the
leader-writing is generally done by the editor; now at the _Times_, the
principle is generally acted upon, that the editor should rather edit
the paper, than write it. The arrangement is thoroughly reasonable in
theory, as well as in practice. Every one is naturally partial to his
own productions. Who would quarrel with an editor if he prefers his own
article to other essays, when he has the selection among various papers
on the same subject. To save the editors from this temptation, and to
give them full leisure to edit attentively and impartially, they have
been mostly relieved from writing. There are, however, exceptions to
this salutary rule; and we understand that the witty and humouristic
leaders on local affairs, which, vie with the best of the French
_feuilletons_, are from the pen of Mr. M. M.
The leading article writers have the programme of their articles sent to
their respective domiciles. None but the editors know who these
gentlemen are, and what their position in life is. They never, except on
extraordinary occasions, come to the _Times_ office. They have pledged
their words to lay no claim to the authorship of their own articles, or
to reveal their connection with the _Times_. They have renounced all
hopes of literary fame; whatever credit is due to their productions
belongs to the _Times_, which monopolises all the honor, and bears all
the responsibility. Such an author has nothing but his pay; he has sold
his work to the journal; and with it, he has sold the right to change
it, to alter expressions, to remodel parts of it, or to condemn the
article altogether. The article is a piece of merchandize with which the
purchaser may do what he likes. If the writer ceases to agree with the
tendencies of the _Times_, he is always at liberty to break off the
connection; but so long as that connection continues, he is compelled to
submit the form of his articles to the critical verdict of the editors.
The editorial department of the _Times_ really edits the paper, while
our German editors only write and select. The former method is evidently
for the benefit of the journal, while the latter is more agreeable and
profitable to the writers. The system of the _Times_ requires what it
would be impossible to find in Germany--the power of enormous capital, a
gigantic city such as London is, and English characters, that is to say,
men, authors of first-rate talent, who will sacrifice praise and
notoriety, and take money in their stead. Is this self-denial created by
the mere desire of making money? Do the leading-article writers of the
_Times_ rather care for the effect which is produced by their
anonymity? Do they rather care for the cause which they advocate than
for their own celebrity? Are they perhaps more disinterested, and our
German literary men more selfish? Is the greater moral excellence to be
found here or on the other side of the channel? These are delicate
questions, which we will not here discuss. It will be seen, from what we
have said, that the rule of the _Times'_ office is more despotic the
than journalistic government in Germany. We shall return to the subject
on another occasion; but for the present we turn again to the desk at
which the manager is sitting.
Besides the newspapers, he has a large heap of manuscript before him,
letters to the Editor, a selection of which always appears in the
_Times_. Their number is legion. The editors have received these letters
and opened them. They have condemned those which are clearly unfit for
the use of the paper, but the more important letters, some of which may
affect the policy of the journal, have been reserved, and are now
submitted to the manager's consideration. Old Mr. Walter was not indeed
the man who first introduced these letters into the English press, but
he certainly did much to favour this participation of the public in the
labours of journalism. In Germany, too, the idea has been adopted, but,
as is usually the case with excellent English customs, it has been
spoiled in the adoption. In England these letters form the most
important polemical part of the journal; in Germany they are on the
level with the advertisements. Their insertion is paid for in Germany;
in England a journal acknowledges its obligations to its correspondents.
The public take a peculiar interest in the press to which they
contribute, and a man whose letter is inserted in the _Times_ considers
himself in a certain degree as connected with the establishment; he
becomes its champion, and reads it with great assiduity and interest.
The authors of rejected letters, on the other hand, are offended; they
get angry with the _Times_, they abuse it, and from sheer hatred and
spite, they read it all the more eagerly. A journal can exist only by
means of half a world of friends and a whole world of enemies, if indeed
such an unalgebraic expression is admissible. It can survive anything
but indifference.
But, besides the material interest which public letters have for the
English newspapers, there is also a higher and more general interest.
Public affairs are more effectually discussed in this manner; public
opinion, uttered by private persons or corporations, finds a ready
expression; abuses are exposed; matters of minor importance to the
community, but of paramount importance to every individual citizen, are
brought forward examined and canvassed; and events which happen in
outlying parts of the country, in small towns on the coast and villages
on the mountains, where no paid correspondent ever lived, and whither
the foot of a regular reporter has never strayed, are expeditiously
forwarded to the great organs of public opinion. So long as the
insertion of such communications must be paid for, it is impossible that
they can be of any mentionable advantage either to the journal or to the
public. Of course, the introduction of this English system requires the
gigantic size of the English papers, but even in smaller papers the
editors may always make a suitable selection.
