4

HE told Olga that he had talked it over with the landlady’s brother and added hastily that he hoped to be able to sub-let the flat in the course of the week. Olga went out with her aunt to pay a visit before dinner and he went to look at flats in the vicinity. He called at two houses; in one he found a vacant four-roomed flat at 4,000 roubles and in the other he was asked 6,000 roubles for a five-roomed one. «Terrible! terrible!» he repeated, stopping his ears and running away from the astonished caretakers. Adding to these sums the thousand odd roubles he had to pay Mrs Pshenitzyn, he was so terrified that he could not add up the total and, quickening his pace, rushed back to Olga’s. There was company there. Olga was very animated, talked, sang, and created a sensation. Only Oblomov listened absently, while she was talking and singing for him alone, because she did not want him to sit there looking crestfallen, but that everything in him, too, should be talking and singing.

«Come to the theatre to-morrow – we have a box», she said.

«In the evening, through the mud, and all that way!» Oblomov thought, but, looking into her eyes, he answered her smile with a smile of consent.

«Book a stall for the season», she added. «The Mayevskys are coming next week. Auntie invited them to our box».

And she looked into his eyes to see how pleased he was,

«Heavens», he thought in horror, «and I have only three hundred roubles left».

«Ask the baron; he knows everyone, and book a seat for you to-morrow».

And again she smiled, and looking at her he smiled too and, still smiling, asked the baron to book a seat for him, and the baron, also with a smile, undertook to do so.

«Now you will be in the stalls», Olga added, «and when you have finished your business, you will take your place in our box by right».

And she smiled for the last time as she smiled when she was perfectly happy. Oh, how happy he suddenly felt when Olga slightly lifted the veil over the seductive vista, concealed in smiles as in flowers! He forgot all about the money, and it was only when on the following morning he saw Ivan Matveyevich with his parcel dash past his window that he remembered the deed of trust and asked his landlady’s brother to have it witnessed at the courts. Ivan Matveyevich read it, declared that there was one obscure point in it, and undertook to get it cleared up. The document was copied out again, then witnessed and posted. Oblomov told Olga triumphantly about it, and was pleased to leave it at that for a long time. He was glad that there was no need to look for a flat till he received an answer from the country and that in the meantime he would be getting something for his money. «One could live perfectly well here», he thought, «if it were not so far from everything, for strict order reigns in the house and it is run excellently». And, indeed, the place was run beautifully. Though he had his meals prepared separately, the landlady kept an eye on his food too. He went into the kitchen one day and found his landlady and Anisya almost in each other’s arms. If there is an affinity of souls, if kindred spirits recognize each other from afar, it had never been more clearly proved than in the sympathy Agafya Matveyevna and Anisya felt for each other. They understood and appreciated one another at the first glance, word and movement. By the way Anisya, rolling up her sleeves and armed with a rag and a poker, brought into order a kitchen that had not been in use for six months, and at a stroke brushed away the dust from the shelves, the walls, and the tables; by the wide sweep of her broom along the floor and the benches, by the speed with which she removed the ashes from the stove – Agafya Matveyevna appreciated the sort of treasure Anisya was and what a great help she could be to her in the house. Anisya, for her part, having only once observed how Agafya Matveyevna reigned in her kitchen, how her hawk eyes without eyebrows saw every clumsy movement of the slow Akulina; how she rapped out her orders to take something out, to put in, to add salt, to warm up something, how at the market she would tell unerringly, at a glance, or at most by a touch of a finger, the age of a chicken, how long a fish had been out of water, when parsley or lettuce had been cut – gazed at her with admiration and respectful fear, and decided that she, Anisya, had missed her real vocation and that the true field of her activities was not Oblomov’s kitchen, where her constant scurrying and her restless and nervous feverishness of movements were directed solely towards catching in the air a plate or glass dropped by Zakhar, and where her experience and subtlety of mind were suppressed by her husband’s sullen jealousy and coarse arrogance. The two women understood each other and became inseparable.

