Sir,—I am neither a stage manager nor a dramatic author; I have no children of my own on the stage, or anywhere else; and I have no pecuniary interest in anything theatrical. But I have had abundant opportunities, for many years, for studying the natures of children, including many stage children, and have enjoyed the friendship of many dear children, both on and off the stage.
To these reasons for writing I may, perhaps, be allowed to add that I have given some attention to logic and mathematics, which help so largely in the orderly arrangement of topics of controversy—an art much needed when so many controversialists are ladies. Long experience of that delightful sex has taught me that their system of arrangement is that of a circulating decimal, that with them analogy is identity, and reiteration proof, and that they always lay the onus probandi on their opponents. A beautiful instance of this occurred in a newspaper letter on this very controversy a few days ago (I forget the signature, but it was surely a lady’s writing). She stated that the Americans are stricter in this matter than the British, and asked, “Why should not we do as the Americans do?” forgetting that it might be asked, with exactly the same logical force, “Why should not the Americans do as we do?”
My contention is:—
I. That the employment, in theatres, of children under ten is not harmful.
II. That it is beneficial.
III. That, while this practice needs certain safeguards not yet provided by the law, it does not call for absolute prohibition.
(I.) The harm attributed to this practice may be classed under three headings—(1) physical; (2) intellectual; (3) moral.
(1) “Physical harm.”—Take first the charge that it causes “excessive bodily fatigue.” To this there was at first an additional item, “enforced by cruelty,” which is now practically abandoned, it appearing, on investigation, that no evidence in support of it was forthcoming, while abundant evidence was produced of the kindness such children met with in theatres, and of their thorough enjoyment of their work. According to my experience, the work is well within healthy limits, and the children enjoy it with an intensity difficult to convey by mere words. They like it better than any game ever invented for them. Watch any children you know, in any rank of life, when thrown on their own resources for amusement, and, if they do not speedily extemporise a little drama, all I can say is that they are not normal children, and they had better see a doctor.
Take next such charges as “late hours, impure air, draughts, exposure to night air,” &c. The good people who raise these cries seem to think that the homes of these little ones are perfect models of regular habits and good sanitary arrangements, and that such a sight as a child outside its house after 9 p. m. would thrill the neighbourhood with horror! Let them visit a few London alleys, and judge for themselves.
(2) “Intellectual harm.”—This is asserted to exist in two forms, “excess of dramatic study,” and “defect of other studies.” A lady writer lately drew a sensational parallel between the little Josef Hoffmann, who was so nearly killed by being encouraged to give constant public exhibitions of his precocious musical talent, and the ordinary stage child. It was not a fair parallel; in fact no really parallel case on the stage has yet been produced (the pathetic death of the tiny Midshipmite in “Patience” was due to causes quite unconnected with stage work); and I have myself known intimately stage children who have played the heaviest child parts on record without receiving the slightest harm.
As to defect of other studies, if we contemplate the weary man of useless knowledge which, in the present craze for teaching everybody everything, so many little minds are compelled, not to digest, for that is impossible, but merely to swallow, we may well hope that the stage child is all the better for escaping much of this. Frequent mental collapse among Board school children and pupil teachers is slowly teaching us the valuable psychological fact that a child’s mind is not a sausage; but we have not quite learned our lesson yet!
(3) “Moral harm.”—As this danger exists in every phase of human life, those who plead it in this controversy are bound to show that it is greater for children under ten than for older actors and actresses; otherwise they commit the fallacy of “proving to much.”
Take first “immorality, whether of general tone or particular passage, in the play itself.” Ignorance of the ways of the world, and of the meanings of most of the words they hear, is a protection enjoyed by young children, and by them only. The evil itself is undeniably great—though less, I believe, in this age than in any previous one—but it is almost wholly limited to the adult members of the company and of the audience.
Take next “the encouragement of vanity, love of dress,” &c. Here, again, the danger is distinctly greater in the case of adults. Children are too deeply absorbed in attending to their stage “business,” and in observing the discipline enforced in all well-conducted theatres, to have much opportunity for self-consciousness.
