Lab
Library
Journal
Shop
Sign in
to keep
Share image
1
349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
277
The
War
is
searching
out
everyone,
concentrating
a
beam
of
inquisitive
light
upon
everyone's
mind
and
character
and
publishing
it
for
all
the
world
to
see.
And
the
consequence
to
many
honest
folk
has
been
a
keen
personal
disappointment.
We
ignoble
persons
had
thought
we
were
better
than
we
really
are.
We
scarcely
anticipated
that
the
War
was
going
to
discover
for
us
our
emotions
so
despicably
small
by
comparison,
or
our
hearts
so
riddled
with
selfish
motives.
In
the
wild
race
for
security
during
these
dangerous
times,
men
and
women
have
all
been
sailing
so
closehauled
to
the
wind
that
their
eyes
have
been
glued
to
their
own
forepeaks
with
never
a
thought
for
others:
fathers
have
vied
with
one
another
in
procuring
safe
jobs
for
their
sons,
wives
have
been
bitter
and
recriminating
at
the
security
of
other
wives'
husbands.
The
men
themselves
plot
constantly
for
staff
appointments,
and
everyone
is
pulling
strings
who
can.
Bereavement
has
brought
bitterness
and
immunity
indifference.
And
how
pathetically
some
of
us
cling
still
to
fragments
of
the
old
regime
that
has
already
passed--like
ship-wrecked
mariners
to
floating
wreckage,
to
the
manner
of
the
conservatoire
amid
the
thunder
of
all
Europe
being
broken
up;
to
our
newspaper
gossip
and
parish
teas,
to
our
cherished
aims--wealth,
fame,
success--in
spite
of
all,
ruat
coelum!
Mr.
A.C.
Benson
and
his
trickling,
comfortable
Essays,
Mr.
Shaw
and
his
Scintillations--they
are
all
there
as
before,
revolving
like
haggard
windmills
in
a
devastated
landscape!
A
little
while
ago,
I
read
in
the
local
newspaper
which
I
get
up
from
the
country
two
columns
concerning
the
accidental
death
of
an
old
woman,
while
two
lines
were
used
to
record
the
death
of
a
townsman
at
the
front
from
an
aerial
dart.
Behold
this
poor
rag!
staggering
along
under
the
burden
of
the
War
in
a
passionate
endeavour
to
preserve
the
old-time
interest
in
an
old
woman's
decease.
Yet
more
or
less
we
are
all
in
the
same
case:
I
still
write
my
Journal
and
play
Patience
of
an
evening,
and
an
old
lady
I
know
still
reads
as
before
the
short
items
of
gossip
in
the
papers,
neglecting
articles
and
leaders....
We
are
like
a
nest
of
frightened
ants
when
someone
lifts
the
stone.
That
is
the
world
just
now.
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
