Pushkin

Three and a half thousand years ago, in ancient Egypt, the princess of Armanra passed away.

She was laid to rest in an exquisite wooden coffin and buried in a deep vault at Luxor, on the banks of the mighty Nile.

More than 30 centuries later, in the late 1800s, four young English tourists, Rich Gentlemen All, were offered the chance to purchase a delightfully painted mummy case.

They drew lots to decide who had the right to buy the prize.

The man who won, paid a small fortune and had the coffin taken to his hotel.

A few hours later, he was seen walking out onto the lone and level sands.

He was never to return.

The second fellow was wounded in a hunting accident. He lost his arm.

The third man lost everything in a bank run. The fourth was struck with a severe illness, lost his job and ended his days selling matches on street corners.

The coffin case was purchased by another gentleman, his house court fire, and he quickly donated the unlucky item to the British Museum.

The removal did not go smoothly. The removal wagon lost control and hit a passerby.

One workman fell and broke his leg while carrying the casket. His colleague simply died inexplicably two days later.

Night watchman at the museum frequently heard sobbing and hammering from inside the coffin.

One died on duty. The others refused to go near the Egyptian room where the item was stored.

A visitor who treated the exhibition with scorn, soon paid the price. His child died of measles.

A photographer took a picture of the case, but when he developed the picture, he saw only a tormented human face.

The photographer went home, locked his door, and shot himself.

The British Museum sold the cursed object to a private collector who soon regretted the purchase.

Eventually he found a buyer bold or foolish enough to take it off his hands.

An American archaeologist who simply did not believe in unlucky mummies.

He paid top dollar for the coffin case and arranged to have it shipped across the Atlantic to New York.

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