8

NEXT day Zakhar, while tidying the room, found a small glove on the writing-desk. He examined it for some time, grinned, and then gave it to Oblomov.

«I suppose, sir, the Ilyinsky young lady must have left it behind», he said.

«You devil!» Oblomov thundered, snatching the glove from his hand. «Nonsense! There was no Ilyinsky young lady! It was the dressmakers who came from the shop with some shirts for me. How dare you make up such stories?»

«What sort of devil am I, sir? I am making up stories, am I? You should hear what they are saying at the landlady’s».

«What are they saying?» asked Oblomov.

«Why, sir, that the Ilyinsky young lady was here with her maid».

«Good God!» Oblomov said in horror. «How do they know that it was the Ilyinsky young lady? You or Anisya must have told them».

At this moment Anisya thrust her head through the door.

«Aren’t you ashamed to talk such nonsense, Zakhar?» she said. «Don’t listen to him, sir. No one has been telling anyone, no one knows anything, I swear…»

«All right, all right», Zakhar wheezed at her, raising his elbow as though to hit her in the chest. «Don’t you poke your nose where you’re not wanted!»

Anisya disappeared. Oblomov shook both fists at Zakhar, then quickly opened the door into the landlady’s part of the house. Agafya Matveyevna was sitting on the floor sorting out some junk in an old trunk; all round her lay heaps of rags, cottonwool, old clothes, buttons, and bits of fur.

«I say», Oblomov said kindly, but in an agitated voice, «my servants talk all sorts of nonsense. Don’t believe them, for goodness’ sake».

«I haven’t heard anything», said the landlady. «What are they saying?»

«About yesterday’s visit», Oblomov went on. «They say that some young lady came to see me…»

«It is none of our business what visitors our tenant may have, is it?» said the landlady.

«But, please, don’t believe it: the whole thing is a slanderous story! I have had no visit from a young lady. It was the dressmaker who is making some shirts for me. She came to fit me…»

«Where have you ordered the shirts?» the landlady asked quickly. «Who is making them for you?»

«In the French shop», Oblomov muttered.

«Show me when they bring them. I know two girls who are excellent sempstresses. They stitch better than any Frenchwoman. I saw their work myself; they brought it to show me. They are sewing for Count Metlinsky. No one could sew better. Your shirts, those you are wearing, can’t be compared with those they make».

«Thank you, I’ll remember that. Only, for heaven’s sake, don’t think it was a young lady».

«It’s none of my business who comes to see my tenant, is it? Even if it was a young lady».

«No, no!» Oblomov denied it vehemently. «Why, the young lady Zakhar is talking about is very tall and speaks in a low voice, and this one, the dressmaker, I mean, has a very high, clear voice – you must have heard her yourself, didn’t you? She has a lovely voice. Please don’t think…»

«It’s none of our business, is it?» the landlady said as he was about to go. «So please don’t forget to tell me when you want some shirts made: the girls I know stitch so wonderfully – they are called Lisaveta Nikolaevna and Maria Nikolaevna».

«All right, I shan’t forget, only, please, don’t think…»

He went out, then he dressed and drove to Olga’s. On his return home in the evening, he found on his table a letter from his neighbour in the country. He rushed to the lamp, read the letter – and his heart sank.

«I should be greatly obliged», the neighbour wrote, «if you would transfer my power of attorney to some other person, for I have so great an accumulation of business that, to be quite frank, I cannot look after your estate as I should. It would be best for you to come here yourself, and better still to settle on your estate. It is a good estate, but it has been badly neglected. First of all, you must decide carefully which of your peasants are to pay an annual tax and which are to work your land three days a week. It is impossible to do that without you: the peasants have got out of hand, they take no notice of the new bailiff, and the old one is a rogue who must be carefully watched. It is impossible to tell you what your income amounts to. In the present rather confused state of affairs you will hardly receive more than three thousand, and that, too, only if you are on the spot. I have in mind the income from corn, for there is little hope of getting anything from the peasants who have to pay an annual tax: they have to be taken in hand and have their arrears sorted out – it will take three months to do that. The harvest was good and the price of corn high, and you ought to get the money in March or April, if you keep an eye on the sales yourself. But at the moment there is not a penny in cash. As for the road through Verkhlyovo and the bridge, I had no answer from you for so long that I decided to build the road with Odontsov and Belovodov from my estate to Nelki with the result that Oblomovka, I’m afraid, has been left a great distance away. In conclusion, I must ask you again to come here as soon as possible: in three months you will find out exactly what income to expect next year. By the way, we are having elections here: wouldn’t you like to be a candidate for the post of district magistrate? Your house is in a very bad state of repair» (this was added at the end of the letter) «I told the dairy-maid, the old coachman, and the two maids to move out of it into the cottage: it is dangerous to stay there any longer».

A statement on the number of bushels harvested, threshed, stored, and for sale, and similar business details, was enclosed with the letter.