We believe that a favourable result would soon become apparent; for
local affairs, the events of the province, or city, in which the paper
is published, will always be most interesting to the public, because
they affect it most. Call it John Bullish, if you please; abuse it as a
grovelling matter-of-fact feeling, but you cannot deny that the greater
number of readers care much more for a letter on hackney coaches, than
for the most excellent article on the international relations between
Russia and Persia. But, for charity's sake, we trust our readers will
not misunderstand us! Heaven preserve us from the misfortune that our
German journals should become unmindful of Russia, while they discuss
their local affairs! But surely a way might be found of doing the one
without neglecting the other. Even its worst enemies cannot accuse the
_Times_ of a want of attention to European interests, and of "_haute
politique_"; but the _Times_ is, nevertheless, the most conscientious
and indefatigable _local_ journal of London. Nor is it ashamed to follow
up an article on the French empire, with another article, and one which
displays as much genius, on the overgrown bulk of the Aldermen, or the
sewers of Houndsditch.
This letter, then, and this, and this, and those two, will go in
to-morrow; the rest find a temporary asylum on the floor. A few are
reserved for further consideration. The manager casts a glance at the
foreign letters, which have come by the morning mails. This done, the
editor leaves him, and devotes himself to the details of his particular
department. The consultation, and the perusal of so many papers, have
taken a couple of hours. The editor may, by this time, leave the office,
but the manager has a great many things to do before his day's work is
over. To him belongs the correspondence with the foreign agents and
correspondents of the journal, and with the leader-writers, whose
accounts he settles. He has to see the sub-editor, who superintends the
technical department of the management, and he has to listen to that
gentleman's report. He sees the printer, who gives a general account of
the sale of the _Times_ on that particular day. The cashier makes his
appearance, with the totals of yesterday's accounts, and the sums
realised from the sale of the paper, the insertion of advertisements,
and the exact amount of the duty on stamps and advertisements, which has
been paid to the state. The manager has to take notes of the net results
of all these accounts. By this time, it is five o'clock, and another
editor makes his appearance. There is always some topic to be discussed;
some event on which it is necessary to come to an understanding; some
motion before the House, and some debate coming off in the course of the
evening, on which it is necessary to say a few words. The manager's
labours are ended with this consultation; he leaves the office. From
five to nine o'clock, the current business is discharged by one of the
editors. He reads the leaders and reports which have been sent in; he
transmits them to the printing-office, and receives all letters,
parcels, and messages that arrive. There is always plenty of work to be
got through--quite enough, and sometimes too much for one man. The
editor who transacted the current business of the morning arrives at
nine o'clock to share the labours of his colleague, and remains a longer
or shorter period, according to the heaviness of the night. But one of
the two gentlemen never leaves the office until the journal is ready for
press, when he gives it the _Imprimatur_. Besides, he issues
instructions as to the number of copies to be struck off. There is no
fixed number, and the impression varies according to the greater or
less interest of the contents of such day's _Times_.
But what business--so will German readers ask--can detain an editor
until late at night? The German _redacteurs_ work scarcely ever up to
midnight; the French _redacteurs_ get through their labours by eight or
nine o'clock in the evening. Why should English editors be at their post
until three or four o'clock in the morning?
Besides the arrival of telegraphic despatches at almost any hour in the
course of the night, the English editors are detained by parliamentary
business. The reports from the House of Commons come in in batches
sometimes as late as two or three o'clock in the morning. The parcels
from the provinces and from Ireland arrive with the last trains by ten
or eleven o'clock. The provincial reports are usually shortened; this
duty devolves upon some decrepit reporter, the results of whose labours
are submitted to the approval of the editors. They have moreover to
receive persons who call on urgent business, members of Parliament, who
wish to correct the proofs of their speeches, or who desire still
further to expound their views to the editor to prevent the possibility
of misunderstanding; schemers who rush in with some patent invention
which will remove all the evils that flesh is heir to, and a host of
strange customers of every country and of every degree. In short, an
editor of the _Times_ is not tempted to imitate Lord Byron, and to
publish "Hours of Idleness." It is very often four o'clock before the
last of them hails a cab and hurries off to his house in the far west.
We cannot allow our readers to follow his example. We detain them in the
_Times'_ office, and propose taking them to Westminster, on a tour of
enquiry into the manners and customs of the English reporters.
