And here I may be reminded that if I prefer the Lord Chamberlain I can
go to the Lord Chamberlain, who is to retain all his present functions
for the benefit of those who prefer to be judged by him. But I am not so
sure that the Lord Chamberlain will be able to exercise those functions
for long if resort to him is to be optional. Let me be kinder to him
than he has been to me, and uncover for him the pitfalls which the Joint
Select Committee have dug (and concealed) in his path. Consider how
the voluntary system must inevitably work. The Joint Select Committee
expressly urges that the Lord Chamberlain's licence must not be a bar
to a prosecution. Granted that in spite of this reservation the licence
would prove in future as powerful a defence as it has been in the past,
yet the voluntary clause nevertheless places the manager at the mercy of
any author who makes it a condition of his contract that his play shall
not be submitted for licence. I should probably take that course without
opposition from the manager. For the manager, knowing that three of my
plays have been refused a licence, and that it would be far safer to
produce a play for which no licence had been asked than one for which it
had been asked and refused, would agree that it was more prudent, in
my case, to avail himself of the power of dispensing with the Lord
Chamberlain's licence. But now mark the consequences. The manager,
having thus discovered that his best policy was to dispense with the
licence in the few doubtful cases, would presently ask himself why he
should spend two guineas each on licences for the many plays as to which
no question could conceivably arise. What risk does any manager run in
producing such works as Sweet Lavender, Peter Pan, The Silver King,
or any of the 99 per cent of plays that are equally neutral on
controversial questions? Does anyone seriously believe that the managers
would continue to pay the Lord Chamberlain two guineas a play out of
mere love and loyalty, only to create an additional risk in the case of
controversial plays, and to guard against risks that do not exist in
the case of the great bulk of other productions? Only those would remain
faithful to him who produce such plays as the Select Committee began by
discussing in camera, and ended by refusing to discuss at all because
they were too nasty. These people would still try to get a licence,
and would still no doubt succeed as they do today. But could the King's
Reader of Plays live on his fees from these plays alone; and if he
could how long would his post survive the discredit of licensing only
pornographic plays? It is clear to me that the Examiner would be starved
out of existence, and the censorship perish of desuetude. Perhaps that
is exactly what the Select Committee contemplated. If so, I have nothing
more to say, except that I think sudden death would be more merciful.