voluptuaries for every one whom the Little Theatre had sent home
thoughtful to a chaste bed after Mr Chesterton's Magic or
Brieux's Les Avaries. Perhaps that is the real reason why the
Church is lauded and the Theatre reviled. Whether or no, the fact
remains that the lady to whose public spirit and sense of the
national value of the theatre I owed the first regular public
performance of a play of mine had to conceal her action as if it
had been a crime, whereas if she had given the money to the
Church she would have worn a halo for it. And I admit, as I have
always done, that this state of things may have been a very
sensible one. I have asked Londoners again and again why they pay
half a guinea to go to a theatre when they can go to St. Paul's
or Westminster Abbey for nothing. Their only possible reply is
that they want to see something new and possibly something
wicked; but the theatres mostly disappoint both hopes. If ever a
revolution makes me Dictator, I shall establish a heavy charge
for admission to our churches. But everyone who pays at the
church door shall receive a ticket entitling him or her to free
admission to one performance at any theatre he or she prefers.
Thus shall the sensuous charms of the church service be made to
subsidize the sterner virtue of the drama.



The Next Phase

The present situation will not last. Although the newspaper I
read at breakfast this morning before writing these words
contains a calculation that no less than twenty-three wars are at
present being waged to confirm the peace, England is no longer in