Take, lastly, the gravest and most real of all the dangers that come under the category of “moral harm,” viz., “the society of profligate men” For adult actresses this danger is, I believe, in well-conducted theatres, distinctly less than it would be in most of the lines of life open to them. Here again the good people, who see such peril in the life of an actress, seem to be living in a fool’s paradise, and to fancy they are legislating for young ladies who, if they did not go on the stage, would be secluded in drawing-rooms where none but respectable guests are admitted. Do they suppose that attractive-looking young women, in the class from which the stage is chiefly recruited, would be safer as barmaids or shopwomen from the insidious attentions of the wealthy voluptuary than they are as actresses?
But if it be granted that young women of this class may choose a stage life with as fair a chance of living a reputable life as they would have in any other profession open to them, it is surely desirable to begin learning their business as soon as they are competent, unless it can be shown that they are in greater danger as children than as young women. I believe the danger is distinctly less. Their extreme youth is a powerful safeguard. To plot evil against a child, in all its innocence and sweet trustfulness and ignorance of the world, needs no common voluptuary; it needs one so selfish, so pitiless, and so abject a coward as to be beneath one calling himself a man.
II. My second contention is that stage life is beneficial to children, even the youngest; and this in three ways—(1) physically, (2) intellectually, and (3) morally.
(1) Physically. The deportment that must be acquired for even moderately good acting, and the art of dancing, which most stage children acquire, not only give grace of figure and of action, but are excellent for the health. In girls’ schools, not so many years ago, spinal curvature was so common that an eminent surgeon, Dr. Mayo, put it on record that scarely three per cent. escaped it. I am glad to believe that they are more sensibly managed now, and that the days are passed away when it was “vulgar” for young ladies to run, and where the only bodily exercise allowed them was to walk two-and-two; but I feel sure that, even now, if one hundred children were taken at random from the highly educated classes, and another hundred from the stage, the latter would show a better average for straightness of spine, strength, activity, and the bright, happy look that tells of health. The stage child “feels its life in every limb”—a locality where the Board school child only feels its lessons.
(2) Intellectually. Comparing children with children, my belief is that stage life distinctly brightens the mind of a child. Of course the same result is produced at schools, whenever they can manage to interest the pupils in their work. But how often they fail to do this! How often are the poor little victims made to do work “against the grain”! And all such work is not only badly done, but is intensely fatiguing and depressing to spirits and intellect alike.
(3) Morally. I believe that stage life, in a well-conducted theatre, is valuable moral training for young children. They learn—
(a) Submission to discipline.
(b) Habits of order and punctuality.
(c) Unselfishness (this on the principle on which you always find children in large families less selfish than only children).
(d) Humility. This because, however clever they may think themselves, they soon find that others are cleverer.
III. My third contention is that, though it is desirable to provide, by law, certain safeguards for the employment of children in theatres, there is no need for its absolute prohibition.
The legislation that seems to me desirable would take some such form as this:—
That every child under sixteen (ten is too low a limit), employed in a theatre, should hold a licence, annually renewable.
That such licence should only be granted on condition of the child having passed the examination for a certain “standard,” adapted to the age of the child.
That a limit should be fixed for the number of weeks in the year that the child may be engaged, and for the number of hours in the day that he or she may be at the theatre. (This rule to be relaxed during rehearsals.)
That, during a theatrical engagement, the child shall attend a specified number of hours, during the afternoons, at some school; at other times in the year during the usual hours, if attending a Board school. (High schools would probably adopt the same principle, and allow half-day attendance during engagements.)
That some guarantee be required that girls under sixteen are provided with sufficient escort to and from a theatre.
But I do not believe that the law can absolutely prohibit children under ten from acting in theatres without doing a cruel wrong to many a poor struggling family, to whom the child’s stage salary is a godsend, and making many poor children miserable by debarring them from a healthy and innocent occupation which they dearly love.
Faithfully yours,
Lewis Carroll.