The Soul of Laploshka

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　

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Laploshka was one of the meanest men I have ever met, and quite oneof the most entertaining. He said horrid things about other peoplein such a charming way that one forgave him for the equally horridthings he said about oneself behind one's back. Hating anything inthe way of ill-natured gossip ourselves, we are always grateful tothose who do it for us and do it well. And Laploshka did it reallywell.Naturally Laploshka had a large circle of acquaintances, and as heexercised some care in their selection it followed that anappreciable proportion were men whose bank balances enabled them toacquiesce indulgently in his rather one-sided views on hospitality.Thus, although possessed of only moderate means, he was able to livecomfortably within his income, and still more comfortably withinthose of various tolerantly disposed associates.But towards the poor or to those of the same limited resources ashimself his attitude was one of watchful anxiety; he seemed to behaunted by a besetting fear lest some fraction of a shilling orfranc, or whatever the prevailing coinage might be, should bediverted from his pocket or service into that of a hard-upcompanion. A two-franc cigar would be cheerfully offered to awealthy patron, on the principle of doing evil that good may come,but I have known him indulge in agonies of perjury rather than admitthe incriminating possession of a copper coin when change was neededto tip a waiter. The coin would have been duly returned at theearliest opportunity--he would have taken means to insure againstforgetfulness on the part of the borrower--but accidents mighthappen, and even the temporary estrangement from his penny or souwas a calamity to be avoided.The knowledge of this amiable weakness offered a perpetualtemptation to play upon Laploshka's fears of involuntary generosity.To offer him a lift in a cab and pretend not to have enough money topay the fair, to fluster him with a request for a sixpence when hishand was full of silver just received in change, these were a few ofthe petty torments that ingenuity prompted as occasion afforded. Todo justice to Laploshka's resourcefulness it must be admitted thathe always emerged somehow or other from the most embarrassingdilemma without in any way compromising his reputation for saying"No." But the gods send opportunities at some time to most men, andmine came one evening when Laploshka and I were supping together ina cheap boulevard restaurant. (Except when he was the bidden guestof some one with an irreproachable income, Laploshka was wont tocurb his appetite for high living; on such fortunate occasions helet it go on an easy snaffle.) At the conclusion of the meal asomewhat urgent message called me away, and without heeding mycompanion's agitated protest, I called back cruelly, "Pay my share;I'll settle with you to-morrow." Early on the morrow Laploshkahunted me down by instinct as I walked along a side street that Ihardly ever frequented. He had the air of a man who had not slept."You owe me two francs from last night," was his breathlessgreeting.I spoke evasively of the situation in Portugal, where more troubleseemed brewing. But Laploshka listened with the abstraction of thedeaf adder, and quickly returned to the subject of the two francs."I'm afraid I must owe it to you," I said lightly and brutally. "Ihaven't a sou in the world," and I added mendaciously, "I'm goingaway for six months or perhaps longer."Laploshka said nothing, but his eyes bulged a little and his cheekstook on the mottled hues of an ethnographical map of the BalkanPeninsula. That same day, at sundown, he died. "Failure of theheart's action," was the doctor's verdict; but I, who knew better,knew that he died of grief.There arose the problem of what to do with his two francs. To havekilled Laploshka was one thing; to have kept his beloved money wouldhave argued a callousness of feeling of which I am not capable. Theordinary solution, of giving it to the poor, would by no means fitthe present situation, for nothing would have distressed the deadman more than such a misuse of his property. On the other hand, thebestowal of two francs on the rich was an operation which called forsome tact. An easy way out of the difficulty seemed, however, topresent itself the following Sunday, as I was wedged into thecosmopolitan crowd which filled the side-aisle of one of the mostpopular Paris churches. A collecting-bag, for "the poor of Monsieurle Cure," was buffeting its tortuous way across the seeminglyimpenetrable human sea, and a German in front of me, who evidentlydid not wish his appreciation of the magnificent music to be marredby a suggestion of payment, made audible criticisms to his companionon