The censorship, then, provides the manager, at the negligible premium
of two guineas per play, with an effective insurance against the author
getting him into trouble, and a complete relief from all conscientious
responsibility for the character of the entertainment at his theatre.
Under such circumstances, managers would be more than human if they did
not regard the censorship as their most valuable privilege. This is the
simple explanation of the rally of the managers and their Associations
to the defence of the censorship, of their reiterated resolutions of
confidence in the Lord Chamberlain, of their presentations of plate,
and, generally, of their enthusiastic contentment with the present
system, all in such startling contrast to the denunciations of the
censorship by the authors. It also explains why the managerial witnesses
who had least to fear from the Censor were the most reluctant in his
defence, whilst those whose practice it is to strain his indulgence to
the utmost were almost rapturous in his praise. There would be absolute
unanimity among the managers in favor of the censorship if they were all
simply tradesmen. Even those actor-managers who made no secret before
the Committee of their contempt for the present operation of the
censorship, and their indignation at being handed over to a domestic
official as casual servants of a specially disorderly kind, demanded,
not the abolition of the institution, but such a reform as might make it
consistent with their dignity and unobstructive to their higher artistic
aims. Feeling no personal need for protection against the author, they
perhaps forgot the plight of many a manager to whom the modern advanced
drama is so much Greek; but they did feel very strongly the need of
being protected against Vigilance Societies and Municipalities and
common informers in a country where a large section of the community
still believes that art of all kinds is inherently sinful.