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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
79
Then
sometimes,
as
to-night,
I
have
misgivings.
Shall
I
do
these
things
so
well
now
as
I
might
once
have
done
them?
Has
not
my
ill-health
seriously
affected
my
mental
powers?
Surely
the
boy
of
1908-10
was
almost
a
genius
or--seen
at
this
distance--a
very
remarkable
youth
in
the
fanatical
zeal
with
which
he
sought
to
pursue,
and
succeeded
in
gaining,
his
own
end
of
a
zoological
education
for
himself.
It
is
a
terrible
suspicion
to
cross
the
mind
of
an
ambitious
youth
that
perhaps,
after
all,
he
is
a
very
commonplace
mortal--that
his
life,
whether
comedy
or
tragedy,
or
both,
or
neither,
is
any
way
insignificant,
of
no
account.
It
is
still
more
devastating
for
him
to
have
to
consider
whether
the
laurel
wreath
was
not
once
within
his
grasp,
and
whether
he
must
not
ascribe
his
own
incalculable
loss
to
his
stomach
simply.
December
15.
A
very
bad
heart
attack.
As
I
write
it
intermits
every
three
or
four
beats.
Who
knows
if
I
shall
live
thro'
to-night?
December
16.
Here
I
am
once
more.
A
passable
night.
After
breakfast
the
intermittency
recommenced--it
is
better
now,
with
a
dropped
beat
only
about
once
per
half-hour,
so
that
I
am
almost
happy
after
yesterday,
which
was
Hell.
The
world
is
too
good
to
give
up
without
remonstrance
at
the
beck
of
a
weak
heart.
Before
I
went
to
sleep
last
night,
my
watch
stopped--I
at
once
observed
the
cessation
of
its
tick
and
wondered
if
it
were
an
omen.
I
was
genuinely
surprised
to
find
myself
still
ticking
when
I
awoke
this
morning.
A
moment
ago
a
hearse
passed
down
the
street....
Yes,
but
I'm
damned
if
I
haven't
a
right
to
be
morbid
after
yesterday.
To
be
ill
like
this
in
a
boarding-house!
I'd
marry
to-morrow
if
I
had
the
chance.
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