Louis

"Louise" is a short story by Hector Hugh Munro, also known as Saki, that explores themes of social norms, the absurdity of human behavior, and the complexities of relationships. Set against the backdrop of Edwardian society, the narrative delves into the interactions between characters, highlighting their quirks and the often humorous misunderstandings that arise. Through sharp wit and keen observation, Saki critiques the rigid conventions of his time, ultimately revealing deeper truths about human nature and the often contradictory aspects of social etiquette.

• Short story

								
"It would be jolly to spend Easter in Vienna this year," said
Strudwarden, "and look up some of my old friends there.  It's about the
jolliest place I know of to be at for Easter--"

"I thought we had made up our minds to spend Easter at Brighton,"
interrupted Lena Strudwarden, with an air of aggrieved surprise.

"You mean that you had made up your mind that we should spend Easter
there," said her husband; "we spent last Easter there, and Whitsuntide as
well, and the year before that we were at Worthing, and Brighton again
before that.  I think it would be just as well to have a real change of
scene while we are about it."

"The journey to Vienna would be very expensive," said Lena.

"You are not often concerned about economy," said Strudwarden, "and in
any case the trip of Vienna won't cost a bit more than the rather
meaningless luncheon parties we usually give to quite meaningless
acquaintances at Brighton.  To escape from all that set would be a
holiday in itself."

Strudwarden spoke feelingly; Lena Strudwarden maintained an equally
feeling silence on that particular subject.  The set that she gathered
round her at Brighton and other South Coast resorts was composed of
individuals who might be dull and meaningless in themselves, but who
understood the art of flattering Mrs. Strudwarden.  She had no intention
of foregoing their society and their homage and flinging herself among
unappreciative strangers in a foreign capital.

"You must go to Vienna alone if you are bent on going," she said; "I
couldn't leave Louis behind, and a dog is always a fearful nuisance in a
foreign hotel, besides all the fuss and separation of the quarantine
restrictions when one comes back.  Louis would die if he was parted from
me for even a week.  You don't know what that would mean to me."

Lena stooped down and kissed the nose of the diminutive brown Pomeranian
that lay, snug and irresponsive, beneath a shawl on her lap.

"Look here," said Strudwarden, "this eternal Louis business is getting to
be a ridiculous nuisance.  Nothing can be done, no plans can be made,
without some veto connected with that animal's whims or convenience being
imposed.  If you were a priest in attendance on some African fetish you
couldn't set up a more elaborate code of restrictions.  I believe you'd
ask the Government to put off a General Election if you thought it would
interfere with Louis's comfort in any way."

By way of answer to this tirade Mrs. Strudwarden stooped down again and
kissed the irresponsive brown nose.  It was the action of a woman with a
beautifully meek nature, who would, however, send the whole world to the
stake sooner than yield an inch where she knew herself to be in the
right.

"It isn't as if you were in the least bit fond of animals," went on
Strudwarden, with growing irritation; "when we are down at Kerryfield you
won't stir a step to take the house dogs out, even if they're dying for a
run, and I don't think you've been in the stables twice in your life.  You
laugh at what you call the fuss that's being made over the extermination
of plumage birds, and you are quite indignant with me if I interfere on
behalf of an ill-treated, over-driven animal on the road.  And yet you
insist on every one's plans being made subservient to the convenience of
that stupid little morsel of fur and selfishness."

"You are prejudiced against my little Louis," said Lena, with a world of
tender regret in her voice.

"I've never had the chance of being anything else but prejudiced against
him," said Strudwarden; "I know what a jolly responsive companion a
doggie can be, but I've never been allowed to put a finger near Louis.
You say he snaps at any one except you and your maid, and you snatched
him away from old Lady Peterby the other day, when she wanted to pet him,
for fear he would bury his teeth in her.  All that I ever see of him is
the top of his unhealthy-looking little nose, peeping out from his basket
or from your muff, and I occasionally hear his wheezy little bark when
you take him for a walk up and down the corridor.  You can't expect one
to get extravagantly fond of a dog of that sort.  One might as well work
up an affection for the cuckoo in a cuckoo-clock."

"He loves me," said Lena, rising from the table, and bearing the shawl-
swathed Louis in her arms.  "He loves only me, and perhaps that is why I
love him so much in return.  I don't care what you say against him, I am
not going to be separated from him.  If you insist on going to Vienna you
must go alone, as far as I am concerned.  I think it would be much more
sensible if you were to come to Brighton with Louis and me, but of course
you must please yourself."

"You must get rid of that dog," said Strudwarden's sister when Lena had
left the room; "it must be helped to some sudden and merciful end.  Lena
is merely making use of it as an instrument for getting her own way on
dozens of occasions when she would otherwise be obliged to yield
gracefully to your wishes or to the general convenience.  I am convinced
that she doesn't care a brass button about the animal itself.  When her
friends are buzzing round her at Brighton or anywhere else and the dog
would be in the way, it has to spend whole days alone with the maid, but
if you want Lena to go with you anywhere where she doesn't want to go
instantly she trots out the excuse that she couldn't be separated from
her dog.  Have you ever come into a room unobserved and heard Lena
talking to her beloved pet?  I never have.  I believe she only fusses
over it when there's some one present to notice her."

"I don't mind admitting," said Strudwarden, "that I've dwelt more than
once lately on the possibility of some fatal accident putting an end to
Louis's existence.  It's not very easy, though, to arrange a fatality for
a creature that spends most of its time in a muff or asleep in a toy
kennel.  I don't think poison would be any good; it's obviously horribly
over-fed, for I've seen Lena offer it dainties at table sometimes, but it
never seems to eat them."

"Lena will be away at church on Wednesday morning," said Elsie
Strudwarden reflectively; "she can't take Louis with her there, and she
is going on to the Dellings for lunch.  That will give you several hours
in which to carry out your purpose.  The maid will be flirting with the
chauffeur most of the time, and, anyhow, I can manage to keep her out of
the way on some pretext or other."

"That leaves the field clear," said Strudwarden, "but unfortunately my
brain is equally a blank as far as any lethal project is concerned.  The
little beast is so monstrously inactive; I can't pretend that it leapt
into the bath and drowned itself, or that it took on the butcher's
mastiff in unequal combat and got chewed up.  In what possible guise

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