When Oblomov dined out, Anisya spent her time in the landlady’s kitchen, and out of love for the culinary art, darted from one corner to another, put pots in and took them out again, and almost at the same moment opened the cupboard, got out what was wanted, and slammed the door to again before Akulina had time to grasp what it was all about. Anisya’s reward was dinner, six or more cups of coffee in the morning and the same number in the evening, and a long, frank conversation with the landlady and sometimes whispered confidences from her.

When Oblomov dined at home, the landlady helped Anisya, that is, indicated with a finger or a word whether or not it was time to take out the roast meat, whether red wine or some cream should be added to the sauce, and what was the right way of boiling the fish… And, dear me, how many useful household tips they obtained from each other, not only about the culinary art but also about linen, yarn, sewing, washing clothes, cleaning blond-lace and lace and gloves, removal of stains from various materials, as well as using all sorts of home-made medicines and herbs – everything, in fact, that an observant mind and lifelong experience had contributed to that particular sphere of life!

Oblomov got up about nine o’clock in the morning, occasionally catching sight through the trellis of the fence of the landlady’s brother going to work with the paper parcel under his arm; then he applied himself to his coffee. The coffee was as excellent as ever, the cream was thick, the rolls rich and crisp. Then he lighted a cigar and listened attentively to the cackling of the broody hen, the chirping of the chicks, the trilling of the canaries and siskins. He did not order their removal.

«They remind me of the country, of Oblomovka», he said.

Then he sat down to finish reading the books he had begun at his summer cottage, and sometimes casually lay down with a book on the sofa. There was perfect silence all around; only occasionally, perhaps a soldier or a small crowd of peasants with axes stuck in their belts walked down the street. Very rarely indeed a pedlar penetrated into this remote suburb and, stopping in front of the trellised fence, shouted for half an hour: «Apples, Astrakhan water-melons», so that you could not help buying something. Sometimes Masha, the landlady’s little daughter, came in with a message from her mother to the effect that there were different varieties of mushrooms for sale and asked if he would like to order a barrel for himself; or he called in Vanya, the landlady’s son, and asked him what he had been learning, and made him read and write to see how well he could do it. If the children forgot to close the door behind them, he caught sight of the landlady’s bare neck and her elbows and back. She was always busy, always ironing something, pounding, polishing, no longer standing on ceremony with him and putting on her shawl when she noticed him looking at her through the half-open door; she merely smiled and went on pounding, ironing, and polishing on the large table. Sometimes he walked to the door with a book, looked in and talked to her.

«You’re always busy!» he said to her once.

She smiled and went on carefully turning the handle of the coffee-mill, her elbow describing circles with such rapidity that Oblomov felt dizzy.

«You’ll get tired», he went on.

«No, I’m used to it», she replied, rattling the coffee-mill. «And what do you do when there is no work?»

«No work? Why, there is always something to do», she said. «In the morning there is dinner to cook, after dinner there is some sewing to do, and in the evening there is supper».

«Do you have supper?»

«Why, of course we have supper. On Christmas Eve we go to vespers».

«That’s good», Oblomov commended her. «What church do you go to?»

«The Church of the Nativity; it’s our parish church».

«Do you read anything?»

She looked at him with a vacant expression and said nothing. «Have you any books?» he asked.

«My brother has some, but he never reads. We get our newspapers from the inn, and my brother sometimes reads aloud – and Vanya, of course, has lots of books».

«But don’t you ever have a rest?»

«No, I never do!»

«Don’t you go to the theatre?»

«My brother goes at Christmas».

«And you?»

«Me? Why, I have no time. Who would get supper ready?» she asked, casting a sidelong glance at him.

«The cook could do without you».

«Akulina!» she retorted in surprise. «Good heavens, no! She could do nothing without me. The supper wouldn’t be ready by the morning. I have all the keys».

