Produced by Charles Keller. HTML version by Al Haines.
THE QUEST OF THE GOLDEN GIRL
A ROMANCE
BY
RICHARD LE GALLIENNE
TO
PRIOR AND LOUISE CHRISTIAN,
WITH AFFECTION.
CONTENTS
BOOK I
CHAPTER
I. AN OLD HOUSE AND ITS BACHELOR
II. IN WHICH I DECIDE TO GO ON PILGRIMAGE
III. AN INDICTMENT OF SPRING
IV. IN WHICH I EAT AND DREAM
V. CONCERNING THE PERFECT WOMAN, AND THEREFORE CONCERNING ALL
FEMININE READERS
VI. IN WHICH THE AUTHOR ANTICIPATES DISCONTENT ON THE PART OF
HIS READER
VII. PRANDIAL
VIII. STILL PRANDIAL
IX. THE LEGEND OF HEBES OR THE HEAVENLY HOUSEMAID
X. AGAIN ON FOOT-THE GIRLS THAT NEVER CAN BE MINE
XI. AN OLD MAN OF THE HILLS, AND THE SCHOOLMASTER'S STORY
XII. THE TRUTH ABOUT THE GIPSIES
XIII. A STRANGE WEDDING
XIV. THE MYSTERIOUS PETTICOAT
XV. STILL OCCUPIED WITH THE PETTICOAT
XVI. CLEARS UP MY MYSTERIOUS BEHAVIOUR OF THE LAST CHAPTER
XVII. THE NAME UPON THE PETTICOAT
XVIII. IN WHICH THE NAME OF A GREAT POET IS CRIED OUT IN A
SOLITARY PLACE
XIX. WHY THE STRANGER WOULD NOT LOSE HIS SHELLEY FOR THE WORLD
BOOK II
I. IN WHICH I DECIDE TO BE YOUNG AGAIN
II. AT THE SIGN OF THE SINGING STREAM
III. IN WHICH I SAVE A USEFUL LIFE
IV. 'T IS OF NICOLETE AND HER BOWER IN THE WILDWOOD
V. 'T IS OF AUCASSIN AND NICOLETE
VI. A FAIRY TALE AND ITS FAIRY TAILORS
VII. FROM THE MORNING STAR TO THE MOON
VIII. THE KIND OF THING THAT HAPPENS IN THE MOON
IX. WRITTEN BY MOONLIGHT
X. HOW ONE MAKES LOVE AT THIRTY
XI. HOW ONE PLAYS THE HERO AT THIRTY
XII. IN WHICH I REVIEW MY ACTIONS AND RENEW MY RESOLUTIONS
BOOK III
I. IN WHICH I RETURN TO MY RIGHT AGE AND ENCOUNTER A COMMON
OBJECT OF THE COUNTRY
II. IN WHICH I HEAL A BICYCLE AND COME TO THE WHEEL OF
PLEASURE
III. TWO TOWN MICE AT A COUNTRY INN
IV. MARRIAGE A LA MODE
V. CONCERNING THE HAVEN OF YELLOW SANDS
VI. THE MOORLAND OF THE APOCALYPSE
VII. "COME UNTO THESE YELLOW SANDS!"
VIII. THE TWELVE GOLDEN-HAIRED BAR-MAIDS
IX. SYLVIA JOY
X. IN WHICH ONCE MORE I BECOME OCCUPIED IN MY OWN AFFAIRS
XI. "THE HOUR FOR WHICH THE YEARS FOR WHICH I DID SIGH"
XII. AT THE CAFE DE LA PAIX
XIII. THE INNOCENCE OF PARIS
XIV. END OF BOOK THREE
BOOK IV
THE POSTSCRIPT TO A PILGRIMAGE
I. SIX YEARS AFTER
II. GRACE O' GOD
III. THE GOLDEN GIRL
Gennem de Mange til En!
BOOK I
CHAPTER I
AN OLD HOUSE AND ITS BACHELOR
When the knell of my thirtieth birthday sounded, I suddenly realised,
with a desolate feeling at the heart, that I was alone in the world.
It was true I had many and good friends, and I was blessed with
interests and occupations which I had often declared sufficient to
satisfy any not too exacting human being. Moreover, a small but
sufficient competency was mine, allowing me reasonable comforts, and
the luxuries of a small but choice library, and a small but choice
garden. These heavenly blessings had seemed mere than enough for
nearly five years, during which the good sister and I had kept house
together, leading a life of tranquil happy days. Friends and books and
flowers! It was, we said, a good world, and I, simpleton,--pretty and
dainty as Margaret was,--deemed it would go on forever. But, alas! one
day came a Faust into our garden,--a good Faust, with no friend
Mephistopheles,--and took Margaret from me. It is but a month since
they were married, and the rice still lingers in the crevices of the
pathway down to the quaint old iron-work gate. Yes! they have gone off
to spend their honeymoon, and Margaret has written to me twice to say
how happy they are together in the Hesperides. Dear happiness!
Selfish, indeed, were he who would envy you one petal of that wonderful
rose--Rosa Mundi--God has given you to gather.
But, all the same, the reader will admit that it must be lonely for me,
and not another sister left to take pity on me, all somewhere happily
settled down in the Fortunate Isles.
Poor lonely old house! do you, too, miss the light step of your
mistress? No longer shall her little silken figure flit up and down
your quiet staircases, no more deck out your silent rooms with flowers,
humming the while some happy little song.
The little piano is dumb night after night, its candles unlighted, and
there is no one to play Chopin to us now as the day dies, and the
shadows stoop out of their corners to listen in vain. Old house, old
house! We are alone, quite alone,--there is no mistake about
that,--and the soul has gone out of both of us. And as for the garden,
there is no company there; that is loneliest of all. The very sunlight
looks desolation, falling through the thick-blossoming apple-trees as
through the chinks and crevices of deserted Egyptian cities.
While as for the books--well, never talk to me again about the
companionship of books! For just when one needs them most of all they
seem suddenly to have grown dull and unsympathetic, not a word of
comfort, not a charm anywhere in them to make us forget the slow-moving
hours; whereas, when Margaret was here--but it is of no use to say any
more! Everything was quite different when Margaret was here: that is
enough. Margaret has gone away to the Fortunate Isles. Of course
she'll come to see us now and again; but it won't be the same thing.
Yes! old echoing silent House of Joy that is Gone, we are quite alone.
Now, what is to be done?