"At night I have my article to write," mused Oblomov after his friend's departure. "Then when does he sleep? However, he is making some five thousand roubles a year, so his work is so much bread and butter to him. Yet to think of being continually engaged in writing, in wasting one's intellect upon trifles, in changing one's opinions, in offering one's brain and one's imagination for sale, in doing violence to one's own nature, in giving way to ebullitions of enthusiasm--and the whole without a single moment's rest, or the calling of a single halt! Yes, to think of being forced to go on writing, writing, like the wheel of a machine--writing to-morrow, writing the day after, writing though the summer is approaching and holidays keep passing one by! Does he never stop to draw breath, the poor wretch?" Oblomov glanced at the table, where everything lay undisturbed, and the ink had become dried up, and not a pen was to be seen; and as he looked he rejoiced to think that he was lying there as careless as a newborn baby--not worrying at all, nor seeking to offer anything for sale.
"But what of the starosta's letter and the notice to quit?" Yes, suddenly he had remembered these things; and once more he became absorbed in thought.
Again the doorbell rang.
"Why is every one seeking me out to-day?" he wondered as he waited to see who next should enter. This time the new-comer proved to be a man of uncertain age--of the age when it is difficult to guess the exact number of years. Also, he was neither handsome nor ugly, neither tall nor short, neither fair nor dark. In short, he was a man whom Nature had dowered with no sharp-cut, distinguishing features, whether good or bad, mental or physical.
"Ha!" said Oblomov as he greeted him. "So it is you, Alexiev? Whence are you come?"
"To tell the truth, I had not thought to call upon you to-day," replied the visitor, "but by chance I met Ovchinin, and he carried me off to his quarters, whither I, in my turn, have now come to convey you."
"To convey me to, to--?"
"To Ovchinin's. Already Alianov, Pchailo, and Kolimiagin are there."
"But why have they collected together? And what do they want with me?"
"Ovchinin desires you to lunch with him, and then to accompany him and the rest of us to the Ekaterinhov. Likewise he has instructed me to warn you to hire a conveyance. Come, get up! 'Tis fully time you were dressed."
"How am I to dress? I have not yet washed myself."
"Then do so at once."
With that Alexiev fell to pacing the room. Presently he halted before a picture which he had seen a thousand times before; then he glanced once or twice out of the window, took from a whatnot an article of some sort, turned it over in his hands, looked at it from every point of view, and replaced the same. That done, he resumed his pacing and whistling--the whole being designed to avoid hindering Oblomov from rising and performing his ablutions. Ten minutes passed.
"What is the matter with you?" asked Alexiev suddenly.
"What is the matter with me?"
"I mean, why are you still in bed?"
I cannot tell you. Is it really necessary that I should get up?"
"Of course it is necessary, for they are waiting for us. Besides, you said that you would like to go."
"To go where? I have no such desire."
"Only this moment you said we would go and lunch at Ovchinin's, and then proceed to the Ekaterinhov!"
"No, I cannot. It would mean my going out into the damp. Besides, rain is coming on. The courtyard looks quite dark."
"As a matter of fact, not a single cloud is in the sky, and the courtyard looks dark only because you never have your windows washed."
"Well, well!" said Oblomov. " By the way, have I yet told you of my misfortunes--of the letter from my starosta, and of the notice given me to quit this flat?"
"No," answered Alexiev. "What about the letter?
The document not being immediately forthcoming, Zakhar was summoned to search for it; and after it had been discovered beneath the counterpane Oblomov read it to his friend--though passing over certain greetings, added to inquiries as to the recipient's health. The gist of the epistle was that the bulk of the crops on Oblomov's estate were likely to fail for want of rain.
"Never mind," said Alexiev. "One must never give way to despair."
"And what would you do in my place?"
"I should first of all consider matters. Never ought one to come to a hasty decision."
Crumpling the letter in his hands, Oblomov leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and remained in that posture for a considerable time--his brain flooded with disturbing reflections.
"I wish Schtoltz would come!" at length he remarked. "He has written that he is about to do so, but God knows what has happened to him! He could solve the situation."
Suddenly the doorbell rang with such vehemence that both men started, and Zakhar came hurrying out of his pantry.
[Ekaterinhov:] A fashionable park in Petrograd.
[generaclass="underline" ] In this case the term "General" denotes a civil grade corresponding to the military rank of the same title.
[tchinovnik:] Government official.
[St. George's:] A smart restaurant in Petrograd.
Part 1
Chapter 3
THE next moment there entered the room a tall, loosely built man who evidently did not believe in refinement of costume, nor was in any way ashamed of the fact. This was Mikhei Andreievitch Tarantiev, a native of the same district as Oblomov. Though an individual of rough, sullen mien, and of rather an overbearing manner, he did not lack a certain keen ruggedness of wit; nor could any one be a better judge of mundane questions in general, nor a better resolver of tangled juridical problems (though usually he behaved rudely to the person who had sought his advice on these matters). Nevertheless, his abilities stopped short at a talent for verbal exposition; and no sooner was he called upon to transmit a theory into action than his whole bearing underwent a change, and in every case he discovered practical difficulties in the way of what he conceived to be the best course to take.
"How are you?" he said brusquely as he extended a hairy hand. "What do you mean by lying in bed like a log? Presently it will be twelve o'clock, yet you are sprawling about on your back!" The other forestalled him by hurriedly slipping his feet into his slippers, or the new-comer would have pulled him out of bed.
"I was just about to rise," said Oblomov with a yawn.
"Yes; I know how you rise--how you go rolling about until lunch-time! Zakhar, come and help your master to dress!"
Zakhar entered and glared at Tarantiev. Raising himself on his elbow, Oblomov stepped from the bed like a man who is thoroughly worn out, and, dropping into an arm-chair, sat there without moving. Meanwhile Zakhar pomaded, parted, and combed his master's hair, and then asked him if he desired to wash.
"Presently," said Oblomov. "Do you wait a little."
"Ah! So you are here?" said Tarantiev suddenly as he turned to Alexiev. "I had not seen you. By the way, what a swine is that kinsman of yours!"
"What kinsman?" inquired Alexiev with a stare. "I do not possess a single relative."
"I mean Athanasiev. Surely he is a relative of yours? I know he is."
"My name is Alexiev, not Athanasiev," said the other. "And I repeat that I do not possess a single relative."
"But he is just like you--an ugly man, as well as (like yourself, again) a man of the name of Vassili Nikolaitch?"