“Fill it, indeed,” he went on. “Why, Gad Zooks! man! who knoweth what happenings there are and what not till one essays the gathering of them! And should it chance that there is nothing of greater import, no boar hunt of his Majesty to record, nor the news of some great entertainment by one of the Lords of the Court, then will we put in lesser matter, aye whatever comes to hand, the talk of his Majesty’s burgesses in the Parliament or any such things.”
“Hear him!” sneered the printer, “the talk of his Majesty’s burgesses in Westminster, forsooth! And what clerk or learned person would care to read of such? Or think you that His Majesty’s Chamberlain would long bear that such idle chatter should be bruited abroad. If you can find no worthier thing for this our news sheet than the talk of the Burgesses, then shall it fail indeed. Had it been the speech of the King’s great barons and the bishops twere different. But dost fancy that the great barons would allow that their weighty discourses be reduced to common speech so that even the vulgar may read it and haply here and there fathom their very thought itself,—and the bishops, the great prelates, to submit their ideas to the vulgar hand of a common printer, framing them into mere sentences! ‘Tis unthinkable that they would sanction it!”
“Aye,” murmured Caxton in his dreaming voice, “the time shall come, Master Edward, when they will not only sanction it but seek it.”
“Look you,” broke in Master Nick, “let us have done with this talk? Whether there be enough happenings or not enough,”—and here he spoke with a kindling eye and looked about him at the little group of apprentices and printers, who had drawn near to listen, “if there be not enough, then will I MAKE THINGS HAPPEN. What is easier than to tell of happenings forth of the realm of which no man can know,—some talk of the Grand Turk and the war that he makes, or some happenings in the New Land found by Master Columbus. Aye,” he went on, warming to his words and not knowing that he embodied in himself the first birth on earth of the telegraphic editor,—“and why not. One day we write it out on our sheet ‘The Grand Turk maketh disastrous war on the Bulgars of the North and hath burnt divers of their villages.’ And that hath no sooner gone forth than we print another sheet saying, It would seem that the villages be not burnt but only scorched, nor doth it appear that the Turk burnt them but that the Bulgars burnt divers villages of the Turk and are sitting now in his mosque in the city of Hadrian.’ Then shall all men run to and fro and read the sheet and question and ask, ‘Is it thus?’ And, ‘Is it thus?’ and by very uncertainty of circumstances, they shall demand the more curiously to see the news sheet and read it.”
“Nay, nay, Master Nick,” said Brenton, firmly, “that will I never allow. Let us make it to ourselves a maxim that all that shall be said in this news sheet, or ‘news paper,’ as my conceit would fain call it, for be it not made of paper (here a merry laugh of the apprentices greeted the quaint fancy of the Master), shall be of ascertained verity and fact indisputable. Should the Grand Turk make war and should the rumour of it come to these isles, then will we say ‘The Turk maketh war,’ and should the Turk be at peace, then we will say ‘The Turk it doth appear is now at peace.’ And should no news come, then shall we say ‘In good sooth we know not whether the Turk destroyeth the Bulgars or whether he doth not, for while some hold that he harasseth them sorely, others have it that he harasseth them not, whereby we are sore put to it to know whether there be war or peace, nor do we desire to vex the patience of those who read by any further discourse on the matter, other than to say that we ourselves are in doubt what be and what be not truth, nor will we any further speak of it other than this.’”
Those about Caxton listened with awe to this speech. They did not,—they could not know,—that this was the birth of the Leading Article, but there was something in the strangely fascinating way in which their chief enlarged upon his own ignorance that foreshowed to the meanest intelligence the possibilities of the future.
Nicholas shook his head.
“‘Tis a poor plan, Master Brenton,” he said, “the folk wish news, give them the news. The more thou givest them, the better pleased they are and thus doth the news sheet move from hand to hand till it may be said (if I too may coin a phrase) to increase vastly its ‘circulation’—”
“In sooth,” said Master Brenton, looking at Nicholas with a quiet expression that was not exempt from a certain slyness, “there I do hold thou art in the wrong, even as a matter of craft or policie. For it seems to me that if our paper speaketh first this and then that but hath no fixed certainty of truth, sooner or later will all its talk seem vain, and no man will heed it. But if it speak always the truth, then sooner or later shall all come to believe it and say of any happening, ‘It standeth written in the paper, therefore it is so.’ And here I charge you all that have any part in this new venture,” continued Master Brenton, looking about the room at the listening faces and speaking with great seriousness, “let us lay it to our hearts that our maxim shall be truth and truth alone. Let no man set his hand to aught that shall go upon our presses save only that which is assured truth. In this way shall our venture ever be pleasing to the Most High, and I do verily believe,”—and here Caxton’s voice sank lower as if he were thinking aloud,—“in the long run, it will be mighty good for our circulation.”
The speaker paused. Then turning to the broad sheet before him, he began to scan its columns with his eye. The others stood watching him as he read.