The Doll by Boleslaw Prus Read Free Book Online

one …’
    â€˜Where shall I find anyone foolish enough to have me?’
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜Eh?’ asked Mr Raczek, looking at my aunt.
    â€˜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 …’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Well?’ asked my aunt.
    â€˜ The new Napoleon has been thrown into prison !’ answered Mr Domański.
    â€˜Not prison, the fortress, ow … ow …’ added Mr Raczek and threw his cap on the table.
    â€˜Yes, but what about the boy?’ asked my aunt.
    â€˜He’s to go to Mincel’s tomorrow with his clothes and his linen,’ said Mr Domański.
    â€˜Not in the fortress, ow … ow … but in Ham-ham … or is it Cham … I don’t even know.’
    â€˜Why, you’re drunk, you fools!’ cried my aunt, seizing Mr Raczek by the arm.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Be off, you tipsy boobies!’
    â€˜Long live Napoleon!’ cried Mr Raczek, and Mr Domański began singing:
    â€˜Passer-by, when your eyes this way you incline,
    Come closer and ponder this inscription …
    Come closer and ponder this inscription …’
    His voice died away slowly as if he were descending into a well, then silence fell, but that voice reached our ears again from the street. After a while there was an uproar down below, and when I looked out I saw a policeman taking Mr Raczek to the police-station.
    Such were the incidents preceding my taking up the trade of shop-keeper.
    I had known Mincel’s shop for a long time, for my father used to send me there to buy paper, and aunt for soap. I would always hurry there with joyful curiosity to look at the toys in the window. As I recall, there was a large mechanical Cossack in one window, which jumped and waved its arms by itself, and in the doorway were a drum, a sabre and a wooden horse with a real tail.
    The interior of the shop looked like a large cellar; I could never see the far end of it because of the gloom. All I know is that pepper, coffee and herbs were sold on the left, at a counter behind which huge cupboards rose from floor to ceiling. But paper, ink, plates and glasses were sold at the counter to the right, where there were glass cupboards, and for soap and washing-powder one went into the depths of the shop, where barrels and piles of wooden boxes were visible.
    Even the rafters were loaded. Suspended there were long rows of bladders full of mustard seeds or paint, a huge lamp with a shade, which burned all day long in winter, a net full of corks, and finally a stuffed crocodile, nearly six feet long.
    The owner of the shop was Jan Mincel, an old man with a red face and a tuft of grey hair on his chin. At all hours of the day he