He will not
risk six shillings in order to encourage that promising young
dramatist--discouraged enough already, poor devil, in his hopes of
fame and fortune--by telling him that he _is_ right, and that his
plays are worth something, or (alternatively) to prevent him from
wasting any more of his youth upon an art-form to which he is not
suited. No, he will not risk his shillings; but he will write an
important (and, let us hope, well-rewarded) article, informing us that
the British Drama is going to the dogs, and that no promising young
dramatist is ever given a fair chance.
Absurd, isn't it?
Let us consider this young dramatist for a moment, and ask ourselves
why he goes on writing his masterpieces. I give three reasons--in
their order of importance.
(1) The pleasure of writing; or, more accurately, the hell of not
writing. He gets this anyhow.
(2) The appreciation of his peers; his hope of immortality; the
criticism of the experts; fame, publicity, notoriety, swank,
_reclame_--call it what you will. But it is obvious that he cannot
have it unless the masterpiece is given to the world, either by
manager or publisher.
(3) Money. If the masterpiece is published only, very little; if
produced, possibly a great deal.
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