Silence. Oblomov gazed admiringly at her plump, round elbows.

«What lovely arms you have», Oblomov said suddenly. «One could paint them just as they are!»

She smiled and blushed a little.

«Sleeves are such a nuisance», she remarked apologetically. «Nowadays the dresses are made in such a way that one cannot help getting the sleeves dirty».

She fell into silence. Oblomov did not speak either.

«Must finish grinding the coffee», the landlady whispered to herself. «Then I must break the sugar. Mustn’t forget to send out for some cinnamon».

«You ought to get married», said Oblomov. «You’re such an excellent housewife».

She smiled and began pouring the coffee into a big glass jar.

«Really», Oblomov added.

«Who would marry me with my two children?» she replied, and began counting something in her mind. «Two dozen», she said thoughtfully. «Will she be able to put it all in?»

And putting the jar into the cupboard, she rushed into the kitchen. Oblomov went back to his room and began reading.

«What a fresh and healthy woman, and what an excellent housewife! She really ought to get married», he said to himself, and was lost in thoughts – of Olga.

On a fine day Oblomov put on his cap and took a stroll in the neighbourhood; after getting stuck in the mud in one place and having an unpleasant meeting with dogs in another, he returned home. At home the table was already laid and the food was so good and so well served. Sometimes a bare arm would be thrust through the door with the offer to try some of the landlady’s pie on a plate.

«It’s nice and quiet here», Oblomov said as he drove off to the opera, «but rather dull».

One night, returning late from the theatre, he and the cabby knocked for almost an hour at the gate; the dog lost its voice with barking and jumping on the chain. He got chilled and angry and vowed that he would leave the very next day. But the next day and the day after and a whole week passed – and still he did not leave.

He missed Olga greatly on the days he could not see her, or hear her voice, or read in her eyes the same unchanging affection, love, and happiness. On the days he could see her, however, he lived as he had done in the summer, was enchanted by her singing or gazed into her eyes; and in the company of other people one look of hers, indifferent to all, but deep and significant for him, was enough for him. With the approach of whiter, though, they found it more and more difficult to see each other alone. The Ilyinskys always had visitors, and for days together Oblomov did not succeed in saying two words to her. They exchanged glances. Her glances sometimes expressed weariness and impatience. She looked at all the visitors with a frown. Once or twice Oblomov felt rather bored, and one day after dinner he was about to pick up his hat.

«Where are you going?» Olga asked in surprise, coming suddenly upon him and taking hold of his hat.

«I’d like to go home».

«Why?» she asked, raising one eyebrow higher than the other. «What are you going to do?»

«Oh, I don’t know» – he said, hardly able to keep his eyes open.

«You don’t think I’ll let you, do you?» she asked, looking at him sternly first into one, then into the other eye. «You’re not thinking of going to sleep, are you?»

«Good Lord, sleep in the daytime!» Oblomov replied quickly. «I’m just bored!»

And he let her take his hat from him.

«We’re going to the theatre to-day», she said.

«But we shall not be in the same box, shall we?» he added with a sigh.

«Does it matter? Is it nothing that we shall see each other, that you will come in during the interval, wait for me at the end, and offer me your arm to take me to the carriage? Mind you come!» she added imperiously. «What’s all this nonsense?»

There was nothing to be done about it: he went to the theatre, yawned as though he were going to swallow the stage, scratched his head, and kept crossing and re-crossing his legs. «Oh, if only it were all over and I could sit beside her, and not have to drag myself all the way here», he thought. «It’s absurd that we should have to meet furtively and by chance after such a summer and that I should have to play the part of a lovesick boy… To tell the truth, I wouldn’t have gone to the theatre to-day had we been married: I’ve heard this opera six times already».

In the interval he went to Olga’s box, and could hardly squeeze his way in between two unknown elegantly dressed men. Five minutes later he slipped away and stopped in the crowd at the entrance to the stalls.

