Chapter 7 coffin boss

We don't see coffins every day, A silver hair of this decaying universe? Jere Chavin ① ① This poem is quoted from his "Waterfall". Adrian Praholov, the coffin-keeper, had piled the last odds and ends on the coffin-carrying wagon, and the two scrawny horses had already made their fourth trip out of the Basman Gate and into the Nikita Gate. ——The boss of the coffin is moving, and the whole family will move to the Nikita gate.He closed the door of the old shop, nailed a sign on the door, and wrote: "This shop is for sale, and it is also available for rent." Then he walked to the new house.When he approached the yellow house that he had been interested in for a long time and finally bought with a considerable sum of money, the old coffinmaker found in a panic that he was not at ease.He stepped through the unfamiliar threshold, but when he saw that his new house was in disarray, he sighed, and could not help thinking of the old one, where he had spent eighteen springs and autumns, and where everything had been arranged in perfect order.Thinking of this, he cursed his two daughters and the long-term worker, complaining about their inflexible hands and feet, and immediately came to help.Immediately, the inspection was a little eye-catching.The shrines for the icons, the tables, the sofas, and the beds took their place in the designated corners of the back room; the kitchen and drawing-room were filled with the kind of fine things the coffin-keepers have made: coffins, in every color and size. In addition, there are rows of cabinets containing shrouds, caps and torches.A signboard is hung at the gate, on which is a fat God of love, holding a torch upside down, and a big book on the signboard: "This shop sells and nails all kinds of natural and painted coffins, and can also rent out and renovate second-hand coffins. "The two daughters went back to their boudoirs.Adrian inspected the new house, sat down by the window, and ordered tea to be made.

The learned reader understands that Shakespeare and Walter Scott portrayed the gravedigger as a jovial fellow, in order to stimulate our imagination still more by sharp contrast.For the sake of respecting the truth, I dare not follow in the footsteps of the two, so I have to admit that the character of our coffin owner is in harmony with his dark business.Adrian Praholov was always sad and preoccupied.Only when he scolded his daughter for not working and peeping out the window, or when he bargained with unfortunate (or sometimes fortunate) customers to increase the price of goods, did he break the routine. silence.And so Adrian sat at the window, sipped his seventh cup of tea, and, as was customary, sank into brooding doubts.He remembered the torrential rain when the guard of honor arrived at the gate of the city a week ago when the retired brigade commander was attending the funeral.As a result, the filial piety clothes he rented out shrank one by one, and the hats deformed one by one.He expected a large outlay, for his funeral supplies were running low.He had long hoped to get some money from the old businesswoman Triusina, who was dying for almost a year.However, Triutina was going to die on Razgurya Street, and Prakhorov feared that her heirs would not be bothered to send someone so far to find him, although they had promised him that they might as well be nearby. Talk to other funeral directors about business.

These doubts were unexpectedly interrupted by a Masonic triple knock on the door. "Who is it?" asked the coffin owner. The door opened, and a man came in. One could tell at a glance that he was a German craftsman. He was very happy, and walked towards the coffin owner. "Excuse me, dear neighbor!" said he in Russian, which we still can't hear without laughing, "excuse me for disturbing you... I want to get acquainted with you as soon as possible. I'm a shoemaker named Ge Trib Schultz, lives just across the street. My little house is facing your window. Tomorrow is my silver wedding anniversary, and I beg you and your niece to come to my house for lunch."

The invitation was accepted.The coffin owner invited the shoemaker to sit down and have a cup of tea.Thanks to Gottlieb Schulz's cheerful disposition, the two soon struck up an affectionate conversation. "Are you rich in business?" asked Adrian. "Well, it's okay!" Schultz replied, "I won't complain. Of course, my goods are not as good as yours; the living have no shoes to wear, and the dead have no coffin to sleep in, that's not okay." "That's right!" said Adrian. "Really, the living have no money to buy shoes. Please don't be offended. He can wear bare feet; but when the beggar dies, he must ask for a coffin."

