THE POLICY OF M.Ps.
Owen’s visions had not all been realized. He had not yet got his thirty
or forty pounds by publishing what he had to say on short-hand and
universal language. He had not even published at all. This arose, first,
from certain difficulties represented to him by Mr. Muggridge, and fully
confirmed by a London bookseller; and, next, from his having grown
modest as he grew enlightened. He was much less confident at L—— than he
had been at Arneside, that he could say anything very new and very
valuable on a universal language.
The bookseller’s first difficulty was about Owen’s remarks being
published as a pamphlet. He was right enough in saying that the young
man did not know what he was about in wishing to publish a pamphlet. In
order to intimate the risk, Mr. Muggridge told him that not one pamphlet
in fifty pays the cost of its publication; and showed him how clearly
impossible it was that any other result could take place. Pamphlets were
triple taxed; and by what means could so small an article pay its
expense of production, three kinds of tax, and the trouble of the
publisher, and leave any surplus for the author? First, the paper was
heavily excised; then there was the pamphlet duty of three shillings per
sheet; and then the advertisement duty. And the risk of not selling the
whole must not be forgotten. The duty must be paid upon every copy of
the largest edition, before a single one was sold; and if no more than
twenty were purchased, and all the rest went as waste paper to the
tobacconist, there would be no drawback allowed: not even time given to
see whether there would be any sale or not. There were no bonded
warehouses, where books might be lodged between their manufacture and
their sale. To issue a pamphlet must be a speculation of unavoidable
hazard——
To all but the Government, who makes sure of the taxes beforehand.
To all but the Government! And what did the Government get by it? The
practice tended to the suppression of pamphlets, and not to the profit
of the treasury. The very oppressive pamphlet duty yielded to the
Government 970l. a-year. For this mighty sum were hundreds of
intelligent men kept silent who might have uttered thousands of opinions
and millions of facts which would have been useful to their race, but
who had neither power nor inclination to issue in expensive volumes
thoughts which would have been worth setting forth in cheap tracts. For
this mighty sum were thousands of rational beings subjected to that
restriction of commerce which is the most to be deprecated, and the
least capable of defence,—the commerce of thought. What would be said to
regulations of commerce which should practically prohibit a silver
coinage, while it allowed but a very minute supply of copper? What would
be thought of the injury to those who had it not in their power to deal
with gold? Yet in the far more important interchange of knowledge and
opinion, this monstrous virtual prohibition subsisted for the sake of
the 970_l._ a-year which it brought to the treasury!
Owen could scarcely believe that the produce of the tax could be so
small till it was explained what its attendant expenses were. Fifty
prosecutions in the year cannot be conducted for nothing; and the
average of prosecutions in a year for the neglect of payment of the
pamphlet duty was fifty. In some years, the average of prosecutions had
been so much larger, or the horror of the tax had so availed in
deterring from that mode of publication, that the Government had
sustained an actual loss of 200_l._ under that head of duty. If Owen
meant to publish at all, he had better swell his matter into a good
thick volume—a ten shilling octavo, which would escape the pamphlet
duty, and cost no more in advertising than an eighteen-penny pamphlet.
And what chance was there of his making it worth his while to publish a
book? Owen would know. Little chance enough of his being recompensed for
his toil, and rewarded for his talent; though he might perhaps recover
the money he must lay out. If he printed five hundred copies, the
expenses would be about 170_l._, of which 30_l._ would be tax of one
kind or another. Then eleven copies must be given to various
institutions——
But Owen did not mean to give any away, except two or three copies to
old friends.
He must. There was a law by which eleven copies of every work entered at
Stationers’ Hall must be presented to institutions where they are as
sure to lie unread as if they were already the waste paper they will be
some time or other. The Universities of Oxford and Cambridge are among
the eleven favoured places: those rich Universities, which are exempted
from that paper-duty which must be paid by every little tradesman who
issues a hand-bill about his stock, and every labourer who buys his
daughter a Bible when she goes out to service, or puts half a quire of
foolscap into her hand that she may write sometimes to her parents.
Well; these expenses being all paid, there would remain to be divided
between the author and the publisher, when every copy was sold, neither
more nor less than 20_l._ That is to say, the treasury would take
35_l._, and the author and publisher together 20_l._, and this in the
best possible case,—that of every copy being sold.
