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Banning "The Mikado"

or "The Clown of Westminster"

'The Mikado' or, 'The Town of Titipu' was the ninth collaboration between librettist W.S. Gilbert and composer Arthur Sullivan. It first opened at the Savoy Theatre in London on March 14th, 1885, and met with instant success. Before the end of that year it was estimated that over 150 companies were performing the popular operetta world-wide. The Savoy production ran for 672 performances, the fourth longest running production in London up to that time, and supplanted 'H.M.S. Pinafore' as the most popular of all Gilbert and Sullivan productions.

Such was it's popularity that it was revived at the Savoy in June 1888, November 1895, and May 1896, running for over a hundred performances on each occasion (over 200 on the latter). But when a further revival was planned for the Savoy in June 1907 those plans had to be cancelled when, at the beginning of May, the Lord Chamberlain, in his capacity as Censor of Plays, withdrew it's licence, thereby preventing it's further performance in Great Britain indefinitely.

So what was it that suddenly made this hugely popular production of twenty year's standing such a danger to public morals that it's further production needed to be prevented? Gilbert's librettos were often severely biting in their satire of British politics and institutions, and even though Gilbert frequently softened the blow, as in this case, by setting them in exotically distant or imaginary locations, the public of the day understood the allusions all too well so that these popular operettas frequently raised the ire of certain humourless politicians and public officials. But 'The Mikado' had by now been performed many hundreds of times, both in London and in the provinces, over a period of two decades, so that the bite of it's satire had softened greatly with the passage of time. Nor had it ever in that period caused offence to the public or incited the ire of the censor.

The simple answer to why the much loved comic opera suddenly became so objectionable as to warrant the withdrawal of it's licence was a purely political one, and, as such, arguably, a gross misuse of the Lord Chamberlain's powers. Indeed it was not the morals of the great British public that risked being offended by the operetta, but the delicate sensibilities of Prince Fushimi, an important visitor from Japan about to arrive in London. At first glance, it appears somewhat absurd to suppose that 'The Mikado' might have been offensive to the Japanese since, despite it's setting, the operetta was clearly about Britain, with its satire clearly directed at domestic, not Japanese, mores and institutions. But the problem was in the very character of the Mikado himself, a personage whom the Japanese held in particularly high reverence and did not like to see being taken lightly in jest.

Western Daily Press [UK] - 3rd May, 1907.
CONCERNING THE MIKADO

In the house of commons last evening, Sir Edward came to the support of Lord Althorp, the Lord Chamberlain, and boldly stated that if he had been consulted he should have agreed with Lord Althorp, whose action was "taken for reasons that are obvious." We presume that the foreign secretary referred to the visit of the Japanese prince, but inasmuch as "The Mikado" has been played in Japan and regarded as what it is, a harmless travesty, we have no reason to suppose that the revival at the savoy would have given our visitor any annoyance, and certainly the visitor would not have demanded the suppression of an amateur performance in a country town, or the abrupt alteration of the programme of Mrs D'olyly Carte's touring company. That the lord chamberlain has the legal power to act as he has done is clear from the provisions of the theatre act of 1843. That act provides that "it shall be lawful for the lord chamberlain ... whenever he shall be of opinion that it is fitting for the preservation of good manners, decorum, or of the public peace so to do, to forbid the acting or presenting of any stage play ... anywhere in Great Britain ... either absolutely or for such time as he shall think fit." The powers have often been used. Some plays of real literary ability have been prohibited public performance on the score of "good manners," and there have been times when critics have wondered whether the Lord Chamberlain and his subordinates slumbered that they allowed certain other plays to be given. But the "Mikado." The author of this delightful piece of witty absurdity makes the writer of some deliciously commonplace lines in another piece solemnly remark, "I believe I am correct in saying that there is not a line in these little poems that is calculated to bring a blush of shame to the cheek of modesty," and if Mr. Gilbert were capable of reproducing this wonderful piece on his own account he might do so with regard to the "Mikado." Happily, millions of people have enjoyed the "Mikado," and they know the lines and most of the words by heart, but there are few pleasures greater than the enjoyment of a performance of this, the most popular of all the splendid Gilbert and Sullivan series, and there is many an excellent Liberal and Ministerialist who will be very sorry that the present government has conceded it necessary "to impoverish the public stock of harmless pleasures." We are happy to see that no intimation canceling the performance stopped the rendering of the "Mikado" at Sheffield last night, and the horrid fear that has been suggested that it will be illegal even for a band to play "The flowers that bloom in spring" may be temporarily dispelled. One account declares that Lord Althorp objects to the "buffoonery," in some of the parts. The only shadow of introduction of personalities into the play is in the song "I've got a little list," where it has undoubtedly been the practice of the comedian playing Ko-Ko to represent by gesture the features of provident politicians as those who "never would be missed." We have seen Gladstone, Chamberlain, Winston Churchill, Balfour, and others thus indicated, but it has always been in such a good-natured way that no one could be offended, and, as a matter of fact, it would be as difficult for an actor as it is for caricaturists to get much fun out of attempts to represent the features of the men who are at present leading in political affairs. There was a time when a predecessor of the present Lord Chamberlain had to intervene because in the burlesque at the Court Theatre (a burlesque, by the way, of one of Mr. Gilbert's fairy plays, "The Wicked World") three commedians made up like Mr. Gladstone, Mr. Lowe and Mr. Ayrton, all of whom were ministers suffering from unpopularity in London. And it may be recalled that another Lord Chamberlain intervened to prevent a comedian at the Gaiety making up like Lord Randolf Churchill, who was then in South Africa, and singing a song entitled "Randy-Pandy Oh." The precept was obeyed to the letter, but the next night the same actor, with a different makeup, sang to the same tune a song in which he explained "I'm only Jacket the Dandy oh, For reasons you understandy oh, for I could not pain the Chamberlain, By singing of Randy Dandy oh." If objection is taken to personalities of this kind it had better be done privately than officially. Miss Lydia Thompson, a clever burlesque actress, once had a song about Mr. Spurgeon in a play, and some people suggested that the Lord Chamberlain should intervene. Miss Thompson wrote to Mr. Spurgeon and asked him if he objected. Mr. Spurgeon promptly replied that as the matter was entirely one of good taste he could safely leave it in the hands of those of the author of this courteous enquiry, and Miss Thompson had the good sense to at once publish Mr. Spurgeon's letter, suppress the strong, and to express regret that it had ever been introduced.