The next act had begun and people were hurrying to their seats. The two dandies from Olga’s box were there too, but they did not see Oblomov.

«Who was the fellow in the Ilyinskys’ box just now?» one of them asked the other.

«Oh», the other one replied casually, «someone by the name of Oblomov».

«What is he?»

«He’s – er – a landowner, a friend of Stolz’s».

«Oh!» the other cried significantly. «A friend of Stolz’s, is he? What is he doing here?»

«Goodness knows», the other one replied, and they went to their seats.

But Oblomov was greatly disconcerted by this trifling conversation.

«Who was the fellow – someone by the name of Oblomov – what is he doing here? – goodness knows!» all this kept hammering in his brain. «Someone —! What am I doing here? Why, I am in love with Olga: I am her —. However, so they are already asking what I am doing here – they have noticed me. Oh dear, I must do something!»

He no longer saw what was taking place on the stage, what knights and ladies appeared there; the orchestra thundered away, but he never heard it. He looked round to see how many people he knew in the theatre – there and there – they were everywhere, and all of them were asking: «Who was the fellow in Olga’s box?» and they all replied: «Oh, someone called Oblomov!»

«Yes», he thought, timidly and gloomily, «I am just someone! People know me because I am a friend of Stolz’s. Why am I at Olga’s? Goodness knows! Those two dandies are looking at me and then at Olga’s box!»

He looked at the box. Olga’s binoculars were fixed on him.

«Goodness», he thought, «she doesn’t take her eyes off me! What fascination can she have found in me? A fine treasure! Now she seems to be motioning to me to look at the stage – I believe those two dandies are looking at me and laughing – Oh dear, oh dear!»

In his excitement he scratched his head again and once more crossed his legs. She had invited the dandies to tea after the theatre, promised to sing the Cavatina, and told him to come too.

«No, I’m not going there to-day again. I must settle this thing as soon as possible and then – Why doesn’t my agent send me an answer from the country? I should have left long ago, and become engaged to Olga before going… Oh, she’s still looking at me! Oh, this is awful!»

He went home without waiting for the end of the opera. Gradually the impression of that evening at the opera was erased from his mind, and he once more looked at Olga with a tremor of happiness when he was alone with her, listened with suppressed tears of rapture to her singing when others were present, and on returning home lay down on the sofa – without Olga’s knowledge – but he lay down not to sleep, not to lie there like a log, but to dream of her, play at happiness, and to contemplate with a thrill of excitement his peaceful life in his future home, where Olga would shine and everything near her would shine too. Looking into the future, he sometimes involuntarily and sometimes deliberately looked through the half-open door at the landlady’s rapidly moving elbows.

One day there was perfect silence both at home and in nature: no rattling of carriages, no slamming of doors; in the entrance hall the clock was ticking away regularly and the canaries were singing; but that did not disturb the silence, merely adding a touch of life to it. Oblomov lay carelessly on the sofa, playing with his slipper, dropping it on the floor, throwing it up into the air, turning it over, and catching it with his foot when it fell. Zakhar came in and stopped in the doorway.

«What do you want?» Oblomov asked in a casual tone of voice.

Zakhar said nothing, looking not sideways, but almost straight at him.

«Well?» asked Oblomov, glancing at him in surprise. «Is the pie ready?»

«Have you found a flat, sir?» Zakhar asked in his turn.

«Not yet. Why?»

«I haven’t sorted everything out yet – crockery, clothes, trunks – it’s all still in a heap in the box-room, sir. Ought I to sort it out?»

«Wait», Oblomov said absent-mindedly, «I’m waiting for a letter from the country».

«So, I suppose, sir, your wedding will be after Christmas?» Zakhar added.

«What wedding?» Oblomov asked, getting up suddenly.

«Yours, of course!» Zakhar replied emphatically, as though the whole thing had long been settled. «You are getting married, aren’t you, sir?»

«I’m getting married? Who to?» Oblomov asked in horror, glaring at Zakhar in amazement.