This statement disposed Owen to refrain from becoming an author at
present,—at least till he had asked an experienced London publisher
whether Mr. Muggridge did not labour under some mistake. The answer from
London was that Mr. Muggridge’s statement was perfectly correct; and
added that, in this country, not one-fourth of the books published pay
their expenses, leaving out of view all recompense of the author’s
ability and industry; that only one in eight or ten can be reprinted
with advantage; and that, in the case of the most successful works,—
works of which the very largest number is printed and sold,—the duties
invariably amount to more than the entire remuneration of the author.
From this moment Owen applied himself to make some other use of his
short-hand than publishing it. He became the principal reporter for the
“Western Star.”
Now a power came into his hands of whose nature and extent he had not
formed any conception before he made trial of his new occupation. Upon
him it now depended how much the good people of L—— and a wide district
round should know of the law proceedings, of the public meetings and
dinner speechifyings that took place in the town and neighbourhood. Upon
Owen it depended whether the misdemeanours of certain citizens should be
held up as a warning, or obligingly concealed; whether the corporation
should be allowed to take its own way in quiet, or subjected to be
watched by the townspeople; whether one side or both of a political
question should be presented. There was no competition, as the “Western
Star” was the only newspaper in the place; and nothing could be easier
than it now would have been to Owen to influence the opinions of the
whole reading public in L—— as to all matters of general concern, by his
own. Nothing could be easier than to give his own view of any question
discussed at a public meeting. It was only laying down his pencil, and
folding his arms till a speaker had done, and then making a note of his
first and last sentence; while the best speakers on the other side had
their best sayings put at length, and to the best advantage. As it was
impossible to issue the whole of what every body said, the most natural
process seemed to be to print what Owen liked most, and must therefore
think the most worth carrying away. Owen himself felt that this was an
unreasonable and pernicious power to be in the hands of any man; and,
earnestly as he desired not to abuse it, he was so well aware that every
man must have his peculiar tastes and political partialities,—he saw so
clearly that no one report of his in the “Western Star” was in matter
precisely what it would have been if prepared by any one else, that it
offended his judgment and his conscience to be left in a state of
irresponsibility in the discharge of a duty of such extreme importance.
He felt that responsibility to any one mind was out of the question. If
Mr. Muggridge, or any other censor, had been set over him, the only
difference would have been that the public would have seen affairs
through Mr. Muggridge’s medium, instead of through Owen’s: but there was
another kind of responsibility to which he would fain have been
subjected; and that was, public opinion. If he had known that other
papers beside the “Western Star” would also publish the proceedings he
was reporting, he must not only have avoided any gross act of
suppression or embellishment, but must have vied with other reporters in
selecting whatever was most weighty, by whomsoever said, and on whatever
aspect of a question. In free competition alone, he saw, lay his
security for his own perfect honesty, and that of the public for being
truly informed about public proceedings.
Owen was now in a somewhat similar position to that of the reporters of
the London newspapers, some years ago, when a very few journals,
compromising matters among themselves, and, secure from competition,
sported with public curiosity as they chose. If a fit of yawning seized
those gentlemen in the midst of a parliamentary debate, they went to the
next tavern to refresh themselves with a bowl of punch; and Burke and
Fox might take their chance for its being known beyond the House that
they had spoken at all. Thus, if Owen grew tired, he had only to go
away, and add next morning that “the meeting separated at a late hour,
highly gratified,” &c. &c. Again, the old London reporters did not like
having to work three nights together, and gave themselves a holiday on
Wednesdays. In like manner, Friday being a busy day with Owen, he might
have skipped over all Friday doings, and have allowed a dead silence to
rest on whatever happened on that unlucky day. He had been rather
roughly treated by one of the opulent friends of the Mechanics’
Institution; and, if he had not been too honest, he might have omitted a
hundred notices which he printed of this gentleman’s zealous exertions
for the good of the town; or have made nonsense of the sentiments he
uttered, or have taken care that his name should not remain upon record
in the local history of which reporters are the faithful or unfaithful
compilers. This is the way that Mr. Windham’s light was hid under a
bushel for a whole session, when he was most conscious of his own
brilliancy, and most eager to illumine the public. He had offended the
reporters; and to punish him, the people of Great Britain were kept in
the dark.
