The Overcoat
A poor clerk, a magnificent new coat, and the ghost who haunts St. Petersburg
Page 1
In a St. Petersburg department served a clerk named Akaky Akakievich Bashmachkin, a man who loved nothing more than copying documents. He took no notice of the world, but his younger colleagues took notice of him. They made him the butt of their jokes, especially about his ancient, worn-out overcoat. "Look at Akaky's dressing-gown!" one would say, flicking paper at him. "Surely it's time for a new one, old man!" they would taunt. Most of the time, Akaky did not even look up. But when the teasing grew too cruel, he would stop his work and plead in a quiet, piteous voice. "Leave me be," he would whisper. "Why do you do this?" The simple question only made them laugh louder. Only a new clerk, seeing this for the first time, would stop, struck by the inhumanity of it all, and feel a pang of shame for the rest of his life.
Page 2
Akaky's room was cold and sparse, but the fierce St. Petersburg frost had become his true enemy. His old overcoat was so thin that the wind cut right through it. One morning, he laid it out on his table for a final inspection. He turned it over and over, his face falling. "It's completely worn through here... and here," he murmured to himself, poking a finger through the fabric on the shoulder. He held it up to the weak light from the window and saw it was little more than a sieve. It was hopeless. "There's nothing for it," he said aloud, his voice small in the cold room. "I must take it to Petrovich. He'll charge too much, but what other choice do I have?" He bundled up the sad garment, nodded grimly, and prepared to face both the tailor and the bitter cold outside. His landlady watched him from the doorway, shaking her head.
Page 3
Akaky climbed the dark staircase to the tailor Petrovich's apartment. He found the one-eyed tailor sitting cross-legged on a table, sewing, sober and therefore in a foul mood. Akaky nervously presented the tattered overcoat. "But Petrovich," Akaky began, his voice trembling slightly, "perhaps you could put a patch on it? Just here on the back?" Petrovich snatched the garment, spread it on the table, and shook his head with finality. "A patch?" he scoffed, jabbing a grimy finger at the cloth, which immediately disintegrated. "You can't put a patch on dust. The cloth will fall apart if I touch it with a needle." Akaky's heart sank. "But what am I to do?" he pleaded. Petrovich pushed the garment off the table onto the floor. "I told you," he said, picking up his work again. "A new one. There is no other way."
Page 4
A new overcoat would cost eighty rubles. Akaky had only forty. To save the rest, he began a life of severe economy. He walked through the city as if in a dream, his mind only on his goal. "No tea tonight," he would tell himself, walking past a cozy tavern. "A candle costs a kopek." He learned to walk on the very tips of his toes, barely touching the paving stones. "If I walk lightly," he reasoned, "my boots will last another month." His stomach would rumble as he passed bakeries, but the hunger became a spiritual nourishment. The thought of the new overcoat was his constant companion, a bright goal that lit up his impoverished life. He felt as though he were married, as if the overcoat itself were walking beside him. He was no longer alone.
Page 5
With his savings and an unexpected bonus, Akaky finally had the eighty rubles. He and Petrovich went to the shops. After much deliberation, Petrovich chose a durable, handsome cloth. "Is this one... very expensive?" Akaky asked, touching the fabric with a reverent finger. Petrovich grunted. "It is the best quality. It will be warm. It will last you twenty years." For the collar, they chose the best marten fur they could find, passing it off as cat fur to haggle the price down. "And the collar?" Akaky whispered, his eyes wide. "We must have a good collar." The purchase was the most momentous event of his life. Petrovich promised the coat in two weeks, and Akaky began visiting him daily, his excitement growing with every stitch.
Page 6
Akaky arrived at the department in his new overcoat. It was a masterpiece. For a moment, no one noticed. Then a whisper started, and soon the entire office was abuzz. "Bashmachkin!" someone shouted. "Where did you get that magnificent coat?" Everyone crowded around, congratulating him. "Look at the fur! It must have cost a fortune!" another clerk exclaimed, touching the sleeve. "We must christen it!" cried a third. "You must host a party!" For the first time, Akaky was the center of positive attention. He was flustered but filled with pride. An assistant head clerk, wanting to show off, invited everyone to his apartment that evening for tea. The invitation was a miracle. The day was the most triumphant of Akaky Akakievich’s life. He walked home feeling like a king, the new coat a warm, secure weight on his shoulders.
Page 7
Akaky felt strange going to a party. The host's apartment was filled with officials, noise, and cigar smoke. He stood awkwardly by the door, watching the card games and conversations. Then the host spotted him and raised a glass. "To Akaky Akakievich and his new coat!" he boomed, and the room cheered. "Hear, hear!" someone shouted. Akaky flushed with pleasure. "Thank you," he murmured. After two glasses of champagne, he began to feel cheerful. But as the evening wore on, he grew tired. Deciding not to disturb anyone, he quietly found his magnificent overcoat in the hall and slipped out into the cold, empty street. The night air was refreshing, and for some reason, he felt joyful, almost giddy, as he began his long walk home.
Page 8
Akaky walked through the sleeping city until he came to a vast, dark square that stretched out like a frightening sea. He was halfway across when two large men with moustaches suddenly appeared before him. He didn't have time to react. "The coat is mine," one of them said, his voice like thunder, as he grabbed Akaky by the collar. Akaky opened his mouth to scream, but the second man held something heavy right under his nose. In an instant, they pulled the new overcoat from his shoulders, kicked him into the snow, and vanished. Akaky scrambled up, freezing and breathless. "Help!" he cried, his voice swallowed by the wind. "Watchman! Help!" He ran towards a distant watchman's booth, but the man had seen nothing. It was too late. The coat was gone.
Page 9
As a last resort, Akaky secured an audience with an 'Important Personage,' a general who loved to exercise his new power. After a long wait, Akaky was shown in. Trembling, he tried to explain his loss. "Your Excellency..." he stammered, "my overcoat... it was stolen... by robbers..." The general, wanting to impress an old friend who was visiting, cut him off. "What? What overcoat? What is this lack of respect?" he roared, rising from his chair. "Do you know who you are speaking to? Do you understand the proper procedure?" He stamped his foot with such force that Akaky, who had never been spoken to like this, nearly fainted. The general shouted at his aide: "Get him out!" Akaky stumbled out and walked home through a blizzard, unaware of the storm. That night, a violent fever took hold of him.
Page 10
Akaky Akakievich died a few days later. Soon, a story began to haunt St. Petersburg: the ghost of a clerk was snatching overcoats from people on the Kalinkin Bridge. One evening, the Important Personage was crossing the bridge in his sleigh, feeling a brief pang of pity for the clerk he had berated. Suddenly, a figure appeared. The general froze as he recognized the face of Akaky. "Ah! Here you are at last!" the ghost whispered, its voice like the wind, as it seized him by the collar. "It is you I need! Your overcoat!" The terrified general threw off his own fine coat, screaming at his coachman. "Home!" he cried. "As fast as you can!" The incident changed him profoundly. And from that day on, the ghost of the clerk was never seen again.
About this story
- Audience: general readers
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