“Death transforms a hated rival into a cherished colleague whose loss is genuinely felt, reminding the survivor of his own mortality. Like the Roman general enjoying his triumph, a slave whispers in his ear, ‘Respice post te, hominem te memento!’ Look behind you and remember you are mortal. If called upon, the mourner composes a panegyric replete with platitudes. At the Abbey, he removes his top hat with studied dignity, gives his name to the usher and wonders how far down the list it will appea...r in the following morning’s report in The Times and the Morning Post. He sings an anthem and listens poker-faced to the eulogy. It is not a long service because the congregation is made up of busy and important men whose time is money. As the organ sounds in sombre magnificence he processes out, proud to be ‘one of us’. He feels a stirring of excitement in the knowledge that soon he will be mingling with the high and mighty on equal terms. At the Abbey door, he whispers a few words of comfort in the widow’s ear, gives the eldest boy a firm handshake and pats the youngest on the head and, his duty done, replaces his top hat.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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