But if the objection to the "Mikado" is political rather than to the personal sketches in one song, then the question arises what other plays may be a objected to. One member of parliament wants to know whether the Premier's attention has been drawn to the fact that in "Hamlet" the King of Denmark is portrayed as a murderer, and whether, in view of the fact that Denmark is a friendly power, he will request the Lord Chamberlain to prohibit the further production of the play. And, by the way, there has been a demand by a leading member of the Hebrew community in New York for the withdrawal of "The Merchant of Venice," on the ground that Shylock creates a false impression of Jewish character. But it isn't necessary to go outside the Gilbert and Sullivan series to find work for the ingenuity of the Lord Chamberlain. The late Queen Victoria enjoyed "The Gondoliers" immensely, but there are lands in which a song about "The right down, regular royal queen" would be construed as lese majeste, and what can be said for "Iolanthe" which contains the most scathing satire of the House of Lords that ever penned! Indeed, that opera is hardly complementary to the House of commons either, but it is significant that at the present juncture of affairs it is "Iolanthe" that is to be the next revival at the Savoy. Let us hope noble legislators "will not itch to interfere in matters which they do not understand," and will not ask the Lord Chamberlain to stop this opera also. But the present subject is "The Mikado," and the Lord Chamberlain, hitherto as Lord Althorp (formerly the Hon. "Bobby" Spencer), the most popular man, is in grave peril of the populace desiring for him a punishment that will fit his crime - "something of lingering and humerouse - either boiling oil or melted lead, I forget which."

But if the offence it might have caused to the visiting Japanese dignitary was only potential, the offence that it's ban caused to the British public was both real and immediate. Within days, Mrs. D'Oyly-Carte, widow of Richard D'Oyly-Carte and now head of the D'Oyly-Carte opera company, had received thousands of letters of support from indignant members of the public as well as numerous telegrams from members of the theatrical fraternity.

SIR CHARLES WYNDHAM - The prohibition is beyond my humble intelligence.
MR. BEERBOHM TREE - I think it is Gilbertian, to say the least of it, to disallow 'The Mikado' and allow La Milo.
MR CYRIL MAUDE - I most certainly think that it would be a national loss, and cannot help thinking a mistake has been made somewhere, because, surely, the Japanese are the most sensible nation in the world.
MR. ARTHUR BOUCHIER - Most certainly consider that permanent withdrawal would be a national loss.
MR. GEORGE GROSSMITH, SENIOR - National loss certainly; but will a faithful English public tolerate it? I think not. Cave Canem.
MB. FRED TERRY - Its withdrawal will mean a great loss to the lyric stage, and a pleasure denied to young and old alike.

