3

«GOOD MORNING, Ilya, I’m so glad to see you! Well, how are you? All right?» asked Stolz.

«Oh dear, no, Andrey, old man», Oblomov said with a sigh. «I’m not at all well».

«Why, you’re not ill, are you?» Stolz asked solicitously.

«Styes have got me down: last week I got rid of one on my right eye and now I’m getting one on the left». Stolz laughed.

«Is that all?» he asked. «You’ve got them from sleeping too much».

«All? Good heavens – no! I’ve awful heartburn. You should have heard what the doctor said this morning. He told me to go abroad or it would be the worse for me: I might have a stroke».

«Well, are you going?»

«No».

«Why not?»

«Good Lord, you should have heard all he told me! I have to live somewhere on a mountain, go to Egypt, or to America. …»

«Well, what about it?» Stolz said coolly. «You can be in Egypt in a fortnight and in America in three weeks».

«You, too, old man? You were the only sensible man I knew and you, too, have gone off your head. Who goes to America and Egypt? The English – but they have been made like that by the good Lord and, besides, they have not enough room at home. But who in Russia would dream of going? Some desperate fellow, perhaps, who doesn’t value his own life».

«But, good heavens, it’s nothing: you get into a carriage or go on board ship, breathe pure air, look at foreign countries, cities, customs, at all the marvels… Oh, you funny fellow! Well, tell me how you are getting on? How are things at Oblomovka?» «Oh!» Oblomov said with a despairing wave of the hand.

«What’s happened?»

«Why, life doesn’t leave me alone».

«Thank goodness it doesn’t!» said Stolz.

«Thank goodness indeed! if it just went on patting me on the head, but it keeps pestering me just as naughty boys pester a quiet boy at school, pinching him on the sly or rushing up to him and throwing sand in his face – I can’t stand it any more!»

«You’re much too quiet. What’s happened?» asked Stolz.

«Two misfortunes».

«Oh?»

«I’m utterly ruined».

«How’s that?»

«Let me read to you what my bailiff writes – where’s the letter? Zakhar, Zakhar!»

Zakhar found the letter. Stolz read it and laughed, probably at the bailiff’s style.

«What a rogue that bailiff is!» he said. «He has let the peasants go and now he complains! He might as well have given them passports and let them go where they like».

«Good Lord, if he did that, they might all want to go», Oblomov retorted.

«Let them!» Stolz said with complete unconcern. «Those who are happy and find it to their advantage to stay, will not go, and those who do not want to stay are of no use to you, anyway. Why keep them in that case?»

«What an idea!» said Oblomov. «The Oblomovka peasants are quiet people who like to stay at home. What do they want to roam about for?»

«I don’t suppose you know», Stolz interrupted, «they’re going to build a landing-stage at Verkhlyovo and they also plan to make a highroad there, so that Oblomovka will be within a mile of it, and they’re going to hold an annual fair in the town, too».

«Dear me», said Oblomov, «that would be the last straw! Oblomovka used to be in a backwater, away from everything, and now there’s going to be a fair, a highroad! The peasants will start going regularly to the town, merchants will be coming to us – it’s the end! What a nuisance!»

Stolz laughed.

«Of course it’s a nuisance!» Oblomov went on. «The peasants were behaving nicely, you heard nothing, neither good nor bad, from them, they went about their business and asked for nothing, but now they’ll be corrupted! They’ll start drinking tea and coffee, wearing velvet trousers and blacked boots, playing accordions – no good will come of it!»

«Well, of course, if they do that, it will certainly not be much good», observed Stolz. «But why shouldn’t you open a school in your village?»

«Isn’t it a bit too soon?» said Oblomov. «Literacy is harmful to the peasant: educate him and for all you know he may not want to plough any more».

«But the peasants will be able to read how to plough their fields – you funny man! But, look here, you really ought to go to your estate this year».

«Yes, that’s true, but, you see, my plan isn’t quite ready yet».. Oblomov observed timidly.

«You don’t want any plan!» said Stolz. «All you have to do is to go there – you’ll see on the spot what has to be done. You’ve been working on this plan for years: isn’t it finished yet? What do you do?»

«My dear fellow, as though I have only the estate to worry about! What about my other misfortune?»

«What’s that?»

«They’re driving me out of my flat».

«Driving you out?»

«Yes, they just told me to clear out, and they seem to mean it».

«Well, what about it?»

