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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
176
The
"Fallen
Angel"
I
loved
most.
The
legs
of
the
woman
droop
lifelessly
backwards
in
an
intoxicating
curve.
The
eye
caresses
it--down
the
thighs
and
over
the
calves
to
the
tips
of
the
toes--like
the
hind
limbs
of
some
beautiful
dead
gazelle.
He
has
brought
off
exactly
the
same
effect
in
the
woman
in
the
group
called
"Eternal
Spring,"
which
I
have
only
seen
in
a
photograph.
This
morning
at
9
a.m.
lay
in
bed
on
my
back,
warm
and
comfortable,
and,
for
the
first
time
for
many
weeks,
with
no
pain
or
discomfort
of
any
kind.
The
mattress
curved
up
around
my
body
and
legs
and
held
me
in
a
soft
warm
embrace....
I
shut
my
eyes
and
whistled
the
saccharine
melody
for
solo
violin
in
Chopin's
Funeral
March.
I
wanted
the
moment
prolonged
for
hours.
Ill-health
chases
the
soul
out
of
a
man.
He
becomes
a
body,
purely
physical.
November
29.
This
evening
she
promised
to
be
my
wife
after
a
long
silent
ramble
together
thro'
dark
London
squares
and
streets!
I
am
beside
myself!
December
6.
I
know
now--I
love
her
with
passion.
Health
and
ambition
and
sanity
are
returning.
Projects
in
view:--
(1)
To
make
her
happy
and
myself
worthy.
(2)
To
get
married.
(3)
To
prepare
and
publish
a
volume
of
this
Journal.
(4)
To
write
two
essays
for
Cornhill
which
shall
surely
induce
the
Editor
to
publish
and
not
write
me
merely
long
complimentary
and
encouraging
letters
as
heretofore.
Wired
to
A----,
"The
brave
little
pennon
has
been
hauled
down."
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