Mrs. D'Oyly-Carte herself, in an interview with the Daily Mail, had the following to say on the subject:

"In the first place, representations were made to me to the effect that the production of 'The Mikado' in London just at this time was very undesirable, in view of the existing relations between Japan and this country. I understood that the impending visit of Prince Fushimi made the matter an urgent one. In these circumstances, although I had made all my preparations for the production at the Savoy, and the abandonment caused me much loss and curtailed my season, I at once gave up the idea."

"No mention was made to me of the fact that performances in the provinces, which I have been giving continuously for twenty-two years, would be involved. It was with the greatest surprise, therefore, that I learnt from the Press that, although I was myself without any official information to that effect, the license of 'The Mikado' had been withdrawn. I am the registered owner of the rights of representation of the opera in both London and the provinces, and no communication withdrawing the license of the opera has reached me."

"I was willing for patriotic reasons at once to agree to the suggestion not to revive 'The Mikado' at the Savoy. But if this is now to be extended in the shape of an actual prohibition to the provinces where I have entered into contracts for many months ahead with managers, artistes, and others, the matter becomes a very serious one indeed and disastrous to many interests. Permission has been given by me to many amateur societies throughout the country who are giving performances and charities that have incurred great expense and responsibility, and who will be put to absolute, pecuniary loss owing to this unexpected action."

"From what I have seen in the Press the feeling of the distinguished Japanese who have been consulted upon the subject is not one of resentment at the opera being played, but of amusement at its prohibition. They seem at a loss to understand how there could have been any interference."

So it appears that, when approached by the Lord Chamberlain's office (at the beginning of April), Mrs. D'Oyly-Carte had, out of loyalty to her country and at considerable pecuniary disadvantage to herself, having already invested a significant amount on costumes and scenery, been willing to set aside her plans to produce the operetta at the Savoy where it might have come to the notice of, and just possibly offended, the visiting dignitary - replacing it instead with a hurriedly prepared revival of "Patience" (a somewhat ironic choice since that was a quality she would need a good deal of in the days to follow!)"

And there the matter should have ended, but with the supreme high-handedness that had by now become associated in the public mind with his office the Lord Chamberlain took action to enforce the matter legally by withdrawing the licence, thus barring the production not only in London but elsewhere in the UK - and without even the decency of returning Mrs. D'Oyly-Carte's own good grace by informing her directly of that decision, which must surely harm her even further financially, but releasing that information through the newspapers instead.

In the absence of any such official notification, Mrs. D'Oyly-Carte allowed a performance by one of her touring companies to proceed at Sheffield on Thursday May 4th, but elsewhere, when the Chief Constable of Middlesbrough telegraphed the Lord Chamberlains office with regards to an amateur production advertised in that town he was instructed to prevent it! Moreover, the performance at Sheffield ellicited immediate threat of prosecution from the Lord Chamberlain's office who considered that notice of the withdrawal had been given through the newspapers and that it was unnecessary to give individual notice to persons or companies performing the opera. Consequently, they referred the matter to the Home Office whose function was to prosecute the case through the police courts - and which would have subjected Mrs. D'Oyly Carte to a £50 fine.

Mrs. D'Oyly Carte, by now indignant at the harsh and heavy-handed way in which she was being treated in the matter, told the press that she was at a loss to understand it but had made no change in the programme of the Lyceum Theatre at Sheffield where the 'The Mikado' would continue to be performed.

Nor was she alone in her resentment. The Lord Chamberlain had severely underestimated the resentment of the public in this unwarranted and unjustified interference with one of their favourite entertainments, and even before Prince Fushimi had set foot on British shores the matter had become a national furore. Questions were asked in the House of Parliament in response to which the the Goverment at first attempted to dissociate themselves from the ban by asserting that Lord Althorp, the Lord Chamberlain, had acted purely on his own cognizance. But under further questioning, Under Secretary Viscount Walter Runciman revealed that, whilst no official complaint had been received from Japan, "it had been thought well, in view of the growing entente between England and the Eastern island empire, that the opera might better be omitted from the list of the Savoy Theater attractions." In truth, the real mover in the ban was Prince Arthur of Connaught, the King's nephew, who had just returned from a visit to Japan where, allegedly, it had been whispered to him in official quarters that the operetta had caused high offence to certain Japanese officials in London who had reported their impressions to the Japanese court. Prince Arthur had reported this state of affairs to the Government who had decided to take action prior to the reciprocal visit of Prince Fushimi.

Speaking from the House of Lords defending the ban, Lord de Saumarez, claiming an intimate knowledge of Japanese sentiments, declared that the simple fact that the operetta bore the name of their Emperor was most offensive to the Japanese, His Majesty the Mikado being head of the Nation's religion and deeply revered by his subjects. The reality was, however, that "The Mikado" had actually been played in Japan itself, where it had been received as what it was, a harmless travesty, and without incurring any ban or complaint by the authorities there.

