ANOTHER HISTORIC INTERVIEW.
BY OUR SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT.
Incited to great efforts by the interview in "The Times" with President WILSON, wherein so much is said (by the interviewer), Mr. Punch sent forth one of his most energetic and Napoleonic young men to attempt a similarly incredible feat and obtain an interview with that most unapproachable of men—President not excluded—the Editor of "The Times." The word "failure" being absent from the Bouverie Street lexicon, it follows that the impossible was achieved, and the electrifying result is printed below. In the wish that readers in vaster numbers than usual may peruse the winged words of the illustrious journalist, Mr. Punch offers the freedom of the article to all editors the world over.
The office of The Times is situated in a busy quarter of the great city of London and is built of brick and stone. Light enters the numerous rooms through windows made of glass. Outside is the roar of traffic; inside, the presses groan, not always without reason.
My appointment with the august and retiring controller of the great English journal—the Jupiter who directs its thunderbolts, determines the size of type appropriate to every correspondent, and latterly has added to the gaiety of nations by offering a tilting-space to the ATTORNEY-GENERAL and Mr. GIBSON BOWLES—my appointment being at three o'clock I was careful to reach the office a few minutes before that hour, because I like to have time to look around and collect those little details of environment and atmosphere which are so valuable in themselves as to make it almost immaterial whether the person I am to interview speaks at all.
Entering the offices, which can be described only as palatial, I was struck by the thoughtfulness—no doubt appertaining to the head of the establishment who was so soon, for the first time in history, to grant me an audience—which had provided a parallelogram of some fibrous material for the purpose of removing the mud from one's boots. A minute later I was again delighted by the discovery of an ingenious contrivance in the shape of a kind of peg or hook on which a hat and coat could be placed. It is by just such minutiae as these that one place is distinguished from another and character indicated.
Punctually to the minute I was shown into the Editor's room, where again I was struck by the imaginative adequacy of the surroundings. Before coming to the man himself let me say something of these. The floor was not bare or even sprinkled with sawdust, as it might easily have been, but it was covered by a comfortable carpet, probably from Axminster. Comfort was indeed the note. The desk was neither pitch pine nor teak, but mahogany. Upon it were scattered papers—lightly scattered, although no doubt each was of the most momentous, even tragical import, some bearing the signatures of the most eminent publicists in the land. Yet, such is the domination of this man, they lay there like circulars or election addresses. In the ink-pot was ink. A date rack was proof that the Editor is not superior to the artificial divisions of time.
As I entered, his back was towards me, but none the less I was conscious of power, distinction, a man apart. I have seen many backs, but none more notable than this. Turning he revealed to the full the wonder and mystery of his famous frown—the frown of Jupiter Tonans. Much has been said of this frown, but since no analysis has yet appeared in print I must be permitted to offer one. To begin with, the frown is not only on his face, but (one instinctively knows) all over him. It suffuses him. Could one see, for instance, his knee, one is sure that it would be frowning too.
The effect was terrifying, but I stood my ground. As for the face, where the frown concentrates, it is most curiously divided. Below the masterful nose the frown may be said to be merely threatening; above the firm upper lip it assumes a quality of such dourness as to resemble a scowl. The forehead is corrugated. The ears twitch, especially the left. The eyes emit sparks.
Hitherto he had not spoken; but now he began to unburden himself of those opinions, hopes, fancies and idealistic meditations for which I had come so far to see him. In order that there shall be no ambiguity I have arranged for them to be set up in larger type than the rest of the article. After all, any type will suit my own poor setting, but the jewels, the jewels must be seen.
"Be seated, pray," he said. "The world," he added after a long silence, "is in an unusual state. The Versailles Conferences may effect great changes."
"Everyone hopes," he remarked after another pause, "that the weather will improve; recently it has been far from invigorating."
I give his exact words with scrupulous minuteness.
"A permanent peace," he continued, "based upon equity, cannot but be desired. The Election results," he added as an afterthought, "are interesting."
Asked what he thought of the PRIME MINISTER, he pondered deeply for a while and then replied, in carefully measured tones, "I think him an exceptional man."
Pressed as to the League of Nations, he considered the matter for some minutes and then said, "It is a fine notion. We might all be the happier if it came."
My time being now up he bowed me to the door and the interview was over. The knob was of brass and had been, recently polished.
His last words were, "Mind the step."
