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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
181
In
the
last
movement
of
the
Fifth
Symphony
of
that
splendid
fellow
Tschaikovsky,
the
orchestra
seemed
to
gallop
away
leaving
poor
Landon
Ronald
to
wave
his
whip
in
a
ridiculously
ineffective
way.
They
went
on
crashing
down
chords,
and
just
before
the
end
I
had
the
awful
presentiment
that
the
orchestra
simply
could
not
stop.
I
sat
still
straining
every
nerve
in
the
expectancy
that
this
chord
or
the
next
or
the
next
was
the
end.
But
it
went
on
pounding
down--each
one
seemed
the
last
but
every
time
another
followed
as
passionate
and
emphatic
as
the
one
before,
until
finally,
whatever
this
inhuman
orchestra
was
attempting
to
crush
and
destroy
must
have
been
reduced
to
shapeless
pulp.
I
wanted
to
board
the
platform
and
plead
with
them,
elderly
gentlemen
turned
their
heads
nervously,
everyone
was
breathless,
we
all
wanted
to
call
"For
God's
sake,
stop"--to
do
anything
to
still
this
awful
lust
for
annihilation....
The
end
came
quickly
in
four
drum
beats
in
quick
succession.
I
have
never
seen
such
hate,
such
passionate
intensity
of
the
will
to
destroy....
And
Tschaikovsky
was
a
Russian!
Debussy
was
a
welcome
change.
"L'Après-midi
d'un
Faun"
is
a
musical
setting
to
an
oscitatory
exercise.
It
is
an
orchestral
yawn.
Oh!
so
tired!
Came
away
thoroughly
delighted.
Wanted
to
say
to
every
one
"Bally
good,
ain't
it?"
and
then
we
would
all
shake
hands
and
go
home
whistling.
December
14.
My
rooms
are
littered
with
old
concert
programmes
and
the
Doctor's
prescriptions
(in
the
yellow
envelopes
of
the
dispenser)
for
my
various
ailments
and
diseases,
and
books,
books,
books.
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