«Why, sir, to the Ilyinsky young lady» – Before Zakhar had time to utter the last word, Oblomov almost pounced on him.

«What are you talking about, you unhappy wretch?» Oblomov cried pathetically in a restrained voice, advancing closer and closer on Zakhar. «Who has put this idea into your head?»

«I’m not an unhappy wretch, sir, I’m sure», Zakhar said, retreating towards the door. «Who told me? Why, the Ilyinsky servants told me in the summer».

«Sh-sh-sh…» Oblomov hissed at him, raising his finger and shaking it threateningly. «Not another word!»

«I didn’t invent it, did I?» Zakhar said.

«Not a word!» Oblomov repeated, looking sternly at him and pointing to the door.

Zakhar went out, heaving so loud a sigh that it could be heard all over the house.

Oblomov was staggered; he remained in the same position, gazing in horror at the spot where Zakhar had stood, then clasped his head in despair and sank into an arm-chair.

«The servants know!» the thought recurred again and again in his head. «They are gossiping about it in kitchens and servants’ halls! That is what it has come to! He had the cheek to ask me when the wedding would be. And her aunt still suspects nothing, and if she does suspect it is perhaps something else, something bad… Dear, dear, what will she think? And I? And Olga? Unhappy wretch, what have I done?» he said, turning over on the sofa and burying his face in a cushion. «Wedding! This poetic moment in the life of lovers, this crown of happiness, is being discussed by footmen and coachmen, when nothing has been decided, when no reply has been received from the country, when I haven’t a penny in my purse, when I haven’t found a flat…»

He began analysing the poetic moment, which suddenly lost all its glamour as soon as Zakhar had spoken of it. He became aware of the reverse side of the medal, and kept turning painfully from side to side, lay on his back, jumped up suddenly, took three turns round the room, and lay down again.

«There’s going to be trouble», Zakhar thought fearfully in the hall. «What the devil made me say it?»

«How do they know?» Oblomov kept asking himself. «Olga never breathed a word, and I never dared to utter my thoughts aloud, and in the servants’ hall they have settled everything! That’s what comes of téte-à-téte meetings, the poetry of sunrises and sunsets, passionate glances, and enchanting singing! Oh, those love-poems lead to no good! One must be married first, and then float in a roseate atmosphere – Oh dear, oh dear, what shall I do? Run to her aunt, take Olga by the hand and say: „This is my fiancée I“ But nothing is ready, no reply from the country, no money, no flat! Yes, first of all I must get the idea out of Zakhar’s head, kill the rumours as one puts out a flame, so that they shouldn’t spread, so that there shouldn’t be either smoke or fire! Wedding I What is a wedding?»

He smiled, recalling his former poetic vision of the wedding: a long veil, orange blossom, the murmur of the crowd… But the colours were no longer the same: in the crowd he could see the coarse, dirty Zakhar and all Ilyinskys’ house serfs, a number of carriages, the cold and curious eyes of strangers… And then he kept imagining all sorts of tiresome and dreadful things…

«I must get that idea out of Zakhar’s head», he decided, in a tumult of excitement one moment and painfully thoughtful the next. «I must make him believe that it is utterly absurd».

An hour later he called in Zakhar. Zakhar pretended not to hear and was about to steal quietly into the kitchen. He had opened one half of the door without making any noise, but he missed it and caught his shoulder against the other half so clumsily that both halves flew open with a bang.

«Zakhar!» Oblomov shouted imperiously.

«Yes, sir?» Zakhar replied from the passage.

«Come here!» said Oblomov.

«If you want me to bring you anything, sir, tell me what it is and I’ll fetch it», he replied.

«Come here!» Oblomov said slowly and insistently.

«Oh, I wish I was dead!» Zakhar wheezed, shuffling into the room. «What do you want, sir?» he asked, getting stuck in the doorway.

