But a playwright's livelihood, his
reputation, and his inspiration and mission are at the personal
mercy of the Censor. The two do not stand, as the criminal and
the judge stand, in the presence of a law that binds them both
equally, and was made by neither of them, but by the
deliberative collective wisdom of the community. The only law
that affects them is the Act of 1843, which empowers one of them
to do absolutely and finally what he likes with the other's work.
And when it is remembered that the slave in this case is the man
whose profession is that of Eschylus and Euripides, of Shakespear
and Goethe, of Tolstoy and Ibsen, and the master the holder of a
party appointment which by the nature of its duties practically
excludes the possibility of its acceptance by a serious statesman
or great lawyer, it will be seen that the playwrights are
justified in reproaching the framers of that Act for having
failed not only to appreciate the immense importance of the
theatre as a most powerful instrument for teaching the nation how
and what to think and feel, but even to conceive that those who
make their living by the theatre are normal human beings with
the common rights of English citizens. In this extremity of
inconsiderateness it is not surprising that they also did not
trouble themselves to study the difference between a censor and a
magistrate. And it will be found that almost all the people who
disinterestedly defend the censorship today are defending him on
the assumption that there is no constitutional difference between
him and any other functionary whose duty it is to restrain
crime and disorder.
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