P G Wodehouse – Man Upstairs

“You don’t understand. He-No, I cannot tell you. Fly!”

“What don’t I understand?”

She was silent. Then she began to speak rapidly. “Very well. I will tell you. Listen. My father had six children, all daughters. We were poor. We had to stay buried in this out-of-the-way spot. We saw no one. It seemed impossible that any of us should ever marry. My father was in despair. Then he said, ‘If we cannot get to town, the town must come to us.’ So he sent my sister Yseult to Camelot to ask the king to let us have a knight to protect us against a giant with three heads. There was no giant, but she got the knight. It was Sir Sagramore. Perhaps you knew him?”

Agravaine nooded. He began to see daylight.

“My sister Yseult was very beautiful. After the first day Sir Sagramore forgot all about the giant, and seemed to want to do nothing else except have Yseult show him how to play cat’s cradle. They were married two months later, and my father sent my sister Elaine to Camelot to ask for a knight to protect us against a wild unicorn.”

“And who bit?” asked Agravaine, deeply interested.

“Sir Malibran of Devon. They were married within three weeks, and my father-I can’t go on. You understand now.”

“I understand the main idea,” said Agravaine. “But in my case-”

“You were to marry me,” said Yvonne. Her voice was quiet and cold, but she was quivering.

Agravaine was conscious of a dull, heavy weight pressing on his heart. He had known his love was hopeless, but even hopelessness is the better for being indefinite. He understood now.

“And you naturally want to get rid of me before it can happen,” he said. “I don’t wonder. I’m not vain…. Well, I’ll go. I knew I had no chance. Good-bye.”

He turned. She stopped him with a sharp cry.

“What do you mean? You cannot wish to stay now? I am saving you.”

“Saving me! I have loved you since the moment you entered the Hall at Camelot,” said Agravaine.

She drew in her breath.

“You-you love me!”

They looked at each other in the starlight. She held out her hands.

“Agravaine!”

She drooped towards him, and he gathered her into his arms. For a novice, he did it uncommonly well.

It was about six months later that Agravaine, having ridden into the forest, called upon a Wise Man at his cell.

In those days almost anyone who was not a perfect bone-head could set up as a Wise Man and get away with it. All you had to do was to live in a forest and grow a white beard. This particular Wise Man, for a wonder, had a certain amount of rude sagacity. He listened carefully to what the knight had to say.

“It has puzzled me to such an extent,” said Agravaine, “that I felt that I must consult a specialist. You see me. Take a good look at me. What do you think of my personal appearance? You needn’t hesitate. It’s worse than that. I am the ugliest man in England.”

“Would you go so far as that?” said the Wise Man, politely.

“Farther. And everybody else thinks so. Everybody except my wife. She tells me that I am a model of manly beauty. You know Lancelot? Well, she says I have Lancelot whipped to a custard. What do you make of that? And here’s another thing. It is perfectly obvious to me that my wife is one of the most beautiful creatures in existence. I have seem them all, and I tell you that she stands alone. She is literally marooned in Class A, all by herself. Yet she insists that she is plain. What do you make of it?”

The Wise Man stroked his beard.

“My son,” he said, “the matter is simple. True love takes no account of looks.”

“No?” said Agravaine.

“You two are affinities. Therefore, to you the outward aspect is nothing. Put it like this. Love is a thingummybob who what-d’ you-call-its.”

“I’m beginning to see,” said Agravaine.

“What I meant was this. Love is a wizard greater than Merlin. He plays odd tricks with the eyesight.”