«Not a penny in cash, three months, must go myself, sort out the peasants’ affairs, find out what income to expect, stand for elections» – all this crowded round Oblomov like so many phantoms. He felt as though he were in a forest at night when one seems to see a robber or a corpse or a wild beast in every bush. «But the whole thing is disgraceful: I am not going to give in!» he kept repeating, trying to get better acquainted with these phantoms, just like a coward who tries to look at phantoms through half-closed eyes but only feels a chill at the heart and a weakness in the arms and legs. What had Oblomov been hoping for? He had thought that the letter would say definitely what his income would be and that, of course, it would be as much as possible, say, six or seven thousand; that the house was still in good repair, so that, if the worst came to the worst, he could still live there while the new one was being built; that, finally, his neighbour would send him three or four thousand – in short, that he would find in the letter the same laughter, high spirits, and love as in Olga’s notes. He no longer walked on air in his room, he no longer joked with Anisya, or indulged in hopes of happiness – they had to be postponed for three months – no! in three months he would do no more than sort out his affairs, get to know his estate. As for the wedding – «It’s no use thinking of the wedding before a year», he said timidly. «Yes, yes, in a year’s time – not before!» He still had to finish writing his plan, settle with the architect, then – then – he sighed. «Borrow the money!» it flashed through his mind, but he rejected the idea. «It’s impossible! What if I can’t repay it in time? If things go badly, the creditors will take out a summons, and the name of Oblomov, so far pure and untarnished» – God forbid! For then it would be good-bye to his peace of mind, his pride – no, no! People who borrowed money rushed about, worked, lost their sleep, just as if they were possessed by a demon. Yes, a debt was a demon, a devil who could only be exorcised by money! There were, of course, clever fellows who lived all their lives at other people’s expense; they grabbed right and left and did not care a damn! How they could sleep in peace, how they could eat their dinner was just beyond him. A debt! Its consequence was either the never-ending labour of a galley-slave or dishonour. To mortgage the estate? But was it not the same sort of debt, a debt that was irrevocable and that could not be set aside? He would have to pay every year – and for all he knew there would not be enough left to live on. To postpone his happiness for another year! Oblomov uttered a painful moan and sank down on his bed, but he rapidly recollected himself and got up. And what did Olga say? Had she not appealed to him as a man? Had she not trusted to his strength? She was waiting for him to go forward until he reached the height from which he would hold out his hand to her and lead her after him, show her the way! Yes, yes! But what was he to begin with? He thought it over carefully, then suddenly slapped his forehead and went to see his landlady.

«Is your brother at home?» he asked her.

«Yes, but he has gone to bed».

«Will you please ask him to come in to see me to-morrow», asked Oblomov. «I should like to see him».

9

THE landlady’s brother came into the room in the same way as before, sat down on a chair, carefully hid his hands in his sleeves, and waited for what Oblomov had to say.

«I have received a very unpleasant letter from the country in reply to the deed of trust I sent – you remember, don’t you?» said Oblomov. «Will you read it, please?»

Ivan Matveyevich took the letter from the country, his eyes running quickly along the lines, while his hands trembled slightly. Having read it, he put the letter on the table and his hands behind his back.

«What do you think I ought to do now?» asked Oblomov.

«Your neighbour advises you to go there», said Ivan Matveyevich. «Well, sir, a thousand miles isn’t such a very long journey. In another week the roads will be fit for sleighing, so, I suppose, you’d better go».

«I dislike travelling intensely – I’m not used to it, you see, and I’d find it very difficult in winter in particular. I’d rather not go. Besides, it’s very boring to be in the country by yourself».

«Have you many peasants who pay you a tax?» asked Ivan Matveyevich.

«Well, I don’t really know. You see, it’s so long since I went to my estate».

«You ought to know that, sir. You couldn’t very well carry on without it, could you? For one thing, you could never find out what your income was».

«Yes, I ought to», Oblomov repeated, «and my neighbour, too, writes so, but unfortunately it’s winter…»

«And how much does the tax bring in?»

«The tax? I believe – er – I had a bit of paper here somewhere, Stolz drew it up for me, but I’m afraid I can’t find it. Zakhar must have put it away somewhere… I’ll show you it later – I believe it’s thirty roubles per peasant».

«What sort of peasants have you got?» Ivan Matveyevich asked. «How do they live? How many of them work for you?»

«Look here», Oblomov said, walking up to him and taking him trustfully by the lapels of his uniform, «look here», he repeated slowly, almost in a whisper. «I don’t know anything about the peasants who have to work for me; I don’t know what agricultural labour is, or when a peasant is rich or poor; I don’t know what a quarter of rye or oats means, or what it costs in different months, or how and when corn is harvested and sold; I don’t know if I am rich or poor, if I shall have enough to eat in a year’s time or be a beggar – I don’t know anything!» he concluded dejectedly, letting go the lapels of Ivan Matveyevich’s uniform, «and therefore I’d be glad if you would speak to me and advise me as you would a child…»

«But, of course, sir, you ought to know, for if you don’t, you won’t be able to make head or tail of anything», Ivan Matveyevich said with an obsequious smile, getting up and putting one hand behind his back and the other inside his coat. «A land- owner must know his estate and how to manage it», he said edifyingly.