The conversation went on this way for a while.The shoemaker got up to take his leave and extended the invitation again. At noon the next day, the owner of the coffin took his two daughters out of the side door of the new house and went to the neighbor's house.Forgive me here for not describing Adrian's Russian gown, nor the European make-up of his daughters Akulina and Daria, and pardon the modus operandi of modern novelists in this case. The cobbler's small house was full of guests, mostly German craftsmen, their wives and helpers, and the Russian government servant had a watchman, Yurko the Finn.Although this person has a humble official position, he has won the special respect of his master.He was just and honest, had been faithful to his post for twenty-five years, and resembled Pogorelsky's postman. In 1812, the fire burned down the first ancient capital, and his yellow sentry box was also destroyed.However, after driving the enemy away, a new gray sentry box supported by Dari-style white capitals was built on the spot, and Yurk patrolled around it again, "carrying a hatchet on his shoulder and wearing a baize breastplate." He was known to most of the Germans near the Kita Gate, and some of them occasionally spent the night at Jurk's on Sunday until Monday morning.Adrian, the coffin-keeper, immediately climbed up to him, for he was always needed sooner or later, and when the guests entered, they sat next to each other.Mr. and Mrs. Schultz and their daughter, seventeen-year-old Rotsey, accompanied the guests at the meal, entertained the guests, and helped the cook.The beer kept pouring out.Yurko has the appetite of four people, and Adrian is no less than him.His two daughters learned to be polite.The conversation in German was getting lively.Suddenly, the host asked everyone to be quiet, pulled out the wax-sealed wine bottle, and said loudly in Russian: "To the health of my good Louisa, cheers!" The counterfeit champagne was foaming.The host tenderly kissed the radiant face of his forty-year-old companion, and the guests booed and toasted Louisa's health.

① Pogorelisky (1787-1836), Russian writer.The postman is a character in his novel Rafidorf's Bun with Poppy Seeds. "Cheers to the health of all distinguished guests!" The host opened the second bottle of wine and raised his glass again.The guest thanked him and drank another glass.Henceforth, drink after drink, drink to the health of every guest, to the health of Moscow and a dozen Germanic cities, to the health of the head guild of craftsmen and branch guilds of all walks of life, to the health of master and apprentice Cheers to health.Adrian drank so much that he was so happy that he made a little joke while toasting.Then one of the guests, a chubby pastry chef, raised his glass and shouted: "To those who work for us and for them, to the health of our customers!" This proposal, like all proposals, was unanimously enthusiastic. Accepted quickly.The guests stood up and bowed to each other, the shoemaker bowed to the tailor, the tailor bowed to the shoemaker, the pastry maker bowed to both of them, everyone bowed to the pastry maker, and so on.Seeing everyone bowing frequently, Yurko turned his face and yelled to his neighbor: "How is it? Father! Let's have a drink for your dead man!" Everyone laughed.But the boss of the coffin frowned because he thought he had been insulted.No one heeded him, and the guests continued to drink, and by the time they had risen from the table the bells for Vespers had struck.

It was already very late when the guests left the table, and most of them were drunk and full.The bookbinder's face was as red as the blood-red cover of a parchment.He and the fat pastry chef took Yurko's arms and dragged him to the sentry box, just like the Russian proverb, "you will get flowers if you plant flowers, and you will get thorns if you plant thorns." The coffinmaker came home reeking of alcohol and furious. "What's the matter?" he argued aloud to himself. "What's wrong with me? Isn't the coffinmaker the executioner's brother? Heretics! What's so funny? The coffinmaker is the baptism." The clowns at the festival? I wanted to invite them all to the new house and entertain them with a big banquet. No matter! Don’t let me down! I really want to invite my customers-the Orthodox dead. "

"What's the matter, old man?" said the maid who was undressing him at the time. "What nonsense are you talking about? Make the sign of the cross! It's a crime to invite a dead man to drink!" "God bless! I want to invite you!" continued Adrian. "I will invite you tomorrow. Please do me a favor! My benefactors! Please come to my house for a drink tomorrow, and I will do my best to entertain you." When the coffin boss said this, he fell on the bed and soon snored like thunder. When Adrian was woken, the yard was still dark.The businesswoman Triusina happened to die that night, and her shopkeeper sent someone to inform Adrian on horseback.The coffin maker gave the mourner a ten-copeck silver piece for wine, dressed hastily, hailed a cab, and drove straight to Razgurya Street.The gate of the dead man's house was already patrolled by the police, and businessmen shuttled in and out, as if a flock of crows had smelled the dead body.The dead man was lying on the table, his complexion was sallow, but he had not rotted and turned ugly.All around her, relatives, neighbors and dutiful sons and grandchildren crowded and shoved.The windows are all open.Candles are lit.Several priests were chanting sutras.Adrian went up to a young merchant in a smart dress, the nephew of the deceased, and explained to him that the funeral materials, candles, caskets, and funeral articles were all ready and guaranteed to be genuine.The young heir thanked him routinely, saying that regardless of the price, everything was left to the conscience of the seller.The boss of the coffin swears to the sky according to the usual practice, saying that he is not a human being if he asks for one more money; at this moment, he throws a meaningful wink at the shopkeeper, and then takes a car to make arrangements.All day long he was on the go, from Razgurya Street to Nikita Gate and back.When it was dark all was done, he dispatched the carriage and went home on foot.The moon is at the head.The coffin owner walked leisurely and walked to the Nikita gate.Beside the Church of the Ascension, Yurko, whom we had known for a long time, told him to stop, and after recognizing the owner of the coffin, he said good night to him.It was getting late.The owner of the coffin was about to enter the house. Suddenly, he saw a figure slipping to the door, pushed the door open and got in, and disappeared.

