Читать книгу Adventures in Journalism онлайн
33 страница из 84
I ran to the four-wheeled cab.
“Eddy!” I said, “I believe the King is dead!”
Together we hurried to the equerries’ entrance of the Palace and went inside through the open door.
I spoke to one of the King’s gentlemen, standing with his back to the fire, talking to an old man whom I knew to be the Belgian Minister.
“How is the King?” I asked.
He looked up at the clock, with a queer emotional smile which was not of mirth, but very sad.
“Sir,” he said, in a broken voice, “King Edward died two minutes ago.”
The news was confirmed by another official. Eddy and I hurried out of the Palace and ran out of the courtyard. From the Buckingham Palace Hotel I telephoned the news to The Daily Chronicle office.... The official bulletin was not posted at the gate until an hour later, but when I went home that night I held a copy of my paper which had caught the country editions, with the Life and Death of King Edward VII.
III
ssss1
On the day following the death of King Edward, I obtained permission to see him lying in his death chamber. The little room had crimson hangings, and bright sunlight streamed through the windows upon the bed where the King lay with a look of dignity and peace. I was profoundly moved by the sight of the dead King who had been so vital, so full of human stuff, so friendly and helpful in all affairs of state, and with all conditions of men who came within his ken.