«What about it? I’ve worn myself to a shadow worrying about it. I’m all alone, and there’s this and that to be seen to, check the accounts, pay the bills, and then there’s the moving! I’m spending a terrible amount of money and I’m hanged if I know what on! Before I know where I am, I shall be left penniless!»

«What a pampered fellow you are – can’t bring yourself to move to a new flat!» Stolz said in surprise. «Talking of money – how much money have you got on you? Let me have five hundred roubles, please. I must send it off at once. I’ll get it from our office to-morrow…»

«Wait, let me think! I received a thousand roubles from the estate the other day, and now there’s left – wait a minute…»

Oblomov began rummaging in the drawers.

«Here – ten, twenty, two hundred roubles – and here’s another twenty. There were some coppers here – Zakhar! Zakhar!»

Zakhar, as usual, jumped off the stove and came in.

«Where are the twenty copecks I put on the table yesterday?»

«You keep on harping on the twenty copecks, sir! I’ve already told you that there were no twenty copecks on the table».

«Of course there were! The change from the oranges».

«You must have given it to somebody and forgotten all about it, sir», said Zakhar, turning to the door.

Stolz laughed.

«Oh, you Oblomovs!» he upbraided them. «Don’t know how much money you have in your pockets!»

«And didn’t you give some money to Mr Tarantyev, sir?» Zakhar reminded Oblomov.

«Yes, yes, of course», Oblomov said, turning to Stolz. «Tarantyev took ten roubles. I forgot all about it».

«Why do you receive that brute?» Stolz observed.

«Receive him, sir?» Zakhar intervened. «Why, he comes here as if it was his own house or a pub. Took the master’s shirt and waistcoat, he did, and we never saw ’em again! This morning he came for a dress-coat, if you please. Wanted to put it on at once, he did! I wish, sir, you’d speak to him about it!»

«It’s not your business, Zakhar!» Oblomov said sternly. «Go back to your room».

«Let’s have a sheet of note-paper», Stolz said. «I must write a note to someone».

«Zakhar, Mr Stolz wants paper; give him some», said Oblomov.

«But there isn’t any, sir», Zakhar replied from the passage. «You looked for it yourself this morning», he added, without bothering to come in.

«Just a scrap of paper!» Stolz persisted.

Oblomov searched on the table; there wasn’t a scrap.

«Give me your visiting card at least».

«I haven’t had any for ages», said Oblomov.

«What is the matter with you?» Stolz asked ironically. «And you’re about to do something – you’re writing a plan. Tell me, do you go out anywhere? Whom do you see?»

«Going out? Good Lord, no! I’m always at home. My plan does worry me, you know, and then there’s the business of getting a new flat – thank goodness, Tarantyev promised to find something for me».

«Does anyone come to see you?»

«Oh yes – Tarantyev, Alexeyev… the doctor looked in this morning. Penkin, too, Sudbinsky, Volkov…»

«I don’t see any books in your room», said Stolz.

«Here’s one!» Oblomov observed, pointing to a book that lay on the table.

«What’s this?» asked Stolz, glancing at the book. «A Journey to Africa. And the page you’ve stopped at has grown mouldy. Not a newspaper to be seen. Do you read the papers?»

«No, the print’s too small – bad for the eyes, and there isn’t really any need for it: if anything new happens, it’s drummed into your ears all day long».

«Good heavens, Ilya!» said Stolz, casting a surprised glance at Oblomov. «What do you do? You just roll up and lie about like a piece of dough».

«That’s true enough, Andrey», Oblomov answered sadly, «just like a piece of dough».

«But to be conscious of something does not excuse it, does it?» «No, but I merely answered your question; I’m not justifying myself», Oblomov replied with a sigh.

«But you must rouse yourself from your sleep».

«I’ve tried, but failed, and now – what for? There is nothing to rouse me, my heart is at rest, my mind is peacefully asleep!» he concluded with a touch of bitterness. «Don’t let us talk about It… Better tell me where you have come from».

«Kiev. In another fortnight I’ll be going abroad. Come with me».

«Very well – perhaps I will», Oblomov decided.

«Well then, sit down and write the application for your passport and to-morrow you can hand it in».

«To-morrow!» Oblomov cried, startled. «You people are always in such a hurry, as though someone were driving you! We’ll think it over and discuss it and then we shall see. Perhaps it would be best to go to the estate first and abroad – afterwards».

«But why afterwards? Didn’t the doctor tell you to? First of all you must get rid of your fat, of your bodily heaviness, then your spirit won’t be sleepy, either. You need both physical and mental gymnastics».

