MARGINAL COMMENT
By HAROLD NICOLSON
THE TIMES newspaper, as we all know, is a national institution. We regard it with that blend of affection and esteem which we accord to other monuments of our tremendous past, such as the Bill of Rights, the abolition of the slave trade, crumpets, sweet peas and the Zoological Gardens. When we go to New York we are proud to find that familiar journal displayed upon the mahogany side-tables of the Knickerbocker Club ; when we go to Prague it is agreeable to see The Times taking precedence over Le Monde ill Dr. Benes' anteroom ; and any amdety we might' feel at first meeting Madame Chiang Kai-shek is dispelled when, rising graciously from her deck-chair, she allows The Times to drop from her slim hands. It would be idle (if I may adopt for the moment the lapidary style of the newspaper I am discussing), it would be idle to deny that few responsible students of national, or indeed of international, affairs can afford, without serious prejudice to their own know- ledge and judgement, to eschew, even if only for curtailed periods of absence or aberration, the authoritative, precise and not in- frequently objective, information which this estimable journal, not unconscious as it is of its function, if we may use a colloquialism, of "presenting Britain to the world," has for generations provided. I should go further. There is no doubt that foreign Governments are convinced that The Times reflects the official opinion of what- ever British Government may be in power at the time. It is no use at all assuring them that The Times is wholly independent and reflects nothing but the composite opinions of the gentlemen of Printing House Square. I admit, indeed, that this official function which is, unjustly and inevitably, imposed upon it by its foreign readers does entail a certain Delphic tone of utterance. On those many occasions when The Times does in fact possess information not available to other organs of information and opinion, it is fitting that it should convey that information with pontifical discretion. On those rare occasions when The Times just doesn't know, it is pardon- able that it should, like the cuttle-fish, retire behind a cloud of ink. No—I rather like The Times for the hieratic voice with which it speaks. .
* * * * While I do not often object to the tone of superior knowledge which The Times adopts (since I well know that there are few journals in the world more scrupulous or more scholarly in obtaining and conveying information) I am sometimes irritated by the tone of moral Superiority which is attached. The Times may be right in seeking always to show that to every cloud there is a silver lining ; it may be right, with its authoritative bedside manner, in trying to solace the uneasy patient by convincing him that he, in his ignorance, is unfitted to judge of the nature of his own disease. Yet there are moments when I wish that The Times would not always render unto God the things that are Caesar's ; and would refrain more frequently from suggesting that the line of least resistance represents in some manner a wise and courageous initiative or that the sad road to retreat is not merely the path of duty, but also the way to glory. I question sometimes whether the heavy brocades in which_ it drapes its optimism can convey to an anxious public the same assurance as might be provided by crisper, simpler state- ments of unalterable fact. And I am quite sure that abroad the incantations which The Times intones around our misfortunes are regarded, at their best as negro spirituals, and at their worst as evidence of what is regarded as English cant. Foreigners will never be made to understand that our hyprocrisy derives, not from any intention to deceive others, hut from an ardent desire to comfort ourselves. * * * * In spite of this, my love and respect for The Times remains constant and unassailed. Only from one angle can the discontent which is occasionally aroused within me by this great journal be lashed into a sudden squall of rage. I refer to the handling by their leader-writers of the English language. There are moments when I come to feel about the style of The Times leading articles what Sir Max Beerbohm felt about the style of Walter Pater. It is a mistake, I feel, to treat our living tongue as if it were an etymo- logical fossil, a museum piece to be preserved desiccated in a glass show-case. There are moments when the leader-writers of The Times, trained as they are to identical hieratic movements and genuflexions, treat the English language as if it were some venerable corpse exposed on a bier; they drape their catafalque with the velvets of tautology, they decorate it with the stock emblems of long words, they illumine it with the dim candles of double nega- tives. I was reading on Saturday a leading article entitled "The Viceroy's Task." As I read that heading, my sympathy flashed out to Lord Mountbatten, pacing the paths of the Viceregal garden, conscious that few men have been accorded so vast a responsibility with so little effective power, conscious that around him on those burning plains a whole sub-continent might at any moment burst into flame. I read the article. With the sentiments expressed, with the opinion advocated, I was not qualified to differ. It was the style by which I was so distressed.
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"! The Cabinet," I read, "have exhaustively examined the pro- cedures for transferring power which may fall to be adopted if the original plan of May 16th, 1946, has finally to be abandoned as un- workable, and precautions have been taken to obviate any delay which might result from further references to London in the course of the approaching conversations by providing in advance so far as possible for any issue that may emerge. This is prudent."
I happen to dislike such phrases as "fall to be adopted," "obviate any delay" and "issue that may emerge." This may be due to personal idiosyncrasy. But no serious man can assert that the above passage is a literate way of saying "Lord Mountbatten has now received instructions what to do if the 1946 plan fails." With Increasing irritation I read further. "Already," I read, " it is possible to discern dangerous fissiparous tendencies." A squall of rage fluttered the paper from my hand. I admit that the word " fissiparous " expressed precisely what this leader-writer intended ; but why use a word the exact meaning of which is familiar only to
physiologists? No man can enjoy more than I do the use of words which are either invented of rescued from desuetude ; but I never, I trust, use words merely because they are long and grand. And then comes, in the passage I have quoted, that little short spinsterish phrase, "This is prudent." Immediately before my vision flitted the picture of Miss Pinkerton's Acadamy for Young Ladies at Chiswick Mall. In a few days from now that article will be read with attention by people sitting in the Knickerbocker Club, by people at Prague, in China and Lahore. Will they be stimulated, enlightened or impressed? I do not think so. The effect upon their minds will be that The Times, wishing to make the best of a bad job, wishing to express the obvious in tones of the utmost solemnity, sought refuge behind a cloud of tautological ambiguity.
I was reminded, as I read this article, of the admirable parody printed in the Manchester Guardian shortly after the Munich crisis. I was also reminded of a skit upon The Times contributed by Mon- signor Knox to a symposium edited by Sir John Squire in 1931 under the title If. It is a matter of regret to me that this amusing collection has never been republished. It contained stimulating articles such as G. K. Chesterton on "If Don John of Austria had married Mary Queen of Scots," Winston Churchill on "If Lee had
not won the Battle of Gettysburg" and Hilaire Belloc on "If Drouees Cart had stuck." It also contains Monsignor Knox on "If the General Strike had succeeded." This article is couched in the form of a reprint of The Times one week after Communism had been established. This famous Printing House Square style, im- mutable and impermeable, had survived even the dictatorship of the proletariat.
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