“It has pitfalls, no doubt. But if only the players will have courage, I am convinced that the play will carry them.”
“It would be a terrible risk. And then there’s the Censor.”
Brandon confessed that he had forgotten the Censor.
“He’s very shy of religion as a rule,” said Pomfret. “And he’s very likely to object that it’s far too gentle with the Boche. The creed of love your enemies is all very well in the Bible, but it’s quite impossible to practice—at any rate just now. And then the parsons won’t like their pitch being queered. Their stock in trade has always been gloom, reproach, damnation, mumbo jumbo, but your deity is a sort of Pied Piper, who converts a bleeding world to the love of God by the charm of his music, his power of sympathy, and his care for the doers of evil. Yes, it’s a remarkable idea, but I’m afraid it’s pro-Boche, and as far as the religious aspect goes, the people whom it might hope to interest are the most likely to take offense at it.”
“I can’t think they will,” Brandon protested, “if it’s given in the spirit in which it’s conceived. Don’t you see that it restates the central truths of Christianity, and presents them in a clearer, fuller, more universal light?”
“It may, but that is not likely to appeal to the big public, which goes to the play to be amused, and not to be edified.”
“Why not let the two states be one and the same? Why not let them march together?”
“My boy, you don’t know the theater.”
“But the idea behind this play is that the theater is capable of becoming a great moral and spiritual force. And that’s what it ought to be. It’s appeal is irresistible; and religion brought from its superhuman pedestal might be humanized, individualized, made attractive to all the world. Now, my friend, produce this play at your best theater, with all the wonderful technical resources at your command, and you will have a success that will simply astonish you.”
“Or failure that will cause me to file a petition in bankruptcy.”