The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [15]
To this my father calmly replied: ‘I’m not going to die until I hear.’
Mr Raczek nodded, and my aunt wiped away her tears and thought my father was rambling. How could they think otherwise if death was already at the door and my father was still awaiting Napoleon?
He was already very sick, had been given the last Sacraments, when Mr Raczek ran in a few days later, strangely agitated, and stopped in the centre of the room to cry: ‘Do you know, old fellow, that a Napoleon has turned up?’
‘Where is he?’ my aunt cried.
‘He’s already in France.’
My father rose, then fell back on his pillows again. Only he stretched out his hand to me and looked at me in a way I will never forget, and whispered: ‘Remember! Remember everything …’
With that, he died.
In later life I confirmed how prophetic my father’s views had been. We all saw how the second Napoleon’s star rose over Italy and Hungary; and although it sank at Sedan, I do not believe it has been extinguished for ever. What is Bismarck to me, or Gambetta or Beaconsfield, for that matter? Injustice will rule the world until a new Napoleon comes.
A few months after my father’s death, Mr Raczek and Mr Domański and my aunt Susanna took council together: what was to be done with me? Mr Domański wanted me to go into his office and slowly rise to a copyist; my aunt advised a trade, and Mr Raczek was all for the vegetable trade. But when they asked me what I wanted to do, I replied: ‘Go into a shop.’
‘Who knows if that wouldn’t be for the best?’ Mr Raczek commented. ‘And which shop would you like to work in?’
‘The one in Podwal Street, that has a sabre over the door and a Cossack in the window.’
‘I know,’ said my aunt. ‘He means Mincel’s.’
‘We could try,’ said Mr Domański. ‘We all know Mincel.’
Mr Raczek spat into the fireplace in token of agreement.
‘Good gracious,’ my aunt cried, ‘that booby will start spitting at me next, now that my brother is gone … Oh, what an unhappy orphan I am!’
‘Big deal!’ Mr Raczek exclaimed. ‘Get married, my lady, then you won’t be one …’
‘Where shall I find anyone foolish enough to have me?’
‘Hm. I might take you myself, as I’ve no one to rub me with alcohol,’ Mr Raczek muttered, leaning heavily over to knock out his pipe.
My aunt burst into tears, then Mr Domański spoke up: ‘Why make such a to-do? You’ve no one to care for you, and he has no housekeeper; get married and look after Ignacy, and you’ll have a child ready-made. And a cheap one, too, for Mincel will give him food and lodging; you need only give him clothes.’
‘Eh?’ asked Mr Raczek, looking at my aunt.
‘Well, get the lad apprenticed first, then … maybe I’ll risk it,’ replied my aunt. ‘I’ve always had the feeling I’d end my days badly …’
‘Let’s be off to Mincel’s’ said Mr Raczek, getting up. ‘But mind you don’t let me down, now,’ he added, shaking his fist at my aunt.
He and Mr Domański went off and returned an hour and a half later, both very red in the face. Mr Raczek was breathing heavily, and Mr Domański had some difficulty in keeping steady on his feet, probably because our stairs were awkward.
‘Well?’ asked my aunt.
‘The new Napoleon has been thrown into prison!’ answered Mr Domański.
‘Not prison, the fortress, ow … ow …’ added Mr Raczek and threw his cap on the table.
‘Yes, but what about the boy?’ asked my aunt.
‘He’s to go to Mincel’s tomorrow with his clothes and his linen,’ said Mr Domański.
‘Not in the fortress, ow … ow … but in Ham-ham … or is it Cham … I don’t even know.’
‘Why, you’re drunk, you fools!’ cried my aunt, seizing Mr Raczek by the arm.
‘Listen here, no familiarities,’ cried Mr Raczek, ‘familiarities after the wedding, not now … He’s to go to Mincel’s tomorrow with his clothes and his linen … Oh dear, poor Napoleon!’
My aunt pushed Mr Raczek out of the house, then Mr Domański, and threw his cap after him.
‘Be off, you tipsy boobies!’
‘Long live Napoleon!’ cried Mr Raczek, and Mr Domański began singing:
‘Passer-by, when your eyes this way you incline,
Come closer and ponder this