"An interview?" he said, and we noted with pain the
weariness in his tone. "Another interview!"
We bowed.
"Publicity!" he murmured rather to himself than to us.
"Publicity! Why must one always be forced into publicity?"
It was not our intention, we explained apologetically,
to publish or to print a single word--
"Eh, what?" exclaimed the Great Actor. "Not print it?
Not publish it? Then what in--"
Not, we explained, without his consent.
"Ah," he murmured wearily, "my consent. Yes, yes, I must
give it. The world demands it. Print, publish anything
you like. I am indifferent to praise, careless of fame.
Posterity will judge me. But," he added more briskly,
"let me see a proof of it in time to make any changes I
might care to."
We bowed our assent.
"And now," we began, "may we be permitted to ask a few
questions about your art? And first, in which branch of
the drama do you consider that your genius chiefly lies,
in tragedy or in comedy?"
"In both," said the Great Actor.
"You excel then," we continued, "in neither the one nor
the other?"
"Not at all," he answered, "I excel in each of them."
"Excuse us," we said, "we haven't made our meaning quite
clear.
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