Whatever the motivation, it was, however, a significant blunder. The Government could not have foreseen the sheer strength of the public backlash that generated a level of resentment against the coming visit that was far more likely to cause offence to the foreign dignitary than any peripheral knowledge that a play that some few of his countrymen had found offensive might be being performed somewhere unseen. The operetta had, after all, been performed in England for over twenty years and other than first night reviews new performances attracted little attention from the press. The whole furore over it's banning brought it far more into the light of day than if it had simply been allowed to proceed as normal, or, better yet from the Government's viewpoint, had Mrs. D'Oyly-Carte's gracious offer of self-imposed censorship in the capital alone been found to be sufficient. In the event, it would be difficult to exaggerate the feeling of annoyance that was created throughout the country and was voiced by practically every newspaper in the land. As one one such put it - "So far as one man's [the Chamberlain's - Ed.] fussy mistake may do mischief between two friendly nations, the suppression of 'The Mikado' seems the most likely thing in the world to damp the enthusiasm for the Japanese alliance."

But the Chamberlain's office stood it's ground in maintaining the ban, even restrainting military bands from playing selections of it's music. The Chamberlain's office explained it's position in the following terms:

"On the withdrawal of the license of a play it ceases to be legal to perform it publicly in licensed premises where money is taken for the seats. It is obviously impossible for the Lord Chamberlain's department to tell every manager or society that a play the license of which is withdrawn must not be performed. All it need do is to inform the holder of the license. The duty lies with theatrical managers to satisfy themselves that the plays they propose to stage are duly permitted. If they neglect to do this, and they have a play acted that is not licensed, they lay themselves open to a penalty."

The holder of the licence in this case was Mrs. D'Oyly-Carte who maintained that she never received any such official notification. Never-the-less, as a result of the obstinacy of the Lord Chamberlain's office, Mrs. Carte telegraphed the managers of her company's in Sheffield and Leeds to the effect that it would not be wise to further perform the piece at the present time.

The ban held for six weeks until the Prince's visit was over before the operetta could again be performed freely without fear of incurring the ire of the censor and the British Government. Despite many persons, not least Mrs. D'Oyly Carte, having suffered pecuniary loss from the ban no compensation was paid.

With hindsight, the ban does appear to have been a particularly ill-conceived knee-jerk reaction, particularly in relation to it's being extended to the provinces where it could hardly have even come to the attention of the visiting dignitary save for all the furore caused in the press over it's banning. Even more ironically, Prince Fushimi himself was said to have expressed disappointment that he would not be able to see the production which he had hoped to take in during his visit.

The controversy also added fuel to the growing resentment against the powers of the censor and the seemingly erratic and inconsistent manner in which these powers were often exercised. Certainly, this does seem to have been a blatant misuse of those powers which were never intended to be applied for purely political reasons.

Reactions among the Japanese themselves were mixed. Seizaburo Shimizu, the Japanese consul in Chicago, made a public statement to the American press endorsing the action of the British government saying: "The title of the Emperor is one of dignity, the comic opera, 'The Mikado,' is anything but dignified, and naturally we, as a nation, feel a regret that the Japanese executive should be put in a light of frivolity ... The Japanese do not favor the idea of continually being set forward in the light of acrobats and Nanki Poo actors. We would prefer showing that we are advancing intellectually In business and as a government." On the other hand the more forward thinking, Mr. Matsui, editor of the journal Yortizmi, of Tokyo, who was in England on a visit at the time, characterised the ban on 'The Mikado' as a "delightful absurdity" and added "if it be no longer permitted to make fun of one another, what is to become of all your humorists? Whatever my national feelings may be, I should never acquiesce in the prohibition of a play or a book simply because the play or the book would give offence to my friends or neighbours. The sacrifice of a work of art to the sensitiveness of others is to my mind unjustifiable and undignified."

As a footnote, it is interesting to reflect that the one aspect of the original production of 'The Mikado' that might genuinely have caused real offence to Japanese dignity had already long since been removed. In his original version of the musical score, Arthur Sullivan had incorporated the tune of what he beleived to be the Japanese national anthem to announce the first appearance on stage of the Mikado, but which was in fact the tune of one of the coarsest popular bawdy songs known in that nation - the result of a practical joke played upon Mr. Sullivan, it is said, by a young Japanese diplomat who had hummed the tune to him. Needless to say, once his mistake had been brought to his attention he immediately substituted another march in place of the objectionable tune.


Primary Sources: Various issues of the London Daily Mail (May 1907) and other period newspapers.

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