[Speech of Sir Henry Irving, as Chairman, at the thirty-fifth
anniversary dinner of the Newspaper Press Fund, London, May 21, 1898.]
GENTLEMEN:--When I received the great compliment of an
invitation to occupy this chair, I was conscious of a certain ironical
fitness in my position. The politician and the actor divide between
them the distinction of supplying the most constant material for the
most intimate and searching vigilance of the newspaper press.
[Laughter.] So when this great corporation of the newspaper press fund
gives its annual dinner, what more natural and fitting than a politician
or an actor in the chair, who illustrates in his person and in his own
fortunes both the appreciation and the discipline which it is the
function of the press so liberally to bestow? I can imagine that when
such a chairman happens to be a pretty old stager like myself, there may
be journalists in such a distinguished company as this who will look at
him with the moistened eye of emotional reminiscence and murmur: "Ah, it
was upon that man I fleshed my maiden pen!" [Laughter.] Thoughts like
these shed the mellowing influence of time over the volumes of press
cuttings which no actor's library is without. I have heard of public men
who say they never read the newspapers. That remark has been attributed
to a bishop, and perhaps there are kinds of abstinence quite easy to
bishops but difficult to other mortals. [Laughter.] If it were possible
for a man whose doings are considered worthy of public notice to avoid
the newspaper, he could scarcely hope to make his friends practice the
same denial. Even a bishop who is not inquisitive must occasionally meet
deans and chapters who are. [Laughter.] There's the rub. You may not
read the newspapers, but as soon as you scent the morning air you know
whether those proverbial little birds who spread the news with such
alacrity, are chirping about yourself, and the first feathered
acquaintance that you hit upon is generously eager to share with you the
crumb picked from a newspaper with a special flavor for your own palate.
Gentlemen, I mention this, not by way of complaint, but simply to
illustrate the futility of that philosophy which fondly imagines that
the newspaper can be ignored. But I am chiefly conscious to-night of the
debt of gratitude we all owe to the press. The newspaper--say what you
will of it--is the immediate recorder and interpreter of life. Morning
and evening it offers us that perpetual stimulus which makes the zest of
living. Be your interests what they may, though you abstract your mind
from the tumult of affairs and devote it to art or science, you cannot
open a newspaper without the sensation of laying your hand upon the
throbbing pulse of the world. And it has throbbed within but a few days,
throbbed with a widespread grief at the passing of a great man [Mr.
Gladstone], a great statesman, a great and noble figure in productive
and national life, who for more than half a century has helped largely
to mould the destinies of the nation and the world. [Loud cheers.]
Gentlemen, in a newspaper, at a glance, you are in touch with the
elemental forces of nature--war, pestilence and famine; you are
transported by this printed sheet, as it were the fairy carpet of the
Arabian, from capital to capital, from the exultation of one people to
the bitter resentment and chagrin of another. You behold on every scale
every quality of humanity, everything that piques the sense of mystery,
everything that inspires pity, dread, or anger. It is a vast and
ever-changing panorama of the raw material of art and literature.
[Cheers.]
Well, there are some complaints, gentlemen, that the raw material is
more generally interesting than the artistic product. The newspaper is a
dangerous competitor of books, and those of us who write plays and
produce them may wish that the circulation of a great daily journal
would repeat itself at the box-office. [Laughter.] But it is no use
protesting against rivalry, if it be the rivalry of life, and the
gentlemen of the press who are engaged in stage-managing and drama
which, after all, is the real article, must always command more
spectators than the humble artists who seek truth in the garb of
illusion. I cannot sufficiently admire the enterprise of these great
newspapers which keep the diary of mankind. In time of war their
representatives are in the thick of danger; and though he may subscribe
to the _dictum_, so familiar to playgoers, that the pen is mightier than
the sword, the war correspondent is always ready to give lessons to the
enemy with the less majestic weapon. ["Hear! hear!"] In our own military
annals no little glory shines on the names of civilians who, in the
faithful discharge of duty to a multitude of readers, gave their lives
as truly for their country as if they had died in the Queen's uniform.
There are veteran campaigners of the press still amongst us, one of the
most distinguished of whom is my old and valued friend, Sir William
Russell [cheers], the vice-president of this fund, by whom I have the
pleasure of being seated to-night. I say there are many veterans of the
press whose services to the British Army will not be forgotten, though
they never set a squadron in the field. I have heard it said that in
diplomacy the press is sometimes indiscreetly ahead of events
[laughter], but you must remember that nothing is so characteristic of
the modern spirit as the art of publishing things before they happen.
Nowadays all the world is on tiptoe, and the soul of journalism must be
prophetic, because it has to do for a curious and wide-eyed public what
was done for a much simpler generation by the alchemists and the
astrologer. We ought to be thankful that this somewhat perilous business
is conducted, on the whole, with so much discretion and breadth of mind.
We have no less admiration, gentlemen, for the judgment of our press
than for the enterprise which is born of competition, and, although that
judgment has often to be framed under conditions which demand almost
breathless rapidity, it does not always bear unfavorable comparison with
the protracted meditation of the philosophic recluse. [Cheers.]
But there is one thing which the ubiquitous energies of the press cannot
command, and that is immunity for its members from the chances of evil
fortune, from sickness and decay. ["Hear! Hear!"] I suppose there is no
profession which makes such heavy calls upon the bodily and mental vigor
of its servants as the profession of the journalist. Whoever nods, he
must be always fresh and alert. Whoever is content with the ideas of
yesterday, the journalist must be equipped with the ideas of to-morrow.
In the course of my life it has been my privilege to number many
brilliant journalists amongst my dearest friends, and I sorrowfully call
to mind now more than one undaunted spirit who has suffered the
penalties of overtaxed strength. It is in these cases that this fund
should be of special benefit. It is in your power to give that timely
help which saves the exhausted brain and restores the broken nerve. I
stand to-night in a place which has been occupied by many distinguished
advocates of this fund--advocates who have spoken with eloquence to
which I can make no pretension. But I would earnestly impress upon you
this thought, than which no plea can be more eloquent--remember that
whatever you may give out of goodness of heart, from the memories of old
comradeship, from the thousand and one associations which bind together
fellow-workers in various arts and callings, remember that it may be the
means some day of snatching from the last despond some one whose hand
you have pressed in friendship, and whose voice has an echo in your
hearts. I ask you to drink "Prosperity to the Newspaper Press Fund."
[Loud cheers.]