Besides the temptation which he had in common with them,—that of
suppressing through pique and prejudice,—Owen was subjected to another.
Again and again was he insulted by the offer of a bribe, or by an
attempt at intimidation. One day, when he had been reporting in court,
Mr. Arruther crossed over to him, and with a dubious manner, between
shyness and condescension, asked him to drop in and take a glass of wine
with him at his inn, that evening, as he had something to say to him.
Owen had never used any disguise as to his opinions of Mr. Arruther’s
parliamentary conduct; and he therefore believed that if the gentleman
bestowed any thoughts on him at all, they could scarcely be very
affectionate ones. He was surprised, of course, at finding himself
received with as much cordiality as a person of little sensibility could
throw into his manner. The wine on the table was excellent; the
invitations to partake of it hearty; and the object of the invitation
presently disclosed.
Mr. Arruther could not conceive why Owen troubled himself to report all
the law proceedings that took place in the court. Many of them could
interest none but the parties concerned. What had the public to do, for
instance, with his cousin Ellen’s quarrels with him about his mother’s
property? Where was the use of printing law-suits,—dull things to read,
as they were tiresome to manage? Owen explained that his business was to
report. It was the affair of the readers of the paper what they would
skip as dull, and what they chose to consider indispensable. He
understood from his employer that no part of the paper was more narrowly
watched than the law reports; and this was not surprising, as it was by
means of these law reports alone that a great number of persons could
gain accurate information respecting the laws to which they were
subject. If he were obliged to regard the representations made to him as
to what should be left out of the paper, there would soon be nothing
left in it: for there were few kinds of intelligence that it was not the
wish of some person or another to conceal: but, if he had to choose what
particular department should be omitted, it should certainly be almost
any rather than the law-reports. Other kinds of information had some
chance of travelling round by some different means; but the newspapers
were almost the only guides of the subjects of the State as to their
duty to the State. He knew that Mr. Arruther was of opinion that the
people had nothing to do with the laws but to obey them; but people
could not well obey the laws without knowing what they were: so that Mr.
Arruther, who wished the laws to be obeyed, should not grudge the people
the little they might learn of them through the newspapers.
“Then, pray,” said the gentleman, “do not cut short that cause about
Thirlaway’s road, that kept us all waiting such a confounded time this
morning. Give it all; let them have every line of it; and if you find it
likely to fill your paper, you can leave out my affairs, to make room
for it.”
“I hope to be able to manage both, sir. The leading arguments on each
side of all the causes tried this morning can be offered without
transgressing our limits.”
“Better print the other entire. Do you know, Mr. Owen, I will give you a
shilling a line to see how complete a thing you can make of it, provided
you leave out mine to make room.”
“You do not know the person you have to deal with, Mr. Arruther. A man
cannot be a reporter for a twelvemonth without knowing something of the
practice of ‘feeing the fourth estate,’ as people say. I am upon my
guard, sir, I assure you; and the less you say on this head the better,
for your own sake.”
“On your guard! Bless me! What an expression,—as if I had said anything
wrong! Do you suppose I do not know the customs of your craft? Till the
management of a newspaper becomes a less expensive affair than it is at
present, I do not know what better plan there can be than making out the
pay of reporters for what they bring to the compositor, by letting them
take fees for what they suppress. Such a custom is so convenient to all
parties, that I wonder at your pretending to dislike it.”
“When you call it convenient to all parties, sir, you seem to forget the
principal party concerned. However it may be with the proprietor of the
paper, and with the reporter, and those who tender the fee, it is not
very convenient to the public that their supply of information should
depend on the length of a few purses, whose owners may wish to make
private certain of their proceedings which ought to be public. It may
prove convenient to some of your constituents, sir, if not to you, that
it should be known exactly how you stand in that cause which was tried
this morning. It is always convenient to electors to know as much as
they can learn of the character of their representatives. I believe that
I have no right to keep back such information; and the report will
therefore appear to-morrow, at the same length as is generally allotted
to causes of that nature.”
