The Coffin-Maker (Pushkin)
Short summary
Moscow, early 19th century. Adrian Prokhoroff moved his coffin-making business to a new yellow house on Nikitskaia Street.
His neighbor, a German shoemaker named Gottlieb Schultz, invited Adrian and his daughters to his silver wedding celebration. At the party, guests toasted their customers. When someone jokingly suggested Adrian toast his corpses, the coffin-maker felt insulted and left angry. He drunkenly declared he would invite the dead to his house instead.
That night, a messenger arrived with news that the shopkeeper's wife Trukhina had died. Adrian went to arrange the funeral. When he returned home late, he saw people entering his house. Inside, he found a horrifying sight.
The room was full of corpses. The moon, shining through the windows, lit up their yellow and blue faces, sunken mouths, dim, half-closed eyes, and protruding noses.
Adrian recognized people he had buried. A skeleton accused him of selling a cheap deal coffin instead of oak. Adrian pushed the skeleton away, and it crumbled. The other corpses attacked him, and he fainted. He woke up in his bed—it had all been a drunken nightmare.
Detailed summary
Division into chapters is editorial.
Adrian Prokhoroff moves to his new house
The coffin-maker Adrian Prokhoroff loaded his belongings onto a hearse and moved from Basmannaia to Nikitskaia for the fourth time. Two worn-out horses pulled the cart while Adrian walked on foot to his new residence.
When he approached the little yellow house he had purchased for a considerable sum, Adrian was surprised to find his heart did not rejoice. Upon crossing the unfamiliar threshold, he found his new home in complete disorder and sighed for his old dwelling where strict order had prevailed for eighteen years. He scolded his two daughters and servant for their slowness, then helped establish order himself. The sacred images, cupboard, table, sofa, and bed were placed in the back room, while the kitchen and parlour housed his stock of coffins in all colors and sizes, along with mourning hats, cloaks, and torches. A sign depicting a fat Cupid with an inverted torch was placed over the door, advertising plain and colored coffins for sale or hire.
The shoemakers silver wedding celebration
After the girls retired to their bedroom, Adrian sat by the window and ordered tea to be prepared. His disposition was perfectly suited to his gloomy occupation.
Out of respect for the truth, we cannot follow their example, and we are compelled to confess that the disposition of our coffin-maker was in perfect harmony with his gloomy occupation.
Adrian rarely spoke except to scold his daughters or demand exorbitant prices from customers. As he drank his seventh cup of tea, he brooded over recent losses from a funeral held in pouring rain that had ruined many cloaks and hats. He hoped to compensate through the burial of old Trukhina, a shopkeeper's wife who had been dying for over a year, but feared her heirs might hire a nearer undertaker instead. Three masonic knocks at the door interrupted these melancholy reflections. A German shoemaker named Gottlieb Schultz entered jovially and invited Adrian and his daughters to his silver wedding celebration the next day.
Adrian cordially accepted and invited Schultz to sit for tea. They engaged in friendly conversation about their trades. Adrian observed that while living people could go barefooted without shoes, a dead beggar received his coffin for nothing. The shoemaker eventually departed, renewing his invitation. The next day at noon, Adrian and his daughters, dressed in their finest clothes including yellow cloaks and red shoes, walked to their neighbor's dwelling. The house was filled with German artisans, their wives, and foremen. Among the Russian officials present was only Yourko the Finn, a watchman who had faithfully served for twenty-five years and was the host's special guest.
The insult and Adrians drunken invitation to the dead
Adrian sat beside Yourko at the table. The host and his family did the honors while beer flowed freely. Yourko ate enormously and Adrian matched him, though his daughters maintained their dignity. After toasting his wife Louise with champagne, Schultz led a succession of toasts to various guests, corporations, and trades. Adrian drank enthusiastically and proposed a facetious toast himself. Then a fat baker raised his glass to toast the health of everyone's customers. The guests saluted each other—the tailor bowed to the shoemaker, the shoemaker to the tailor. Yourko turned to Adrian and exclaimed that he should drink to the health of his corpses. Everyone laughed, but the coffin-maker felt insulted and frowned, though nobody noticed. The guests continued drinking until the bell rang for vespers, then dispersed late in a merry mood. Adrian returned home drunk and angry, shouting about why his trade was considered less honest than others.