«Come here!» Oblomov said in a solemn and mysterious voice, indicating a place so close to himself that Zakhar would have to sit almost on his master’s knees.

«Where do you want me to come?» Zakhar protested, remaining stubbornly at the door. «There’s no room there, and I can hear from here just as well».

«Come here when you’re told!» Oblomov said sternly.

Zakhar took a step and stood still like a monument, looking out of the window at the wandering hens and turning a brush- like side-whisker to his master. His agitation had wrought a change in Oblomov in one hour. His face looked pinched and his eyes wandered uneasily.

«I’m in for it now!» thought Zakhar, looking gloomier and gloomier.

«How could you have asked your master such an absurd question?» asked Oblomov.

«He’s off!» thought Zakhar, blinking in expectation of «pathetic words».

«I ask you: how could you have got such a preposterous idea into your head?» Oblomov repeated.

Zakhar said nothing.

«Do you hear, Zakhar? What right have you to think such things, let alone say them?»

«I think, sir, I’d better call Anisya», Zakhar replied, taking a step towards the door.

«I want to speak to you and not to Anisya», Oblomov replied. «Why did you invent such a preposterous story?»

«I didn’t invent it, sir», said Zakhar. «The Ilyinskys’ servants told me».

«And who told them?»

«I’m sure I don’t know, sir. Katya told Semyon, Semyon told Nikita, Nikita told Vasilisa, Vasilisa told Anisya, and Anisya told me», said Zakhar.

«Oh dear, all of them!» Oblomov cried in horror. «It’s all nonsense, absurdity, lies, slanders – do you hear?» Oblomov said, rapping his fist on the table. «It cannot be!»

«Why not, sir?» Zakhar interrupted indifferently. «It’s an ordinary sort of thing – a wedding is! You’re not the only one to get married – everyone does it».

«Everyone!» Oblomov repeated. «You certainly enjoy comparing me to other people! This cannot be! It isn’t and it will never be! A wedding is an ordinary sort of thing – did you hear that? What is a wedding?»

Zakhar glanced at Oblomov, but seeing his master’s furious eyes, at once looked at a corner, on the right.

«Listen, I’ll explain to you what it is. „A wedding, a wedding“, idle people will begin to say – women, children, in servants’ halls, in shops, in the markets. A man ceases to be Ilya Ilyich or Pyotr Petrovich, and is called „the fiancé“. The day before nobody would look at him, and the next day all are staring at him, as if he were a rogue or something. They won’t leave him alone in the theatre or in the street. „There he is,“ they all whisper, „there!“ And how many people come up to him during the day, each trying to look as stupid as possible, as you look just now» (Zakhar turned away quickly and looked at the yard), «and to say something utterly preposterous. That’s how it all starts. And, like a damned soul, you have got to drive every day to your fiancée first thing in the morning, always wearing pale-yellow gloves and brand-new clothes; you must never appear to be bored, you must never eat and drink properly, but live on air and bouquets! And this has to go on for three or four months! Do you see? Do you think I could do that?»

Oblomov stopped to see whether his description of the disadvantages of marriage had any effect on Zakhar.

«Shall I go now, sir?» Zakhar asked, turning to the door.

«No, wait! You’re good at spreading false rumours, and you may as well know why they are false».

«What’s there for me to know?» said Zakhar, examining the walls.

«You’ve forgotten how much rushing about an engaged couple have to do. It wouldn’t be you – would it now – who’d be running for me to the tailor, the cobbler, and the furniture shop? I couldn’t be everywhere at once, could I? The whole town will know about it. „Have you heard? – Oblomov is getting married!“ „No! Who to?“ „Who is she? When’s the wedding?“», Oblomov said in different voices. «They’ll be talking of nothing else. Why, I shall have a nervous breakdown because of it, and you can do nothing better than talk of a wedding!»

He glanced at Zakhar again.

«Shall I call Anisya, sir?» asked Zakhar.

