The Quest of the Golden Girl | Page 3

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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