not, and they will fix all the responsibility of war upon them and upon themselves.  There will be a frenzy of self-accusation—­whether just or unjust it doesn’t matter—­and as for the victors, they will say:  ’Our enemies admit their guilt, so what further proof is needed?’ Where the real guilt is, that is an irrelevant and trivial question.  Success or failure will be the sole ultimate criterion.  There is only one hope for the world—­that failure will be so evenly distributed that there will be anxious heart-searchings in every country.  Failure alone makes ignorant people think.  Success is taken for granted.  Even after a single battle lost, the Press is full of explanations and excuses, but after a battle won, there is only complacency and self-glorification, and questions as to the why and wherefore are considered out of place or even treasonable.”

When we parted I was seized with a feeling of intense loneliness, but nevertheless I realized with satisfaction that I was not entirely alone.  I also gave up the idea of enjoying my leave and conceived a deep aversion for all pleasures and amusements.

The next day I wandered into the British Museum.  The 600,000 volumes that surrounded me on the shelves of the reading-room had a depressing effect.  I took out a few books, but was too distracted for serious study.

I almost smiled with self-contempt when I thought how I had set out the previous morning in order to conquer my old world, and how it was now receding further and further from me.  I looked at the other readers.  They were mostly old men, engrossed in their studies, just as they had been in peace time.  I wondered what they thought about the war.  I knew they would not allow it to disturb them much or interfere with their studies and their sleep.  And after all, why should they care?  It was only youth that was being slaughtered on the battlefields and not old age.

The sleepy dullness of the museum became unbearable and I walked out into the street.

I spent the evening with a member of the National Liberal Club, an intimate family friend, whose intellectual arrogance was one of the evil memories of my childhood, when many eager impulses and aspirations had been turned to bitterness by his lofty depreciation and his imperturbable assumption of superiority based on maturer years and experience.  Having at different times received material kindnesses at his hands, I knew I could not tell him what I really thought, and the prospect of meeting him filled me with uneasiness.  Moreover, in his presence I felt a kind of pride which I did not usually feel in the presence of others—­a pride that forbade me to express any sentiment or to reveal my inner mind.  And yet my inner mind was clamouring intolerably for revelation.  I realized the advantage he would derive from his simple attitude and from his lack of mental integrity, which enabled him to ignore any considerations that did not conform to his preconceived notions, and I realized the disadvantage of my complex attitude, made up as it was of so many conflicting impulses, at war with each other and with the world around me.