«What do I want Anisya for? It was you and not Anisya who made this wild suggestion».

«What have I done to deserve such punishment?» Zakhar whispered, heaving a sigh that raised his shoulders.

«And did you think of the expense of it?» Oblomov went on. «Where am I to get the money? You saw how much money I had, didn’t you?» Oblomov asked almost menacingly. «And the flat? I have to pay a thousand roubles here, pay three thousand for a new flat, and goodness only knows how much for doing it up! Then there’s the carriage, the cook, the living expenses! Where am I to get it all from?»

«How do other people with three hundred serfs get married?» Zakhar retorted, and was immediately sorry for it, for his master started so violently that he nearly jumped out of his chair.

«Are you talking of „other people“ again? Take care!» he said, shaking his finger. «Other people live in two, or – at most – in three rooms: the dining-room and the drawing-room are the same, and some people sleep there, too, the children in the next room. One maid does the work of the whole place. The mistress herself goes to market! Do you think Olga Sergeyevna will go to market?»

«Well, sir, I could go to the market, couldn’t I?» Zakhar observed.

«Do you know how much Oblomovka brings in?» Oblomov asked. «You’ve heard what the bailiff wrote, haven’t you? The income is „about two thousand less“! And there’s the road to be constructed, school to be opened, the house to be built… How could I think of a wedding? What are you talking about?»

Oblomov stopped. He was himself horrified at this terrible and comfortless prospect. The roses, the orange-blossom, the brilliant festivities, the whisper of admiration in the crowd – all had faded suddenly. He grew pale and sank into thought. Then he gradually recovered, looked round and saw Zakhar.

«What is it?» he asked gloomily.

«Why, sir, you told me to stand here!» said Zakhar.

«Go!» said Oblomov with an impatient wave of the hand.

Zakhar stepped over the threshold quickly.

«No, wait!» Oblomov stopped him suddenly.

«One minute it’s go and the next wait!» Zakhar grumbled, holding on to the door.

«How did you dare to spread such ridiculous rumours about me?» Oblomov asked in an agitated whisper.

«But when did I spread them, sir? It wasn’t me, sir, but the Ilyinsky servants who said that you had proposed…»

«Sh-sh-sh!» Oblomov hissed, waving his hand menacingly. «Not a word, do you hear? Never!»

«Yes, sir», Zakhar replied timidly.

«So you won’t spread this preposterous story abroad, will you?»

«No, sir», Zakhar replied quietly, not grasping the meaning of half the words but knowing only that they were «pathetic».

«Remember, then, if you hear anyone talking about it, or if anyone should ask you, say the whole thing is nonsense and that there never was or could be anything of the sort!» Oblomov added in a whisper.

«Yes, sir», Zakhar whispered almost inaudibly.

Oblomov looked round and shook a finger at Zakhar, who was blinking in alarm and tiptoeing towards the door.

«Who was the first to speak of it?» Oblomov asked, overtaking him.

«Katya told Semyon, Semyon told Nikita», Zakhar whispered, «Nikita told Vasilisa…»

«And you told everybody!» Oblomov hissed menacingly. «I’ll show you how to spread slanders about your master! You’ll see!»

«Why are you torturing me with your pathetic words, sir?» asked Zakhar. «I’ll call Anisya: she knows everything».

«What does she know? Come on, out with it!»

Zakhar at once rushed through the door and walked into the kitchen with extraordinary rapidity.

«Leave your frying-pan and go to the master!» he said to Anisya, pointing with his thumb to the door.

Anisya gave the frying-pan to Akulina, unloosed the hem of her skirt, which she had tucked in at the waist, patted herself on the hips, and, wiping her nose with a forefinger, went in to the master. She calmed Oblomov in five minutes by telling him that no one had ever said anything about a wedding: she did not mind taking her oath on it and taking the icon down from the wall that this was the first time she had heard of it; she had heard something quite different: it was the baron who had made a proposal of marriage to the young lady…

«The baron!» Oblomov asked, jumping to his feet, and not only his heart, but also his hands and feet turned cold.