Mr. Arruther explained in vain how particularly provoking his mother’s
will had been; how unexpected it was that his cousin Ellen should have
been stirred up to sue him; how little idea he had till this morning of
the extent to which his lawyer had deceived him about the merits of his
own case; how glad he should be if the whole could now be dropped and
privately arranged; and, finally and especially, how little the public
had to do with whether he tried to keep his mother’s property, or
quietly let it go to somebody else. It was in vain that he urged all
this. Owen could not see why any of these considerations should
interfere with the advantage which the readers of the paper would derive
from the knowledge of Mr. Arruther’s proceedings. That this gentleman
had a bad cause to maintain might be a very sufficient reason for his
present condescension, and for his offering to double and treble his
bribe; but it afforded the strongest possible inducement to Owen to
publish the whole, for the guidance of those who had it in their power
to withdraw this unworthy man from public life. Mr. Arruther grew angry
when all the offers he could make for the suppression of the report were
simply declined.
“I do not know, sir, what has made you my enemy,” he observed. “But you
are my enemy, sir. Don’t deny it. Do you think I am not aware of what
you have done, first in trying to deprive me of the support of the
editor of the ‘Western Star;’ and, when you could not succeed in that,
in exposing me privately wherever you could?”
“How do you use the word ‘privately,’ Mr. Arruther? If you mean that I
have whispered things to your disadvantage, or used any kind of secrecy
in what I have said, you are mistaken. If you mean that I have printed
nothing against you, you are quite correct; but the reason is, that I
have not had the power. If there had been any independent newspaper in
the district, where I might have said what you allude to, it would have
saved me the trouble of writing many letters, and have enabled me to do
my duty much more effectually than it has been done. If you feel
yourself aggrieved from the same cause; if you desire an opportunity of
publicly contradicting what has been said about your scanty attendance
at the House, and the course of your political conduct when there; if
you really wish for a fair discussion of your public character, you will
assist those of us who are anxious to set up a newspaper as nearly
independent as the circumstances of the time will allow.”
“Not I. We have too many newspapers already. I shall not countenance the
setting up of any more.”
“Too many already,” repeated Owen, smiling as his eye fell on a little
table on which lay seven or eight newspapers, received this morning, and
destined to be replaced by the same number to-morrow. “Too many! That
depends on how they are divided. Perhaps you forget, sir, that while
Members of Parliament have seven or eight to themselves every day, there
are seven or eight thousand people who see but one paper, and seven or
eight millions of persons who never see one at all. You may feel
yourself ready for your morning ride before you have half got through
such a pile of papers as lies there, and may find it a tiresome part of
your duty to read so much politics every day; but if you steal into the
dark bye-places of a town like this, and hear what people are saying in
their ignorance against being governed at all; if you go out upon the
sheep-walks, and see the country folks growing into the likeness of
stocks and stones, for want of having their human reason exercised; if
you will ride down any Saturday into our own village, and see the
scramble there is for a single copy of an inferior provincial paper, you
will presently lose the fancy that we have too many newspapers already.”
“Too many by that one copy you spoke of, in my opinion, Mr. Owen. The
people in Arneside did very well without any newspaper when I was a boy,
I remember. I wish you had been pleased to consult me before you took
such a step as sending them one. You should know better than to fall
into the propensity of the time, for pampering the common people. You
talk as wisely as anybody about putting gin in their way, and I do not
see that they want news any more than gin. That was one of the few good
things my mother used to say. When some complaint came to her ears about
the price of newspapers, she asked whether anybody thought any harm of
taxing gin; and whether the common people could not do without news as
well as without spirits. She was right enough, for once. The common
people can do without news. News is a luxury, as somebody said.”
“O, yes. News can be done without; and so can many other things. You may
lock a man into a house, and he will still live. You may darken his
windows from the sun at noonday, and the stars at night, and he will
still live. You may let in no air but what comes down the chimney, and
he will still live. You may chain him to the bed-post, you may stuff his
ears, and cover his eyes, and tie his hands behind him, and he can ‘do
without’ the use of his limbs and his senses, and of God’s noblest
works: but it was not for this that God sent his sun on its course, and
set the stars rolling in their spheres, and freshened the breezy hills,
and gave muscles to our strong limbs, and nerves to our delicate organs.