«But I don’t know. Teach me if you can».

«I’m afraid it isn’t a subject I’ve had much experience in, sir. I shall have to consult those who have. And here, sir», he went on, pointing with his middle finger, nail downwards, to the page of the letter, «they tell you in the letter to stand for election. That’s not such a bad idea, you know! You’d live there, serve as magistrate in the district court, and meanwhile learn all about farming».

«I don’t know what a district court is, what one is supposed to do there, and how one holds office there», Oblomov said emphatically, but in an undertone, walking right up to Ivan Matveyevich’s nose.

«You’ll get used to it, sir. You’ve been a member of the Civil Service here, haven’t you? Well, the work is the same everywhere, though the forms may differ slightly. Everywhere there are instructions, memoranda, records… Get a good clerk, and the rest will be easy. All you have to do is to sign your name. If you know how things are done in a Government office…»

«I don’t know how things are done in a Government office», Oblomov declared monotonously.

Ivan Matveyevich threw his enigmatic glance at Oblomov and was silent.

«I expect, sir, you did nothing but read books», he observed with the same obsequious smile.

«Books!» Oblomov retorted bitterly and stopped short.

He had not enough courage to bare his soul before a low-grade civil servant, and, besides, there was no need for him to do so.

«I haven’t the faintest idea of books, either», he thought uneasily, but he would not bring himself to utter the words and merely sighed mournfully.

«But you did do something, sir, didn’t you?» Ivan Matveyevich added humbly, as though divining Oblomov’s answer about the books. «It’s impossible not to…»

«It is possible, sir, and I am the living proof of it. Who am I? What am I? Go and ask Zakhar, and he will tell you that I am a „gentleman“. Yes, I am a gentleman and I can’t do anything! Please do it for me, if you know how, and help me, if you can. Take anything you like for your trouble – that is what knowledge is for!»

He began pacing the room, while Ivan Matveyevich remained standing where he was, slightly turning his body in Oblomov’s direction. Both of them were silent for some time.

«Where have you been educated?» asked Oblomov, stopping before him once more.

«I went to a secondary school, but my father took me away from the fifth form and got me a job in a Government office. I’m afraid my education doesn’t amount to much. Reading, writing, grammar, arithmetic – I did not go beyond that. I got used to my work – more or less, and I am just managing to make ends meet. But your case is different, sir. You’re a really educated man».

«Yes, I suppose so», Oblomov affirmed with a sigh. «It’s true I’ve studied higher mathematics, political economy, and law, but I haven’t got the knack for business in spite of it. You see, though I have studied higher mathematics, I can’t tell what my income amounts to. I returned to the country and did my best to find out how things were done there, I mean, in our house, on our estate, and all around. Well, it was not at all according to the laws I had learnt. I came here, thinking to make a career with the help of political economy. I was told, however, that my learning would come in useful in time, in my old age, perhaps, but that first I had to obtain a high rank in the Civil Service and to do that only one thing was needed – drawing up documents. So I just could not adapt myself to that kind of work and I became simply a gentleman, whereas you did adapt yourself. That’s why I want you to tell me how to solve my problem».

«I daresay I could, sir», said Ivan Matveyevich at last. «I daresay I could».

Oblomov stopped before him, waiting to hear what he would say.

«You could entrust it all to an expert and transfer the deed of trust to him», added Ivan Matveyevich.

«But where am I to find such a man?» asked Oblomov.

«A colleague of mine, Isay Fomich Zatyorty, who has a slight stammer, is such an experienced and business-like man. He was the manager of a big estate for three years, but the owner dismissed him because of his stammer. So he got a job at my office».

«But can he be relied on?»

«Don’t worry, he is as honest as they make ’em! He’d spend his own money to please the man who trusted him. He’s been in our office for twelve years».

«How could he go to the country, if he has to be at your office?»

«That’s nothing. He could get leave for four months. If you make up your mind, I’ll bring him here. He wouldn’t go there for nothing, would he?»

«Of course not», Oblomov agreed.

«You’ll pay his travelling expenses and so much per day for his living allowance and then, when his work is done, a certain sum by arrangement. Don’t worry, he’ll go!»

«Thank you very much», said Oblomov, holding out his hand. «You’ve lifted a load off my mind. What is his name?»

«Isay Fomich Zatyorty», Ivan Matveyevich repeated, hurriedly wiping his hand on the cuff of his other sleeve, taking Oblomov’s hand for a moment and immediately hiding it in his sleeve again. «I’ll have a talk to him to-morrow, sir, and bring him along».

«Yes, come to dinner and we’ll talk it over. Thank you very much!» said Oblomov, seeing Ivan Matveyevich to the door.