The answer is that a pamphlet, a newspaper article, or a
resolution moved at a political meeting can do all the mischief
that a play can, and often more; yet we do not set up a permanent
censorship of the press or of political meetings. Any journalist
may publish an article, any demagogue may deliver a speech
without giving notice to the government or obtaining its licence.
The risk of such freedom is great; but as it is the price of our
political liberty, we think it worth paying. We may abrogate
it in emergencies by a Coercion Act, a suspension of the Habeas
Corpus Act, or a proclamation of martial law, just as we stop the
traffic in a street during a fire, or shoot thieves at sight if
they loot after an earthquake. But when the emergency is past,
liberty is restored everywhere except in the theatre. The Act of
1843 is a permanent Coercion Act for the theatre, a permanent
suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act as far as plays are
concerned, a permanent proclamation of martial law with a single
official substituted for a court martial. It is, in fact, assumed
that actors, playwrights, and theatre managers are dangerous and
dissolute characters whose existence creates a chronic state of
emergency, and who must be treated as earthquake looters are
treated. It is not necessary now to discredit this assumption. It
was broken down by the late Sir Henry Irving when he finally
shamed the Government into extending to his profession the
official recognition enjoyed by the other branches of fine art.
To-day we have on the roll of knighthood actors, authors, and
managers. The rogue and vagabond theory of the depravity of the
theatre is as dead officially as it is in general society; and
with it has perished the sole excuse for the Act of 1843 and
for the denial to the theatre of the liberties secured, at
far greater social risk, to the press and the platform.