"What trick is this?" He thought to himself, "Who asked me to buy goods again? Could it be that the thief took advantage of the loophole? Could it be my two silly girls stealing the man? It must be a bad thing!" The boss of the coffin has already made up his mind to call his good friend Yuerke to help.At this time another one came, slipped to the side door, and was about to step in. He looked back and recognized the master who was about to run away, so he stopped and took off his three-cornered hat.Adrian felt that this person was very familiar, but he was in a hurry to take a closer look.

"Excuse me, come to the dormitory," said Adrian out of breath, "by the light, please come in!" "You're welcome, boss!" said the man in a muffled voice, "please go ahead and lead the way for the guests." Adrian had no time for politeness, so the door was left open.He went up the stairs, followed by the man.It seemed to Adrian that many people were already walking about in his several houses. "What a ghost!" he thought, and hurried in. . . Oops!His legs were shaking.The room is full of dead people!The moonlight shone through the window, illuminating the dead man's sallow or livid face, as well as the gnashed mouth, half-closed, cloudy eyes and bald nose... Adrian was frightened out of his wits, but recognized He took care of the dead one after another with his enthusiastic help in burying them.And the guest who went upstairs with him was the brigade commander who was buried when the heavy rain poured down.Male ghosts and female ghosts surrounded the coffin boss, and they all bowed to him.Only a poor ghost who was buried not long ago was ashamed of himself because of his disheveled corpse clothes. He didn't dare to approach, and stood obediently in the corner.The rest of the ghosts are all well-dressed: the female ghost wears a nightcap and ribbons; the ghost of an official has a neat uniform, but the beard has not been shaved off;

"Look, Praholov!" said the brigade commander, speaking on behalf of the whole glorious company of ghosts, "we have come to the feast at your invitation. Only those who can't walk are left at home, and they are completely disorganized. There is only a handful of bones left, and all the flesh is rotten, but one of them couldn't bear it anymore and insisted on coming..." At this moment, a small skeleton squeezed through the crowd of ghosts and walked up to Adrian.The skull smiled charmingly at the coffin owner.Shreds of grass-green and crimson woolen cloth and tattered linen hung all over him, as if hanging from a wooden pole, and his feet bumped against the inside of their boots like a log. Pound the rice with a pestle in a stone mortar. "You don't recognize me, Praholov?" the skeleton began, "Do you remember that retired guard sergeant Peter Petrovich Kurilkin? You sold him your first coffin in 1799—pine for oak!Can not remember? " After saying this, the ghost stretched out two disobedient bones to hug him.Shouting with all his might, Adrian pushed the ghost away.Pyotr Petrovich staggered, fell to the ground and fell apart.There was an angry booing among the dead, but murmurs were heard; they all united to uphold the dignity of their companions, and clung to Adrian, cursing and threatening.The poor coffin owner was so scolded that his ears were buzzing and he almost suffocated. He had already lost his mind and fell down on the skeleton of the retired guard sergeant, losing consciousness. The sun had already illuminated the head of his bed, but the boss of the coffin was still slumped on it.Finally he opened his eyes and saw the maid fanning the samovar.Adrian couldn't help but be terrified when he recalled what happened last night.Triutina, the brigade commander, and sergeant Kurilkin floated vaguely in his mind.He kept silent, waiting for the maid to speak to him, wanting to hear her talk about the consequences of the strange things that happened last night. "You've fallen asleep, sir! Adrian Praholovitch!" said Aksinya, handing him a robe. "The neighbour's tailor came to see you, and the neighbor's The sentry comes to inform you that it's his name day. But you're dead asleep, and we don't want to wake you up." "Did I ever come to the dead Triusina's family?" "What dead person? Is she dead already?" "Oh! You silly woman! Didn't you help me with her funeral last night?" "What's the matter with you, old man? Have you lost your mind? Maybe you got drunk last night, and you've lost your mind? What was the funeral yesterday? You ate and drank all day at the Germans' house - came home drunk, As soon as I fell into bed and slept till now, the morning prayer bell had already struck." "Oh! Seriously?" said the coffin-keeper, cheering up. "That goes without saying." The maid replied. "Well! If that's the case, then quickly pour tea and call your daughter."