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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
263
How
delicious
to
be
silent,
lolling
on
the
Chesterfield,
gazing
abstractedly
thro'
the
lattice
window
and
listening
to
the
lulling
charities
of
Nocturne
No.
2,
Op.
37!
The
melody
in
the
latter
part
of
this
nocturne
took
me
back
at
once
to
a
cloudless
day
in
an
open
boat
in
the
Bay
of
Combemartin,
with
oars
up
and
the
water
quietly
and
regularly
lapping
the
gunwales
as
we
rose
and
fell.
A
state
of
the
most
profound
calm
and
happiness
took
possession
of
me.
June
2.
From
the
local
paper:
"A
comrade
in
the
Gloucesters
writing
to
a
friend
at
----
mentions
that
Pte.
J----
has
been
fatally
shot
in
action.
J----
was
well
known
here
for
years
as
an
especially
smart
young
newsvendor."
June
3.
What
a
bitter
disappointment
it
is
to
realise
that
people
the
most
intimately
in
love
with
one
another
are
really
separated
by
such
a
distance.
A
woman
is
calmly
knitting
socks
or
playing
Patience
while
her
husband
or
sweetheart
lies
dead
in
Flanders.
However
strong
the
tie
that
binds
them
together
yet
they
are
insufficiently
en
rapport
for
her
to
sense
even
a
catastrophe--and
she
must
wait
till
the
War
Office
forsooth
sends
her
word.
How
humiliating
that
the
War
Office
must
do
what
Love
cannot.
Human
love
seems
then
such
a
superficial
thing.
Every
person
is
a
distinct
egocentric
being.
Each
for
himself
and
the
Devil
take
the
hindmost.
"Ah!
but
she
didn't
know."
"Yes,
but
she
ought
to
have
known."
Mental
telepathy
and
clairvoyance
should
be
common
at
least
to
all
lovers.
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