And here it may be as well to remark, that an English reporter has an
important position in literary circles, as well as in the estimation of
his own journal; that the name of _reporter_ applies strictly to the
gentlemen who report the Parliamentary debates; and that, for the proper
discharge of these functions, it requires journalistic abilities of no
common order, great versatility, and an intimate knowledge of public
affairs and public men.
Let us make an excursion to Westminster; a Hansom cab will take us in a
quarter of an hour. We get out at a provisional boarded gate, which
leads to the reporters' gallery, walk through a court-yard, which is
full of bricks and mortar, enter a gothic door to the left, mount a
couple of flights of stairs, open a glass door, and enter a small room,
in which there is a very large fire. This room, and the stairs and
corridors, are lighted with gas, even at mid-day; for it is one among
the practical beauties of Westminster Palace, that the working-rooms of
the reporters have scarcely any daylight. The architect, however, has
done all in his power to indemnify them for the faults of his design.
Their rooms are as comfortable as can be; and nowhere, either in Germany
or France, is so much careful attention bestowed on the convenience of
the press. There is a good reason why there is so large a fire in the
little room we have entered. It is the ante-chamber, and also the
refectory of the reporters. It contains a table, on which are sundry
dishes of meat and pastry--not at all a Lucullian supper, but quite
enough for a frugal journalist, who has no ambition to dine at the table
of the Parliamentary _Restaurant_. Some pots and kettles are on the hob
by the fire, in which the water simmers and seethes most comfortably,
inviting all hearers to a cup of tea or coffee. On a wooden bench by the
door sit two very sleepy boys, half roasted by the fire, and waiting for
manuscript. Two gentlemen, with their hats on, are seated at the table;
they converse in a low voice, and drink tea from very large cups; they
are reporters, just off their turn. Other reporters come in and go out;
the little glass door is continually opening and shutting; and the
servant, too, who presides over these localities, and makes politics and
coffee, is never idle, for he has many masters. In spite of all this
going and coming, the little room is comfortable, and it is very
pleasant to sit and chat in it. These English reporters are altogether
stately and serious men; in many instances, their whiskers are grey with
age and their heads bald. No green-horns are they; no young fellows,
who practise writing in the gallery. Such an Englishman, with his long
legs and his smooth-shaved face, has always a solid appearance, no
matter whether he be a journalist or a drayman. I believe that kind of
thing is the result of race of blood, and of education.
A narrow corridor leads from the ante-chamber to a set of two rooms,
which communicate with the gallery of the House by means of another
corridor. All these rooms and corridors are covered with thick carpets;
green morocco-covered sofas are drawn up against the oak-panelled walls;
writing-tables are placed in the window niches; large fires burn in
marble chimneys; an air of substantial comfort pervades the whole. In
the panelled walls there are, moreover, closets, for the reporters to
put their great coats and papers in; and a small apartment at the side
of the large rooms is devoted to a washing apparatus--large marble
basins, with a plentiful supply of hot and cold water. The English love
to have numbers of these in their public and private buildings; on the
Continent they are painfully struck with the absence of these helps to
cleanliness; and they mention the carelessness or indifference of our
countrymen in this respect in terms of the most unqualified reprobation.
There is not much to be said of the reporters' gallery. It fills the
narrow side of the house, and is just below the ladies' gallery and
above the Speaker's chair. It has two rows of seats, scarcely more than
four-and-twenty, and attached to each seat is a comfortable desk.
None but the reporters of the great London papers are admitted to this
gallery. Not only the public generally but also the reporters of
provincial journals are excluded, solely from the want of space to
accommodate them. The admission of Foreign journalists is therefore
quite out of the question. Demands to this effect when made have been
met with a determined, though polite, refusal. If it be considered that
there are four-and-twenty seats in this gallery, that each of the great
London journals has, on an average, about twelve reporters, and that the
aggregate number of reporters amounts to above eighty, it will be
admitted that the complaints about want of space are well founded. The
functions of the staff of reporters, the division of their labours, and
the manner in which they discharge their duties, may best be learned
from an inquiry into the organisation of the _Times_ staff of reporters;
for the Parliamentary corps of the other papers are fashioned after its
model.
The _Times_ keeps a staff of from twelve to sixteen reporters to record
the proceedings of the two houses. Some of them are engaged for the
Parliamentary session only. The majority of them are young barristers,
whom the connexion with the great journal enables to follow up their
legal career, and who have, moreover, the advantage of that thorough
training which young lawyers obtain in the gallery. Others have annual
engagements, they are the "Old Guard" of the _Times_, on whose
efficiency it can rely as on the working of its printing machines. After
the session the corps is scattered to all the four corners of the globe;
the barristers repair to their chambers in the Inns of Court and live
upon the gains of their summer's labours. A few of the old guard remain
in London at the disposal of the journal, which requires their services
to attend large meetings, or the progress of the Queen through Scotland.
