CHAPTER VII

LITERARY CENSORSHIP

There seems to be some need for the revision of the law applied to literary productions. The subject is a peculiarly important one to writers, printers and publishers, and, to a lesser extent, to the public at large. When a publisher undertakes the publication of a novel, for example, he involves himself in a liability for a considerable sum for its production. The unknown writer may, by a certain contributory process, bear a part of the burden borne by the publisher. Only the writer with a name of one sort or another, or with a certain circulation, can reach the stage which confers the advantage of publication for reward. The publisher has his difficulties to face in securing the services of a writer of this class, and, when these difficulties have been overcome, he has the financial burden of production to confront. This burden is in itself reasonably heavy, with the result that he has to be most careful to avoid publishing any matter, which may be condemned by the authorities as “indecent.” There is something to be said as to what constitutes indecency, of course, and this very uncertainty makes the publisher’s _métier_ the more trying. It is more than trying; it is unfair.

The translated works of Marcel Prévost, a writer of genius, a member of the Acadèmie Française, have been suppressed time and time again. Théophile Gautier, Émile Zola, Guy de Maupassant, Gustave Flaubert, and many other writers of the first water, have had the English translations of their works suppressed. Admittedly, the freedom with which sexual relations are dealt with by these writers has sometimes been construed into indecency in this country. Certainly, the translations, or many of them, are inferior in workmanship, and lend themselves to condemnation by their very crudity. However this may be, it is perfectly obvious that the legal method of dealing with indecent or questionable literature is thoroughly inadequate, uncertain in its effect, and needful of drastic improvement. That is to say, primarily, a definite protection and security should be provided for the publisher against loss arising out of the suppression of his publication. It may be said, with partial propriety, that the best way for a publisher to protect himself is not to publish _risqué_ works. But it must be remembered that a publisher is not necessarily an expert on what actually constitutes legal indecency, nor are his readers or advisers.

To be able to judge with some exactitude the decency or indecency of sexual problem novels requires both legal and literary skill It is not always so, naturally, though a certain number of works of literary merit demand a high sense of discrimination in deciding their moral limits. It is not precisely the immorality of a book which settles the question: it is rather its treatment. There are many gross novels, written by persons of inferior education. No doubt can exist as to their indecency. But the publisher, perhaps, who undertakes their publication, is merely careless in his methods. It is his duty, indubitably, to take reasonable precaution; having failed to do so, his position is a bad one. He may be prosecuted, committed for trial, and imprisoned or fined, along with the printer. He also has to bear the loss of production, a consideration in itself, as stated. His “suppressed” novels become unsaleable at once.

A recent case at Bow Street Police Court was in a sense interesting from the legal standpoint respecting indecent books. A prosecution was started against the wholesale distributors of certain objectionable novels, the work of an anonymous writer. The identity of the publisher was not disclosed on the title pages of the books, nor did the printer’s imprint appear. The distributors, therefore, stood _in loco parentis_. They were mulcted in fines and costs to the extent of about £400. The novels seized were ordered to be destroyed, as a matter of course.

The technical basis for fines on such a scale was the absence of the printer’s imprint--a legal necessity. The penalties attaching to an infringement of the law on this subject make it worth the while of every person responsible for the production of a book to preclude the possibility of an oversight. Certainly, it may be assumed that the mind of the magistrate was (in deciding the case above referred to) largely influenced by the gross character of the books. Nevertheless, the printer’s imprint should always appear.

By an anomaly of the law, a writer is not liable for the indecent contents of his (in the recent case at Bow Street, “her”) books. That is to say, so long as they do not constitute a libel upon someone. The brunt of the trouble falls upon the printer and the publisher, more

## particularly, in practice, upon the publisher.

One point which must strike the mind of any person interested in the examination of books for publication is the very proper hostility of the magistracy towards books, however excellent in literary quality, which touch upon unnatural offences. In a novel of some merit--“_The Hazard of the Die_”--a veiled suggestion, very veiled, it seemed, of an unnatural association, ran through a portion of the book. It was suppressed by the authorities, though it bore the imprint of a respectable publisher.

Writers are at present hampered and restricted in the treatment of ordinary sexual relations by many of the more important subscription libraries. A writer has to consider his publisher, and the publisher has to give some thought to his market. What has sometimes been described as “the library ban” curtails the field of description to a greater extent than the public authorities.

Whether or not all these bulwarks improve or protect the morals of the kingdom is a moot question. To the ruthless mind, they seem to savour of excess. Why any one body of persons, of no particular qualification, should decide what is good and what is harmful for another superior order to read is fantastic and even stupid to a degree. This _quasi_-censorship may be beneficial in theoretically protecting the young and innocent mind from coming into too early contact with pages from life, but it is hardly considerate of those maturer readers who may be anxious to be drawn from their own _ennuis_ by the light treatment of other people’s. The suppression of all printed matter relating to sexual difficulties, from divorce reports to novels and plays, from classics to social memoirs, might tend perhaps to check an increase of knowledge in the very young, though as long as we are human beings and not metallic automata it may be presumed with some safety that sexual relations will scarcely become extinct! Why the adolescent mind should have to be rescued from a problematic contact with certain printed matter, when, _per se_, proper upbringing should turn it against depravity, one almost fails to see.

Of course, questions of morality and immorality have their degrees. For instance, the most ardent supporters of freedom in connection with literary works would not be able to give countenance to such gross indecency as that exhibited in John Cleland’s notorious book. There are similar publications, secretly distributed at the present day, which would revolt the most worldly libertine.