«No, Andrey, all that is sure to tire me: my health is bad. No, you’d better leave me and go alone».

Stolz looked at the recumbent Oblomov, and Oblomov looked at him. Stolz shook his head, and Oblomov sighed.

«I suppose you’re too lazy to live», Stolz said.

«Well, I suppose I am, Andrey».

Andrey was trying hard to think how he could touch him to the quick, if indeed anything could affect him any more, and meanwhile he scrutinized him in silence and suddenly burst out laughing.

«Why have you one woollen stocking and one cotton stocking on?» he suddenly remarked, pointing to Oblomov’s feet. «And your shirt is inside out, too!»

Oblomov looked at his feet, then at his shirt.

«So they are», he confessed, looking put out. «That Zakhar is the limit! You wouldn’t believe how he tires me out! He argues, he is rude, and he never attends to his business».

«Oh, Ilya, Ilya!» said Stolz. «No, I can’t leave you like that. In another week you won’t know yourself. I’ll tell you what I am going to do with you and myself this evening, and now get dressed! You wait; I’ll shake you up! Zakhar!» he shouted, «Mr Oblomov’s clothes!»

«But where are we going – good Lord! Tarantyev and Alexeyev are coming to dine with me, and then we wanted to…»

«Zakhar», Stolz went on, without listening to him, «fetch the clothes».

«Yes, sir, but let me clean the boots, first», Zakhar said readily.

«What? Don’t you clean the boots before five o’clock?»

«They’re cleaned all right, sir. I’ve cleaned them last week, but Master hasn’t been out so they’ve lost their shine again».

«Never mind, fetch them as they are. Take my trunk into the drawing-room; I’ll stay here. I’m going to dress now and you, Ilya, get ready, too. We’ll have dinner somewhere on the way, and then we’ll call at two or three places and…»

«But, look here, don’t be in such a rush – wait a minute – let’s think it over first – I haven’t shaved…»

«There’s no need to think and scratch your head… You’ll shave on the way: I’ll take you to a hairdresser’s».

«But where are we going to?» Oblomov cried mournfully. «Do I know the people? What an idea! I’d better call on Ivan Gerasimovich. I haven’t seen him for three days».

«Who is this Ivan Gerasimovich?»

«He was at the same office as I».

«Oh, the grey-headed administrative official. What do you see in him? What makes you wish to waste your time with a blockhead like that?»

«How harshly you speak of people sometimes, Andrey. Really! He’s a nice man, though he doesn’t wear shirts of Dutch linen!»

«What do you do there? What do you talk to him about?» asked Stolz.

«Well, you know, everything at his place is so nice and cosy. The rooms are small, the sofas so deep that you sink into them and can’t be seen. The windows are covered with ivy and cactus, there are more than a dozen canaries, three dogs – such affectionate creatures! There is always some snack on the table. The prints on the walls are all of family scenes. You come and you don’t want to go away. You sit without thinking or worrying about anything, you know there is a man beside you who – though perhaps far from intelligent, for it would be a waste of time to exchange ideas with him – is unsophisticated, kind- hearted, hospitable, without pretensions, a man who would never dream of insulting you behind your back!»

«But what do you do there?»

«What do we do? Well, you see, as soon as I come we sit down on sofas opposite each other with our feet up – he smokes…»

«And you?»

«I also smoke and listen to the song of the canaries. Then Marfa brings in the samovar».

«Tarantyev, Ivan Gerasimovich!» said Stolz, shrugging his shoulders. «Well, come on and dress quickly», he hurried him.

«Tell Tarantyev when he comes», he added, addressing Zakhar, «that we are dining out and that Mr Oblomov will be dining out all summer, and he will be too busy in the autumn to see him».

«I’ll tell him that, sir. Don’t worry, I shan’t forget», replied Zakhar. «And what shall I do with the dinner, sir?»

«Eat it with anyone you like».

«Yes, sir».

Ten minutes later Stolz came out of the drawing-room dressed, shaven, and with his hair brushed. Oblomov was sitting on his bed, looking melancholy and slowly buttoning his shirt and struggling with the buttonholes. Zakhar knelt before him on one knee, holding an unpolished boot in his hand as if it were some dish and waiting for his master to finish buttoning his shirt.

«You haven’t put your boots on yet!» Stolz said in surprise. «Well, come on, Ilya, hurry up!»

«But where are we going? And whatever for?» Oblomov cried miserably. «I have seen it all before! I’m afraid I’m no longer interested – I don’t want to…»

«Come on! Come on!» Stolz hurried him.