«That’s nonsense too!» Anisya hastened to say, seeing that she had got herself out of the frying-pan into the fire. «That was merely what Katya said to Semyon, Semyon to Marfa, and Nikita said that it would not be a bad thing if your master made an offer of marriage to our young lady…»

«What a fool that Nikita is!» observed Oblomov.

«Yes, sir, he certainly is a fool», Anisya confirmed. «He looks asleep when he sits behind the carriage. And Vasilisa did not believe him, either», she went on, talking very fast. «She told me on Assumption Day that the nurse herself had said to her that Miss Olga was not thinking of marrying and that it was hardly possible that our master would not have found a wife for himself if he had meant to marry, and that she had met Samoylo the other day and that he thought it a big joke: a wedding, indeed! And it didn’t look like a wedding, but more like a funeral, that auntie kept having headaches, and Miss Olga cried and never uttered a word, and no trousseau being made; Miss Olga had hundreds of stockings that needed darning, and that last week they pawned their silver…»

«Pawned their silver? So they have no money, either!» Oblomov thought, raising his eyes to the walls in horror and fixing them on Anisya’s nose, because there was nothing else he could fix them on. She seemed to be saying all this with her nose and not with her mouth.

«Mind, don’t talk any more nonsense!» Oblomov said, shaking his finger at her.

«Talk, sir? Why, sir, I don’t think about it, let alone talk», Anisya rattled on, just as though she were chopping up sticks. «Besides, sir, there’s nothing to talk about, is there? It’s the first time I’ve heard of it to-day, and that’s the truth, may the Lord strike me dead if it isn’t! I wasn’t half surprised when you told me about it, sir. I was scared, that I was, trembled all over! Whoever heard of such a thing? What wedding? No one has dreamt of it. I never say a word to anyone; I’m always in the kitchen, I am. Haven’t seen the Ilyinsky servants for a month, I’m sure I don’t remember their names no more. And who is there to talk to here? With the landlady we talk of nothing except housekeeping, and with the granny one can’t talk at all: she coughs and, besides, she’s deaf too! Akulina is a fool, and the caretaker is a drunkard. There’s only the children left, and you don’t expect me to talk to them, do you, sir? And, besides, I’ve forgotten what Miss Olga looks like, I have…»

«All right, all right», Oblomov said, waving her out of the room impatiently.

«How do you expect me to talk of something that doesn’t exist, sir?» Anisya concluded as she was going out of the room. «And if Nikita did say something of the kind, he is too big a fool to be taken any notice of. I’m sure it would never have occurred to me – slaving away all day long as I am, and I have other things to think of. Why, such a thing, indeed! There’s the icon on the wall», – With these words the speaking nose disappeared behind the door, but it went on talking for another minute behind the door.

«So that’s what it is! Anisya too says that it is hardly possible», Oblomov said in a whisper, clasping his hands. «Happiness, happiness! How fragile you are, how uncertain! The veil, the wreath of orange-blossom, love, love! And where is the money? And what are we to live on? You, too, have to be bought, love, pure and lawful blessing!»

From that moment Oblomov’s peace of mind and dreams were gone. He slept badly, ate little, and looked at everything absent-mindedly and morosely. He had wanted to frighten Zakhar, but had frightened himself more when he grasped the practical aspect of marriage and saw that it was not only a poetical but also a practical and official step to important and serious reality and a whole series of stern duties. His conversation with Zakhar turned out differently from what he had imagined. He recalled how solemnly he had intended to break the news to Zakhar, how Zakhar would have shouted with joy and fallen at his feet, how he would have given him twenty-five roubles and Anisya ten…

He remembered everything – his thrill of happiness, Olga’s hand, her passionate kiss – and his heart sank: «It’s gone, faded away!» a voice inside him said.

«So what now?»