the quest of the golden girl-第12章
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f in this unimaginative age was like meeting a fairy prince； or coming unexpectedly upon Don Quixote attacking the windmill。 I offered him the post of Sancho Panza； and indeed what would he not give； he said； to leave all and follow me！ But then I reminded him that he had already found his Golden Girl。
〃Of course； I forgot；〃 he said； with I'm afraid something of a sigh。 For you see he was barely twenty； and to have met your ideal so early in life is apt to rob the remainder of the journey of something of its zest。
I asked him to give me his idea of what the Blessed Maid should be； to which he replied； with a smile； that he could not do better than describe Her； which he did for the sixth time。 It was； as I had foreseen； the picture of a Saint； a Goddess； a Dream； very lovely and pure and touching； but it was not a woman； and it was a woman I was in search of； with all her imperfections on her head。 I suppose no boy of twenty really loves a WOMEN； but loves only his etherealised extract of woman； entirely free from earthy adulteration。 I noticed the words 〃pure〃 and 〃natural〃 in constant use by my young friend。 Some lines went through my head； but I forbore to quote them：
Alas I your so called purity Is merely immaturity； And woman's nature plays its part Sincerely but in woman's art。
But I couldn't resist asking him； out of sheer waggery； whether he didn't think a touch of powder； and even； very judiciously applied； a touch of rouge； was an improvement to woman。 His answer went to my heart。
〃Painta WOMAN！〃 he exclaimed。
It was as though you had saidpaint an angel！
I could bear no more of it。 The gulf yawned shiveringly wide at remarks like that； so； with the privilege of an elder； I declared it time for bed； and yawned off to my room。
Next morning we bade good…bye； and went our several ways。 As we parted； he handed me a letter which I was not to open till I was well on my journey。 We waved good…bye to each other till the turnings of the road made parting final； and then； sitting down by the roadside； I opened the letter。 It proved to be not a letter； but a poem； which he had evidently written after I had left him for bed。 It was entitled； with twenty's love for a tag of Latin； Ad Puellam Auream； and it ran thus：
The Golden Girl in every place Hides and reveals her lovely face； Her neither skill nor strength may find 'T is only loving moves her mind。 If but a pretty face you seek； You'll find one any day or week； But if you look with deeper eyes； And seek her lovely； pure； and wise； Then must you wear the pilgrim's shoon For many a weary； wandering moon。
Only the pure in heart may see That lily of all purity； Only in clean unsullied thought The image of her face is caught； And only he her love may hold Who buys her with the spirit's gold。
Thus only shall you find your pearl； O seeker of the Golden Girl！ She trod but now the grassy way； A vision of eternal May。
The devil take his impudence！ 〃Only the pure in heart；〃 〃clean； unsullied thought。〃 How like the cheek of twenty！ And all the same how true！ Dear lad； how true！ Certainly； the child is father to the man。 Dirige nos！ O sage of the Golden Twenties！
As I meditatively folded up the pretty bit of writing； I made a resolution； but it was one of such importance that not only is another chapter needed to do it honour； but it may well inaugurate another book of this strange uneventful history。
BOOK II
CHAPTER I
IN WHICH I DECIDE TO BE YOUNG AGAIN
Yes； I said to myself； the lad is quite right； I will follow his advice。 I'm afraid I was in danger of developing into a sad cynic； with a taste for the humour of this world。 What should have been a lofty high…souled pilgrimage； only less transcendental than that of the Holy Grail itself； has so far failed； no doubt； because I have undertaken it too much in the wanton spirit of a troubadour。
I will grow young and serious again。 Yes； why not？ I will take a vow of Youth。 One's age is entirely a matter of the imagination。 From this moment I am no longer thirty。 Thirty falls from me like a hideous dream。 My back straightens again at the thought； my silvering hair blackens once more； my eyes； a few moments ago lacklustre and sunken； grow bright and full again； and the whites are clear as the finest porcelain。 Veni； veni； Mephistophile！ your Faust is young again；young； young； and； with a boy's heart； open once more to all the influences of the mighty world。
I bring down my stick upon the ground with a mighty ring of resolution； and the miracle is done。 Who would take me for thirty now？ From this moment I abjure pessimism and cynicism in all their forms； put from my mind all considerations of the complexities of human life； unravel all by a triumphant optimism which no statistics can abash or criticism dishearten。 I likewise undertake to divest myself entirely of any sense of humour that may have developed within me during the baneful experiences of the last ten years； and； in short； will consent for the future to be nothing that is not perfectly perfect and pure。 These； I take it； are the fundamental conditions of being young again。
And as for the Quest； it shall forthwith be undertaken in an entirely serious and high…minded spirit。 From this moment I am on the look…out for a really transcendental attachment。 No 〃bright…eyed bar…maids；〃 however 〃refined；〃 need apply。 Ladies who are prodigal of their white petticoats are no longer fit company for me。 Indeed I shall no longer look upon a petticoat； unless I am able first entirely to spiritualise it。 It must first be disinfected of every earthly thought。
Yes； I am once more a young man； sound in wind and limb； with not a tooth or an illusion lost； my mind tabula rasa； my heart to be had for the asking。 Oh； come； ye merry； merry maidens！ The fairy prince is on the fairy road。
Incipit vita nuova！
So in the lovely rapture of a new…born resolutionand is there any rapture like it？ nature has no more intoxicating illusion than that of turning over a new leaf； or beginning a new life from to…dayI sprang along the road with a carolling heart； quite forgetting that Apuleius and Fielding and Boccaccio were still in my knapsacknot to speak of the petticoat。
CHAPTER II
AT THE SIGN OF THE SINGING STREAM
Apuleius and Fielding and Boccaccio； bad companions for a petticoat； I'm afraid； bad companions too for so young a man as I had now become。 However； as I say； I had for the time forgotten that pagan company； or； in my puritanic zeal； I might have thrown them all to be washed clean in the upland stream； whose pure waters one might fancy were fragrant from their sunny day among the ferns and the heather； fragrant to the eye； indeed； if one may so speak； with the shaken meal of the meadowsweet。 This stream had been the good angel of my thoughts all the day； keeping them ever moving and ever fresh； cleansing and burnishing them； quite an open…air laundry of the mind。
We were both making for the same little town； it appeared； and as the sun was setting we reached it together。 I entered the town over the bridge； and the stream under it； washing the walls of the high…piled； many…gabled old inn where I proposed to pass the night。 I should hear it still rippling on with its gentle harpsichord tinkle； as I stretched myself down among the cool lavendered sheets； and little by little let slip the multifarious world。
The inn windows beamed cheerily； a home of ruddy rest。 Having ordered my dinner and found my room； I threw down my knapsack and then came out again to smoke an ante…prandial pipe； listen to the evensong of the stream； and think great thoughts。 The stream was still there； and singing the same sweet old song。 You could hear it long after it was out of sight； in the gathering darkness； like an old nurse humming lullabies in the twilight。
The dinner was good； the wine was old； and oh！ the rest was sweet！ Nothing fills one with so exquisite a weariness as a day spent in good resolutions and great thoughts。 There is something perilously sensuous in the relaxation of one's musc