He did not make his beautiful world that one might walk abroad on it,
while a thousand are shut into a dark dungeon. Neither did he give men
the curiosity with which they watch and listen, and the imagination with
which they wander forth, and the reason with which they meditate among
his works, that the one might be baffled, and the others fettered and
enfeebled. And what does any one gain by such tyranny? Does the sun
shine more brightly when a man thinks he has it all to himself, than
when the reapers are merry in the field, and the children are running
after butterflies in the meadow? Would Orion glow more majestically to
any one man if he could build a wall up to the high heaven, and stop the
march of the constellation, and part it off, that common eyes might not
look upon it? If not, neither can any one gain by shutting up that which
God has made as common to the race as the lights of his firmament, and
the winds which come and go as he wills. That word ‘news’ is a little
word and a common word; but it means all that is great as the results of
the day, and holy as the march of the starry night. It is the
manifestation of man’s most freshly compounded emotions, the record of
his most recent experiences, and the revelation of God’s latest
providences on earth. Are these things to be kept from the many by the
few, under the notion that they are property? Are these things now to be
doled out at the pleasure, and to suit the purposes of an order of men,
as the priests of Catholic countries measured out their thimblefull of
the waters of life, in the name of him who opened up the spring, and
invited every one that thirsted to come and drink freely? To none has
authority been given to mete out knowledge, according to their own sense
of fitness, any more than to those priests of old; but on all is imposed
the religious duty of providing channels by which the vital streams of
knowledge shall be brought to every man’s door. If, in this day, any man
who seeks to be a social administrator desires that the few should cover
up their reservoirs lest they should overflow for the refreshment of the
many, it is no wonder if his cistern grows so foul as to make him
question in right earnest at last, whether there be not something more
poisonous in the draught than in gin itself; and much that is perilous
in the eagerness of the crowd who rush to lap whatever cannot be
prevented from leaking out.”
“You mean to say that our universities are fouled reservoirs, I suppose?
It would become you to speak more modestly till you have been there.”
“I know nothing of what is within the universities, further than by
watching what comes out. The vague idea that I have of the knowledge
that pervades them is perhaps as reverential as you, or any other son of
such an institution, can desire: but I own that my reverence would be
more ardent and affectionate if I could see that that knowledge made its
partakers happier than it does.”
“Happier! How can you possibly tell? How should you know, when I am the
only university-man, I believe, that you are acquainted with?”
“I judge by what I see. When men enjoy, the next thing is to
communicate; especially when by communicating they lose nothing
themselves. But it is not so in this case. What have the universities
done towards showing the beauty and holiness of knowledge, as the most
universal and the highest blessing which God has given to the living and
breathing race of man? What have the universities done to diffuse their
own treasures into every corner of the land? How have they applied their
knowledge towards the promotion of the happiness of the state,—opening
their doors to all who would come in, discovering or sanctioning the
best principles of legislation and government, countenancing public and
private virtue, and being foremost in proposing and enforcing whatever
might fulfil the final purposes of knowledge by making the greatest
number of rational beings as wise and happy as the circumstances of the
age will admit? While I see nothing of all this attempted by our
universities, I feel more respect and affection for the studies which
are going forward within a Mechanics’ Institution (crude and superficial
studies, perhaps, but tending to promote the substantial happiness of
the race), than for the pursuits of a university, or any other place,
where intellectual luxury is reserved to pamper the few while the many
starve.”
“I do not see much starving in the case, when we have not only too many
regular newspapers, but scores of unstamped publications, which
circulate their scores of thousands each. Precious stuff for your common
people to batten upon!”
“When we once come to the question of quality, sir, there may be less to
be said than about quantity. Is there anything here,—or here,”—taking up
the “John Bull” and the “Age,” “that will make the public wiser and
better than they would become by reading the ‘Twopenny Treat’ or the
‘Poor Man’s Guardian.’ That there is any such ‘precious stuff’ for
readers to batten on is the fault of those who, by keeping up one
newspaper monopoly, have created another.”
“What new monopoly, pray? And what public would ever endure two
monopolies of the same article?”
“There are two publics to suffer by the two monopolies. While the
tax-gatherers take five-pence out of every seven-pence that is given for
a newspaper; while the practice of advertising is so kept down by the
duty as to deprive the proprietors of their legitimate profits; while a
capital of between thirty and forty thousand pounds is required to
conduct a good daily paper, no journal will or can be honest, cheap, and
successful; and the middle classes, who can afford to see only one
paper, will suffer by the long-established monopoly of the old journals.