the claims of the said charity."They do not want money," he said; "they have too much money. Theyhave no poor. They are all pampered."If that were really the case my way seemed clear. I droppedLaploshka's two francs into the bag with a murmured blessing on therich of Monsieur le Cure.Some three weeks later chance had taken me to Vienna, and I sat oneevening regaling myself in a humble but excellent little Gasthaus upin the Wahringer quarter. The appointments were primitive, but theSchnitzel, the beer, and the cheese could not have been improved on.Good cheer brought good custom, and with the exception of one smalltable near the door every place was occupied. Half-way through mymeal I happened to glance in the direction of that empty seat, andsaw that it was no longer empty. Poring over the bill of fare withthe absorbed scrutiny of one who seeks the cheapest among the cheapwas Laploshka. Once he looked across at me, with a comprehensiveglance at my repast, as though to say, "It is my two francs you areeating," and then looked swiftly away. Evidently the poor ofMonsieur le Cure had been genuine poor. The Schnitzel turned toleather in my mouth, the beer seemed tepid; I left the Emmenthaleruntasted. My one idea was to get away from the room, away from thetable where THAT was seated; and as I fled I felt Laploshka'sreproachful eyes watching the amount that I gave to the piccolo--outof his two francs. I lunched next day at an expensive restaurantwhich I felt sure that the living Laploshka would never have enteredon his own account, and I hoped that the dead Laploshka wouldobserve the same barriers. I was not mistaken, but as I came out Ifound him miserably studying the bill of fare stuck up on theportals. Then he slowly made his way over to a milk-hall. For thefirst time in my experience I missed the charm and gaiety of Viennalife.After that, in Paris or London or wherever I happened to be, Icontinued to see a good deal of Laploshka. If I had a seat in a boxat a theatre I was always conscious of his eyes furtively watchingme from the dim recesses of the gallery. As I turned into my clubon a rainy afternoon I would see him taking inadequate shelter in adoorway opposite. Even if I indulged in the modest luxury of apenny chair in the Park he generally confronted me from one of thefree benches, never staring at me, but always elaborately consciousof my presence. My friends began to comment on my changed looks,and advised me to leave off heaps of things. I should have liked tohave left off Laploshka.On a certain Sunday--it was probably Easter, for the crush was worsethan ever--I was again wedged into the crowd listening to the musicin the fashionable Paris church, and again the collection-bag wasbuffeting its way across the human sea. An English lady behind mewas making ineffectual efforts to convey a coin into the stilldistant bag, so I took the money at her request and helped itforward to its destination. It was a two-franc piece. A swiftinspiration came to me, and I merely dropped my own sou into the bagand slid the silver coin into my pocket. I had withdrawnLaploshka's two francs from the poor, who should never have had thelegacy. As I backed away from the crowd I heard a woman's voicesay, "I don't believe he put my money in the bag. There are swarmsof people in Paris like that!" But my mind was lighter that it hadbeen for a long time.The delicate mission of bestowing the retrieved sum on the deservingrich still confronted me. Again I trusted to the inspiration ofaccident, and again fortune favoured me. A shower drove me, twodays later, into one of the historic churches on the left bank ofthe Seine, and there I found, peering at the old wood-carvings, theBaron R., one of the wealthiest and most shabbily dressed men inParis. It was now or never. Putting a strong American inflectioninto the French which I usually talked with an unmistakable Britishaccent, I catechised the Baron as to the date of the church'sbuilding, its dimensions, and other details which an Americantourist would be certain to want to know. Having acquired suchinformation as the Baron was able to impart on short notice, Isolemnly placed the two-franc piece in his hand, with the heartyassurance that it was "pour vous," and turned to go. The Baron wasslightly taken aback, but accepted the situation with a good grace.Walking over to a small box fixed in the wall, he droppedLaploshka's two francs into the slot. Over the box was theinscription, "Pour les pauvres de M. le Cure."That evening, at the crowded corner by the Cafe de la Paix, I caughta fleeting glimpse of Laploshka. He smiled, slightly raised hishat, and vanished. I never saw him again. After all, the money hadbeen GIVEN to the deserving rich, and the soul of Laploshka was atpeace.

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