Роберт Эйкман - The Late Breakfasters (Faber Finds)

‘Shall I go up and offer a word of encouragement?’ asked Edwin.

But as he spoke the bereaved couple appeared at the head of the staircase, contained in elegant waterproofs of Continental cut. The Duchess wore a small black velvet hat with a large black feather, a purple silk mackintosh and black Russian boots. A veil was drawn tightly across her face and knotted behind her head. Through it her features appeared completely white and her eyes very large. Altogether she looked most striking. Grislda recalled her very different aspect on the last occasion she had seen her. Clearly the Duchess responded with a whole heart to all life’s different occasions, however contrarily they might succeed one another. The Duke carried a cherrywood box under his left arm, presumably containing the deceased.

‘It will be a shorter walk in the rain for those of us who dislike getting wet, if we go through the ballroom,’ said Mrs Hatch in a loud firm voice before the Duke and Duchess had reached the bottom of the staircase. Possibly she wished to save her guests from having to grope for further unconvincing commiserations. She began to marshall the cortиge.

‘Griselda and I will lead the way. Edwin and Pamela had better come next. Then will you, Mr Leech, follow with George? Then Gottfried and Odile. The rest of you can follow after. Would you like Monk to carry Fritzi?’

‘Thank you, Melanie. He is light as feathers.’

‘Very well. Then I think we had better go at once.’

They set off down the passage to the ballroom, their mackintoshes rustling in the silence, otherwise broken only by George Goss’s heavy breathing. Griselda noticed that the Prime Minister was carrying a club-like walking stick. In the ballroom, which now looked depressing in the extreme, the Duchess, who was bearing up wonderfully, broke step and, crossing to the platform occupied the night before by the band, bore back a vast armful of carnations, not as fresh as they had been but still far from dead, which she proceeded to carry in the little procession like a prima donna, her head sunk among the petals. Mrs Hatch had opened one of the french windows, and the party entered the garden.

It was indeed a dispiriting day: one on which it was equally difficult to believe that things had ever been otherwise or that they would ever be otherwise again. The party advanced up the soaking wet lawn and entered the group of trees. Griselda was surprised that the distance was not greater before they reached a large hole, surrounded with adhesive black earth rapidly turning to mud, beside which stood her elderly gravedigger of the night before, leaning on his enormous spade.

‘Is everything prepared, Hammersmith?’ enquired Mrs Hatch.

‘Ready it is, mum,’ replied Hammersmith. ‘Ready since midnight it’s been. Ready and waitin’ for yer.’

‘Never mind about that now. Though it’s always best to do things in good time, of course.’ She addressed the others. ‘There’s going to be a short ceremony. Will you all please gather round the grave? You too, Hammersmith. Don’t you go.’

Griselda, encased against the elements, glanced round her fellow guests. Pamela’s teeth were chattering rather audibly. George Goss, who had augmented his horrible ulster with an antique cloth cap, resembled a dyspeptic bison. Mr Leech wore an expression of extreme resignation. Edwin looked as if his mind were on other things. Mrs Hatch, impervious to the rain and efficient as ever, looked trim and attractive by contrast with the rest. The aspect of the Duke and Duchess, as chief mourners, was such as to touch the heart of any statue. The aspect of Hammersmith, his vast muscles outlined by his soaking shirt, his red-brown eyes glaring at the coffin, was likely to unman any young woman less resolute than Griselda in her new boots.

‘Proceed,’ said Mrs Hatch. Griselda, whose Mother went regularly to church, gravely doubted the canonicity of the whole affair.

The Duke pulled his wide-brimmed homburg hat further over his eyes and made a short speech. On his wife’s behalf he thanked them all for their attendance and even for their existence. When setting out for a weekend of joy with a lady beloved by all of them, their dear Melanie, they were unlikely to have foreseen an occasion to tragic as the present, and made so much worse by the weather. (At this point Mr Leech was seized with a spasm of sneezing, which continued to the end of the Duke’s remarks. He sneezed inefficiently; giving on each occasion the effect of unsuccessfully attempted suppression leading to rising inner dementia.) Though only a dog the one they mourned was as dear to those who loved him as any prodigal son. He had been with them eleven years and now he was gone away. (Here Griselda heard the terrifying Hammersmith vigorously expectorate.) Where he had gone or whether dogs had souls like the rest of them, it was useless to speculate. In gratitude to them all for their sympаthy, however, in particular to their dear Melanie for her gift of so sentimental a resting place, he had prepared a poem, such being the custom of his country, which he would like to read to them. He had to apologize for the poem being in German, but his Muse, not very ready even in her native tongue, was dumb in another. He hoped that most of them would have enough German at least to follow the general theme; and that the rest would appreciate that he was speaking from the heart. Here was the poem.

The Duke produced a fair-sized wad of paper from the pocket of his waterproof, and, at a sign from Mrs Hatch, Monk raised an umbrella. Pamela, who disliked poetry, had seated herself upon a wheelbarrow, where she rocked backwards and forwards quietly moaning. George Goss simply walked off towards the house. Shortly they all heard him being sick among the bushes. The Duke took a step forward as from a line of Imperial Guards; Monk followed him with the umbrella; and the Duke began. Fortunately Mr Leech had stopped sneezing, though he was beginning to look very wet.

Before the poem was far advanced, indeed during the first five minutes, the Duchess was weeping fluently; and by the time the final antistrophe was due, she was in an appalling state of dampness, though Griselda had been offering what comfort she could. Edwin, who clearly appreciated every word and nuance of the poem, listened throughout alertly, like one assessing its merits in a competition. Mrs Hatch stood as to the National Anthem. The Duke read remarkably well, in full and expressive accents of passion and woe. Griselda wondered whether he too had been trained by Moissi. At the end there was an extremely long silence, though Pamela could be heard grunting miserably in the rear. The heavy rain was making the vapours rise from the newly strewn manure.

Now it was time for the committal. The Duke clicked his heels and passed the coffin to Edwin, who, his features distraught with fellow feeling, transferred it to Hammersmith. The hole was very much to big (it was impossible to resist the idea that Hammersmith had postulated some larger occupant); and had been filling for hours with surface water. Before Mrs Hatch could stop him, however, Hammersmith had hurled the coffin into the grave, splashing and muddying the mourners from their hats to their shoes; and had raised his left arm, bare from the bole-like-elbow, towards the sky in a cosmic Niebelungenliedlike gesture. Instantly there was a thunderous salute, as a maroon, released at the signal by the garden boy (hidden behind some laurels for the purpose), tore apart the hopeless clouds until it vanished into the empyrean. Hammersmith’s face, neck, and shirt had been plastered with yellow subsoil from the grave, making him look more primeval than ever; but as Griselda averted her eyes, she saw that Mr Leech had fainted. He was not so used to loud bangs as Edwin the night before had implied.