Instead of inviting them, I will invite those for whom I work: the orthodox dead... Yes, by the Lord! I will invite them, and that, too, for to-morrow!
His servant asked what was the matter and why he talked such nonsense about inviting the dead to his new house. Adrian insisted he would invite them for tomorrow evening to feast with him. He then went to bed and soon began snoring.
The nightmare: corpses visit Adrians house
While still dark, Adrian was awakened by news that Trukhina had died during the night. A messenger had been sent by her bailiff. Adrian gave him ten copecks for brandy, dressed hastily, took a droshky, and set out for Rasgouliai. Police already stood before the house where the deceased lay on a table, yellow as wax but not yet decomposed. Relatives, neighbors, and servants surrounded her while priests read prayers. Adrian informed Trukhina's nephew that the coffin and funeral accessories would be delivered with exactitude. The heir thanked him absently, saying he would not bargain but rely on Adrian's conscience. Adrian spent the entire day traveling between Rasgouliai and the Nikitskaia Gate. By evening everything was finished and he returned home on foot, having dismissed his driver. It was a moonlit night. Near the Church of the Ascension, Yourko hailed him and wished him good-night. As Adrian approached his house, he saw someone open his gate and disappear inside. Wondering if it was a thief or a lover of his daughters, he considered calling Yourko for help. Then another person approached the gate. Adrian hastened forward and the stranger, removing his three-cornered hat, told Adrian not to stand on ceremony but to go first and show his guests the way. Adrian had no time for ceremony—the wicket was open and he ascended the steps followed by the stranger. He thought he heard people walking in his rooms.
Upon entering, Adrian's legs gave way beneath him. The room was full of corpses illuminated by moonlight shining through the windows—their yellow and blue faces, sunken mouths, dim half-closed eyes, and protruding noses clearly visible.
Adrian, with horror, recognized in them people that he himself had buried, and in the guest who entered with him, the brigadier who had been buried during the pouring rain.
All surrounded the coffin-maker with bowings and salutations, except one poor fellow buried gratis who stood ashamed in a corner. The others were decently dressed—female corpses in caps and ribbons, officials in uniforms with unshaven beards, tradesmen in holiday caftans. The brigadier spoke for the company, explaining they had all risen in response to Adrian's invitation. Only those who had crumbled to pieces stayed home, though one skeleton had been too eager to see Adrian and pushed through the crowd. His fleshless face smiled affably, with shreds of green and red cloth hanging from his bones and his feet rattling in jack-boots like pestles in mortars. The skeleton identified himself as retired sergeant Peter Petrovitch Kourilkin, to whom Adrian had sold his first coffin in 1799—made of deal instead of oak as promised. The corpse stretched out his bony arms toward Adrian. Collecting all his strength, Adrian shrieked and pushed him away. Peter Petrovitch staggered, fell, and crumbled to pieces. The other corpses arose in indignation, overwhelming Adrian with threats and imprecations until he lost consciousness and fell upon the sergeant's bones.
Awakening to discover it was all a dream
Sunlight had been shining on Adrian's bed for some time when he finally opened his eyes. His servant Aksinia stood before him attending to the tea-urn. With horror, Adrian recalled the previous day's incidents—Trukhina, the brigadier, and sergeant Kourilkin rose vaguely before his imagination. He waited silently for Aksinia to inform him of the night's events. She remarked how soundly he had slept, mentioning that the tailor and watchman had called, but they had not wished to wake him. When Adrian asked if anyone had come from the late Trukhina, Aksinia asked if she was dead. Adrian asked if she had not helped him prepare funeral items yesterday. Aksinia replied that he must still be recovering from yesterday's drinking bout—he had spent the whole day feasting at the German's house, then came home drunk, threw himself on the bed, and slept until the bells rang for mass. There had been no funeral. Adrian was greatly relieved and asked her to make tea quickly and call his daughters.