The rest take their ease in the provinces, the public libraries, in
their families, or on the continents of Europe, Africa, Asia, or
America. A true John Bull, say all the English, has always some
reasonable object in view, however mad his proceedings may appear to the
outside barbarians.
An elderly, grey-haired gentleman--the summary man--forms an important
addition to the Parliamentary staff. It is his duty to prepare those
condensed reports of the sitting, which may be found in every English
journal. He ought to attend in his place from first to last, that the
summary may come into the printer's hands immediately after the house is
up. His relative position to the other reporters is that of a corporal
to the privates. And since we have alluded to military grades and
dignities, we propose at once to introduce our readers to the captain of
the corps, Mr. Charles Dod, editor of the famous _Parliamentary
Companion_, who commands the Parliamentary corps of the _Times_, and
whose authority is acknowledged by all the reporters of the London
journals generally.
Mr. Dod must excuse the curiosity of foreigners, and permit us to
inspect him and the corps under his command. Mr. Dod then is an amiable
gentleman, who has the whole of the Parliamentary history of Great
Britain at his fingers' ends, and whom many honourable members, young
and old, might consult with the greatest advantage.
To the _Times_, Mr. Dod is in the house what the manager is in the
office; he manages every thing connected with Parliamentary matters; he
publishes to his corps the day and hour of the next sitting. At one time
he may be seen in the gallery, helping and instructing the less
experienced among his corps; on other occasions, he finds his way into
the House to procure some document or statistical return from the
members or the clerks. Anon he hurries to the _Times'_ office to read,
shorten, and edit the copy sent in by the reporters, in short, on a
heavy Parliamentary night, Mr. Charles Dod is everywhere and nowhere,
that is to say, he is always rushing from Westminster to the _Times'_
office and back again.
He generally divides his corps into two detachments. The young reporters
take the upper house, the old guard do duty in the House of Commons,
whose sittings are longer, while its motions and speeches are of greater
importance, and its debates more intricate. In either house it is a rule
that reporters relieve one another by turns, from half-hour to
half-hour. Mr. H., for instance, takes his seat at the commencement of
the sitting with Mr. C. who comes next by his side. The first thirty
minutes over, Mr. H. retires; Mr. C. takes his seat, and Mr. R. takes
the place which has just been vacated by Mr. C. The summary-man takes a
position in the rear. To-morrow evening the turn commences where it left
off this night, so that each reporter has an equal share of the work.
But how does Mr. H. employ his time after his half-hour's turn in the
gallery? He has about two hours until his next turn, but a few minutes
only of these two hours can he devote to relaxation. A cab stands ready
for the use of the reporters. He proceeds to the city and his desk in
the reporter's room of the _Times'_ office, where he converts his
"notes" into "copy." This process takes about an hour or an hour and a
quarter for every turn of half-an-hour. If his report be a verbatim
report--and such must be made should an important man speak on an
important question--the writing it out takes more time. Every thing
depends on the character of the sitting, but if the labour threatens to
become overwhelming Mr. Dod interferes, and sends for reinforcements
from the gallery of the House of Lords.
The "copy" having been prepared by the reporter, and put in type in the
printing-rooms, proofs, struck off on long, narrow slips of paper, are
sent into the editorial sanctum, where the matter, already condensed by
the reporters, is frequently subjected to further condensation; and Mr.
Dod, who makes his appearance from time to time, assists in this
process. The proofs thus edited are corrected, struck off again and
submitted to the writer of Parliamentary leaders, who, on all important
occasions, attends in the House itself, and who in the dawn of morning
commences his article on the debate which has just been closed. A few
hours later that article is in the hands of the London public, while
express trains hurry it to the most distant parts of the empire.
If the house sits until two o'clock in the morning, the labours of the
last reporter, of the Parliamentary leader-writer, and of one of the
editors, are protracted until three and sometimes four o'clock. This is
hard work, harder than continental journalists ever dream of. But it is
the same in all professions! An Englishman, no matter whether he be a
tradesman, or a merchant, or a journalist, never thinks of doing things
by halves, because in this country things cannot and must not be done by
halves. No country in the world offers so wide a sphere for a man's
talents and activity as England does, provided he has energy,
perseverance, and resignation. An English reporter in his holidays,
stretching his long legs on the banks of the lake of Zürich, is an
enviable personage in the eyes of a German journalist. Of course, no one
can tell how hard he has been at work these nine months.