While men of more wit than capital are tempted or driven to evade the
law; while adventurers below the reach of the law are virtually invited
to defy and vilify it, the large class of poor readers will suffer by
the pernicious monopoly which not his Majesty nor all his Ministers can
break up, as long as legal newspapers are made to cost seven-pence,
while illegal ones may be had for two-pence.—Have you seen any of these
illegal publications?”
“Yes. Precious stuff! Falsehoods in every sentence; blunders in every
line; as any one who chose might show in a minute.”
“Unfortunately, no one will choose it, in the present state of affairs.
It must be easy enough to controvert any publication so bad as you
describe; but the opportunity is not allowed. These falsehoods and
blunders are crammed down the people’s throats, and no one can unchoke
them, because the law interferes to prevent the free circulation of
opinions. I know of a young man at Arneside who actually believes that
all master manufacturers make it a principle and a pleasure to oppress
and worry their workmen, and that all rulers study nothing so regularly
and strenuously as how to wring the hearts of the greatest number of
people. He reads this (among a hundred better things) in one of these
unstamped publications, which would either have never existed at all, or
have treated very differently of politics, if the Stamp Commissioners
had taught it no lesson of hatred against the law.”
“Ah! you mean that brother of yours. I heard how he was going, poor
fool!”
“If he is a poor fool, what is it that has prevented his being wise? He
has shown his disposition to become so by his eagerness after such
reading as he can obtain; and if he has got so far as to learn the
strength of a bad argument, alas for those who step in to prevent his
getting farther, and learning its weakness in the presence of a better!
If he cannot find sound political teachers, where lies the blame?”
“If you had newspapers quite free, who do you suppose would write for
the common people? We should be inundated with blasphemous and seditious
publications.”
“When a man goes with his money in his hand to purchase a newspaper, do
you think he is asked whether he is one of the common people? And when
newspapers sell for the cost of production and a fair profit, who is
likely to produce the best, and sell the most,—the respectable and
educated capitalist, or the ignorant and needy agitator? When newspapers
have fair play, their success will depend, I fancy, like that of other
articles, on their quality; and I never yet heard of any instance in
which any class of people failed to purchase the better article in
preference to the worse, when both were fairly set before them.
Moreover, I never heard of a wise and kind government, whether of a
single family, a city, or a nation, that did not desire rather than fear
that its proceedings should be known and discussed.”
“Ah! that shows how little you know of the plague and mischief of being
talked over, when any business is in hand. If you were in the place of
those who have to transact affairs on the continent, and in our
colonies, you would be too much vexed to laugh at the nonsense that
people believe about us. There is nothing too monstrous or ridiculous to
be credited. A plague on the foolish tongues that spread such things!”
“Or rather on the policy which allows such reports to be originated and
to pass current. If a multitude of the King’s subjects at home, and of
his allies abroad, believe all that is monstrous of his government, and
all that is ridiculous of his people, it seems time that better means of
knowledge should be given to both. While the world lasts, social beings
can never be prevented discussing their rulers and their neighbours; and
if we are annoyed at their errors, the alternative is not silence but
truth. When newspapers circulate untaxed, and not till then, there will
be an approach to a general understanding, and to social peace.”
“You are not exactly the person to talk of social peace, I think, Mr.
Owen, when you are bent on setting me and my electors at variance by
publishing my family quarrels, in spite of all I can say.”
Owen did not choose to remain to be insulted by further entreaties that
he would take a bribe. He rose, observing that this was a case in which
he had no more concern than with a quarrel in the Cabinet, and no more
option than in announcing an earthquake at Aleppo. He was a reporter,
and nothing more. If Mr. Arruther had anything further to say, he must
make his appeal to the proprietors of the “Western Star.”
A few last words were vouchsafed to him before he left the room. Their
purpose was to assure him that if this report appeared, he need never
apply to Mr. Arruther for assistance, in case of his fool of a brother
getting into any scrape, or he himself ever being tried for libel, or
any disaster, public or private, befalling him. If Owen should, on
consideration, decide to accommodate Mr. Arruther, that gentleman would
see what he could do on any occasion when he might be of service.