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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
262
As
soon
as
he
had
finished,
we
clapped
and
rattled
for
more,
Pachmann
meanwhile
standing
surrounded
by
his
idolaters
in
affected
despair
at
ever
being
able
to
satisfy
us.
Presently
he
walked
off
and
a
scuffle
was
half
visible
behind
the
scenes
between
him
and
his
agent
who
sent
him
in
once
more.
The
applause
was
wonderful.
As
soon
as
he
began
again
it
ceased
on
the
instant,
and
as
soon
as
he
left
off
it
started
again
immediately--nothing
boisterous
or
rapturous
but
a
steady,
determined
thunder
of
applause
that
came
regularly
and
evenly
like
the
roar
from
some
machine.
May
20.
Spent
a
quiet
day.
Sat
at
my
escritoire
in
the
Studio
this
morning
writing
an
Essay,
with
a
large
4-fold
window
on
my
left,
looking
on
to
woods
and
fields,
with
Linnets,
Greenfinches,
Cuckoos
calling.
This
afternoon
while
E----
rested
awhile
I
sat
on
the
veranda
in
the
sun
and
read
Antony
and
Cleopatra....
Yes,
I'm
in
harbour
at
last.
I'd
be
the
last
to
deny
it
but
I
cannot
believe
it
will
last.
It's
too
good
to
last
and
it's
all
too
good
to
be
even
true.
E----
is
too
good
to
be
true,
the
home
is
too
good
to
be
true,
and
this
quiet
restful
existence
is
too
wonderful
to
last
in
the
middle
of
a
great
war.
It's
just
a
little
deceitful
April
sunshine,
that's
all....[1]
Had
tea
at
the
----.
A
brilliant
summer's
evening.
Afterwards,
we
wandered
into
the
garden
and
shrubbery
and
sat
about
on
the
turf
of
the
lawn,
chatting
and
smoking.
Mr.
----
played
with
a
rogue
of
a
white
Tomcat
called
Chatham,
and
E----
talked
about
our
neighbour,
"Shamble
legs,"
about
garden
topics,
etc.
Then
I
strolled
into
the
drawing-room
where
Cynthia
was
playing
Chopin
on
a
grand
piano.
Is
it
not
all
perfectly
lovely?
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