I thought about her all yesterday. The sunset was the most wonderful I have seen out here, and it seemed to say that though God could be very terrible yet he was supremely tender and beautiful. How blank and futile a sunset would be to a consistent materialist, as A.J.B. points out in his lectures.
The result of publishing what he called my "hymn" in the Times of October 15th has been an application from an earnest Socialist for leave to print it on cards at 8s. 6d. a 1,000 to create a demand for an early peace! But I couldn't help focussing my thoughts of Sophy into these lines:
Strong Son of God is Love; and she was strong,
For she loved much, and served;
Rejoiced in all things human, only wrong
Drew scorn as it deserved.
Fair gift of God is faith: 'twas hers, to move
The mountains, and ascend
The Paradise of saints: which faith and love
Made even Death her friend.
My leg is much better but will still keep me here some days, as I am not to go till fit to march. It is a great nuisance being unable to take exercise. I was in such splendid condition, and now I shall be quite soft again. However there are compensations. The others are only at Kut, which is as dull as this and much less comfortable; and they have only 60lb. kits, which means precious little.
Swinburne I will begin when I feel stronger. The Golden Ass hasn't come. I ordered it years ago, before the war, to be sent on publication. It is a curious product of Latin decadence, about second century; the first notable departure from the classical style. The most celebrated thing in it is the story of Cupid and Psyche: didn't Correggio paint it round the walls of a palace in Rome? I went to see it with Sophy.
Amarah.
December 8, 1915.
To his Mother.
We are more cheerful now. In the first place we are less cold. The wind has dropped and we have devised various schemes for mitigating the excessive ventilation. I have hung two gaudy Arab rugs over my window, with a layer of Times between them and the bars. Some genius had an inspiration, acting on which we have pitched an E.P. tent in the mess room. It just fits and is the greatest success. Finally, I sent my bearer to speculate in a charcoal brazier. This also is a great success. Three penn'orth of charcoal burns for ages and gives out any amount of heat; and there is no smell or smoke: far superior to any stove I've ever struck. So we live largely like troglodytes in darkness but comparative warmth. Between breakfast and tea one can sit on the sunny side of the verandah round the inner court, though all sunshine has still to be shared with the flies; but they're not the flies they were, more like English October flies.