It is four o'clock, A.M. We have passed fourteen hours at the _Times'_
office. The labour is now left to the printers; and the two large
machines which finish 10,000 copies per hour. But weary though our
readers may be, we cannot allow them to depart, for there are many
matters which require mentioning.
Hitherto we have spoken of the Parliamentary corps only. But there are
other reporters in the service of the _Times_ and of other great
journals, to whom we must devote a couple of pages.
Among these are the standing reporters in London, who are occasionally
employed as "outsiders," but who generally work in the office. They make
extracts from English and Foreign journals, and write reports on
colonial affairs. There are also reporters on music and the drama, while
the reviewing of books claims the services of a third critic. There are
few special reporters for the proceedings of the law courts. These
reports are generally sent in by barristers who practise in these
courts.
The police-reports, too, are not furnished by special reporters; but the
_Times_ and the other London journals take them from a man who keeps his
own police-court corps, and who, in his relations with the papers which
employ him, is personally responsible for the correctness of the
reports.
The records of local events and accidents are furnished by the so-called
penny-a-liners, those vagrant journalists, who are up by day and by
night, and who are present at all the police-stations, who always come
in time to witness the perpetration of some "Horrible Murder," and who
hasten along with the fire-engines to the scene of every "Extensive
Conflagration," taking notes, which they make as long and as interesting
as they possibly can, and selling them to the various journals. They are
strange persons, active, acute, and seasoned. They flourish during the
recess; for at that time the London journals are not too choice in their
selection of matter; and at that time they make large sums of money from
the sale of their "Atrocious Murders," "Extensive Conflagrations," and
"Extraordinary Friendships" between "dogs, rabbits, and water-rats," or
from their chance reports of the proceedings and public addresses of
some successful French philanthropist. If the editors did not most
ruthlessly cut down their lengthy contributions, the business of the
penny-a-liners would certainly be most lucrative. As it is, many of them
manage to live, and to live well.
The last-named three classes of English journalists serve several or all
the papers at the same time. Their honesty is guaranteed by their own
interest; for they would soon lose their customers if they dared to send
in incorrect reports. In this conviction lies their organisation. It is
based, as every other profession or trade is in England, on the two-fold
system of material advantage and unlimited competition.
As to the organisation of the staff of reporters and collaborators,
especially at the _Times_, a great deal might be said that would appear
altogether fabulous to our German journalists. We allude to the strict
subordination in matters of the daily duties of the paper. We cannot,
however, enter into details which might possibly lead us away from the
subject-matter. Suffice it to say, that every _Times_ reporter should at
all times be fully prepared to undertake a mission to any part of
England or of the continent, and that he should not leave his home for
any length of time without leaving directions where he may be found, in
case his presence were unexpectedly required at the office.
We mention these matters only to show how strict is the
business-character which pervades even journalism in England. Besides
the business connection, there is but little of social intercourse
between the various _employés_ on a journal. The very reporters of the
_Times_ hardly see one another except in the office or in the House.
Their intercourse with the editors is strictly limited to the service of
the journal. They have to send in their "copy." What the editors may
please to do with that "copy" concerns them as little as the shoemaker
who sends in a pair of boots and is duly paid for them. He, too, has no
control over the use which his customer may make of them. The reporters
on an English journal sacrifice their individuality to the "Office" in
order to remain in that position to an advanced age, or, if they are men
of real talent, to create for themselves a free and independent position
in literature. They all, from the leader-writer to the foreign
correspondent, and from the foreign correspondent down to the
penny-a-liner, submit unconditionally to the authority of the editorial
body. They write in their various departments what they have undertaken
to write, and they send it in. Whether or not it be printed, whether it
be shortened, altered, or put aside as waste paper, is no affair of
theirs. What German journalist, even the greenest among the green, would
submit to such a "desecration of his talents," as our poor dear Germans
would call it.
And now farewell, O _Times'_ office, with all thy leader-writers,
editors, parliamentary reporters, collaborators, compositors, and
printers! Thy colossal machines move with a stunning noise until six
o'clock, when the press is stopped for a few moments for the insertion
of some late continental despatch. The steam is then put on again; the
hundreds and hundreds of curiously-shaped wheels turn faster and faster,
with bewildering regularity, and large broad sheets of printed paper are
heaped upon the board. The printing and publishing is scarcely over when
the editors make their appearance. With the sole exception of Saturday
nights, the door of the _Times'_ Office is never closed.