Indeed, the dissemination of descriptive debauch should not stand on a legal par with the publication and distribution of ordinarily indecent books, such productions, for instance, as those named in the recent Bow Street case. With regard to these latter publications, all of which, in their original state, were examined and condemned by the present writer, prior to the police prosecution, crudity of tone and workmanship were as conspicuous as defective decency. The novel translated from the French of Marcel Prévost was almost as careless and rough in its finish as the English novels which fell under the destruction order at the same time. Though all of these publications were in places definitely indecent, unquestionably so, they did not approximate the filth which finds a more secret means of distribution.

Undeniably, it is extremely difficult as a rule to obtain information which will reasonably lead to a conviction. Much the same may be said in connection with the sale of indecent photographs, “pictures,” etc. This disgusting traffic appears to exist, if it does not actually thrive. An alien, one of those aliens clothed in the name of “Harris,” as it happened, received a sentence of three months’ imprisonment, to be followed by deportation, from the Common Serjeant in February, 1911, for selling indecent photographs. Cases of the sort arise from time to time, but it may be assumed that the majority of the offenders escape scot free, for the simple reason that they do not get “found out.” The topic is not sufficiently interesting or important to warrant further notice.

What actually concerns writers, publishers and the public at the present time is the betterment of the system of freely circulating all books. This may be taken to refer, not to the “library ban,” which is influential only from the financial standpoint, but to the application of the law controlling questionable literature.

The police authorities scarcely indulge in wild hunts for the ghosts and goblins of indecency until their attention has been very definitely drawn to the existence of a likely field. That is to say, complaints come in, and in certain cases they are gone into, with the result that a prosecution ultimately follows. There are, perhaps, plenty of people who spend their time in searching for indecent paragraphs in trumpery novels. It is on their initiative that the police are compelled to have the works complained of examined, and, if the same are found to be strong enough to support a prosecution, a prosecution is the result. Now the whole machinery associated with such a prosecution is cumbersome, variable and unsatisfactory. The most choice work of genius may fall under the same axe as the literary outpourings of a woman better adapted to the _métier_ of a _cuisinière_. It is the difference in quality and the similarity in fate which demand criticism. The police defence would be that there exists in the works of both types the common fault of indecency. (The word “police” is used for want of a better descriptive title for the persons actually engaged in the examination of questioned publications.) That may be true enough. Suppose, however, that a worldly magistrate chooses to discriminate, suppose also that he is fortunate in having some tangible ground for doing so, the decision of the case must tend towards the support of the able writer and the condemnation of the material produced by the writer whose _raison d’être_ is base.

Setting aside all question of literary values, there is one notorious novel which seems to be as indecent in some places as the novel “According to St. Paul.” The former--it must be left nameless here--was sold openly for several years in London, and, so far as one knows, is still sold openly. The latter, in its original form, at any rate, was extinguished twice over at Bow Street. Now the distinction between the two novels lies almost wholly in the quality of the writing. If this question of quality were to rigidly decide the result of every prosecution, there would be no need to say any more. But it forms an untrustworthy precedent, battered down in dozens of other cases. Consequently, the pursuivant of letters is left confronted by doubt and uncertainty. If he be endowed with skill, he is forced to use such skill in evading much which may be artistic and human in its import. He must treat his subject with great circumspection, hamper himself at every point, and leave his best efforts untried. For, after all, “best efforts” in the writing of novels are often those produced by the treatment of passion, not necessarily indelicately. Passion is, however, a pitfall to the English or American novelist.

A writer who knows “things” has a better chance of escaping difficulty than one who flounders into print on a meagre social knowledge. This is the utmost that can be said, and it is not satisfactory either to the writers themselves, or to the publishers. In short, what really seems to be needed is a system of censorship. It would protect publishers and printers, and save writers some anxiety. It should, perhaps, take the form of a small department, non-political in character, with a staff of qualified persons, whose duty it would be to read and “pass” or “reject,” subject to alteration, all manuscripts submitted by publishers.

The censorship should not be constituted for the purpose of greatly restricting freedom of expression, but, rather, only to check gross license, with impartiality. Dramatic works might be dealt with by the same authority as novels, memoirs, and other classes of literature. Unless the whole scheme of a novel were to run on some revolting moral question, it should not be condemned by the censorial authority, but only those portions of it, individual words, lines, paragraphs, or pages, impartially judged to offend. Once the work submitted had been passed, subject to the deletion or alteration of condemned passages, the possibility of a later questioning should be denied. In this way, the irresponsible fanatic, who now acts as a police irritant or goad, would have to turn his attention to other spheres of activity. The existence of the censorship would therefore perform several services. It would supply publishers and printers alike with definite knowledge as to their immunity from legal attack. It would serve the purpose of a barrier between the public and the publisher of obscene or indecent or blasphemous prints. It would supply a certain sense of security to the writer, whose copyright royalties are, under present circumstances, frequently in danger. It would also relieve the magistracy and the police from a comparatively trivial, though time-filling branch of work. Some utility of purpose would also be fulfilled where plays are concerned.

A great deal of gratuitous newspaper advertisement recently attached to the writer of a play, which was refused the license of public performance by the Lord Chamberlain. The whole disturbance was idle enough in its effect, though it helped to recall the existence of the Examiner of Plays--a person deputed by the Chamberlain to carry out the work of censorship in practice. Political reasons were said to have actuated the refusal of a license to produce the play. Such reasons could also be made the basis for similar refusals (in connection with dramatic productions, at any rate) on the part of the censorial authority here advocated.

A censorship would free from the shackles of doubt and uncertainty all those persons who contribute to the production of a book. An author would know that at worst his writing was liable to expurgation. In practice, this could even be carried out by the author himself, in accordance with the directions supplied by the censorial authority. The re-submission of the MS. to such authority would mean nothing more than a further delay, of scant importance alongside the sense of security afforded by the process.

On the whole, there can be no argument against censorship as strong as the argument in favour of it, and that is the grossly inconsistent method of dealing with _risqué_ literature at the present day.

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