How should I know where your handkerchief is? he grumbled, walking round the room and feeling every chair with his hand, though one could see there was nothing lying there.
Youre always losing things, he observed, opening the drawing-room door to see if the handkerchief was there.
Where are you going? Look for it here! I havent been there since the day before yesterday. And hurry up, will you? Oblomov said.
Where is that handkerchief? Cant see it anywhere! said Zakhar, throwing up his hands and looking round the room. Why, there it is, he suddenly hissed angrily. Its under you, sir! Theres one end of it sticking out! You lie on your handkerchief and then you ask for it!
And, without waiting for a reply, Zakhar was about to leave the room. Oblomov felt a little disconcerted by his own mistake. But he quickly found another reason for putting the blame on Zakhar.
Is this the way you keep the place clean and tidy? Look at the dust, the dirt good Lord! There have a look in the corners you dont do anything!
Dont I, sir?» Zakhar said in a hurt voice. «As if I wasnt trying. Working my fingers to the bone, I am. Dusting and sweeping nearly every day».
He pointed to the middle of the floor and the table at which Oblomov had dinner.
«Look there, sir, there», he said; «everythings swept up and tidy as for a wedding. What more do you want?»
«And whats this?» Oblomov interrupted him, pointing to the walls and the ceiling. «And this! And this!»
He pointed to the towel left on the sofa since the day before and to a plate with a piece of bread on it, forgotten on the table.
«Well, sir, I daresay I might take this away», said Zakhar, picking up the plate with a condescending air.
«Only that? And what about the dust on the walls the cobwebs?» Oblomov said, pointing to the walls.
«I usually sweep the walls before Easter, sir. I clean the icons then, too, and take off the cobwebs».
«And the books and pictures when do you dust them?»
«The books and pictures, sir, I do before Christmas: Anisya and I turn out all the book-cases then. How do you expect me to clean the place now? Youre at home all day, arent you?»
«I sometimes go to the theatre or visit friends thats when you ought to do it».
«Cant do things at night, can I, sir?»
Oblomov gave him a reproachful look, shook his head, and sighed. Zakhar cast an indifferent glance out of the window and sighed, too. The master seemed to think: «Well, my dear chap, youre even more of an Oblomov than I am». And Zakhar, quite likely, thought to himself: «Fiddlesticks! All youre good at is to use high-sounding and aggravating words you dont care a fig for the dust and the cobwebs!»
«Dont you realize», said Oblomov, «that moths thrive on dust? And sometimes I can even see a bug on the wall!»
«Ive got fleas as well, sir», Zakhar remarked unconcernedly.
«You think thats all right, do you?» Oblomov said. «Why, its vermin!»
Zakhar grinned all over his face, so that his eyebrows and side-whiskers parted, and a red flush spread all over his face.
«Isnt my fault, sir, if there are bugs in the world», he said with naive surprise. «I didnt invent them, did I?»
«Its because of the dirt», Oblomov interrupted him. «What nonsense you do talk!»
«I didnt invent dirt, either».
«Youve got mice running about in your room at night I can hear them».
«I didnt invent the mice, either. There are lots of these creatures everywhere, sir: mice and moths and bugs».
«How is it other people have neither moths nor bugs?»
Zakhars face expressed incredulity, or rather a calm certainty that this never happened.
«Ive got lots of everything, sir», he said obstinately. «You cant expect me to see to every bug. I cant crawl into their cracks, can I?»
He seemed to be thinking to himself: «And what would sleep be like without a bug?»
«Sweep up the dirt out of the corners then there wont be any», Oblomov instructed him.
«Sweep it up to-day and therell be plenty of it to-morrow», said Zakhar.
«No, there wont», his master interrupted him. «There shouldnt be».
«There will be», the servant insisted; «I know, sir».
«Well, if there is, you must sweep it up again».
«What, sir? Sweep out all the corners every day?» Zakhar asked. «Why, what sort of life would that be? Id rather be dead!»
«But why are other peoples rooms clean?» Oblomov retorted. «Look at the piano-tuners opposite: its a pleasure to look at his place, and he has only one maid».
«And where, sir, do you expect Germans to get dirt from?» Zakhar objected suddenly. «See how they live! The whole family gnaw a bone all the week. A coat passes from the father to the son and from the son back again to the father. His wife and daughters wear short frocks: their legs stick out under them like geese Where are they to get dirt from? Theyre not like us, with stacks of worn-out clothes lying in wardrobes for years. They dont get a whole corner full of crusts of bread during the winter. They dont waste a crust, they dont! They make them into rusks and have them with their beer!»
Zakhar spat through his teeth at the thought of such a niggardly existence.
«Its no good your talking!» replied Oblomov. «Youd better tidy up the rooms».
«Well, sir, Id be glad to tidy up sometimes, but you wont let me».
«There he goes again! Its I who wont let him, if you please!»
«Of course its you, sir. Youre always at home: how can I tidy the place with you here? Go out for a whole day and Ill get it nice and tidy».
«Good Lord! what next? Go out indeed! Youd better go back to your room».
«But really, sir», Zakhar insisted. «Why dont you go out today, and Anisya and me will get everything ship-shape. Though, mind you, sir, we shant be able to do everything by ourselves not the two of us: we should have to get some charwomen to come and wash»
«Good Lord! what an idea charwomen! Go on, back to your room», said Oblomov.
He was sorry he had started the conversation with Zakhar. He kept forgetting that as soon as he touched on that delicate subject he got involved in endless trouble. Oblomov would have liked to have his rooms clean, but he could not help wishing that it would all happen somehow of itself, without any fuss; but the moment Zakhar was asked to dust, scrub, and so on, he always made a fuss. Every time it was mentioned he began proving that it would mean a tremendous lot of trouble, knowing very well that the very thought of it terrified his master.
Zakhar left the room and Oblomov sank into thought. A few minutes later it again struck the half-hour.
«Good heavens», Oblomov said almost in dismay, «itll soon be eleven oclock, and I havent got up and washed! Zakhar! Zakhar!»
«Dear, oh dear! What now?» Zakhars voice came from the passage followed by the familiar sound of a jump.
«Is my water ready?» Oblomov asked.
«Been ready for hours», Zakhar replied. «Why dont you get up, sir?»
«Why didnt you tell me it was ready? Id have got up long ago. Go now, Ill follow you presently. I have some work to do. Ill sit down and write».
Zakhar went out, but a minute later returned with a greasy notebook covered with writing and scraps of paper.
«If youre going to write, sir, you might as well check these accounts they have to be paid».
«What accounts? What has to be paid?» Oblomov asked, looking displeased.
«What accounts? What has to be paid?» Oblomov asked, looking displeased.
«The butcher, the greengrocer, the laundress, and the baker, sir. They are all asking for money».
«All they think of is money!» Oblomov grumbled. «And why dont you give me a few bills at a time? Why do you produce them all at once?»
«But every time I do, sir, you tell me to go its always tomorrow, to-morrow».
«Well, cant we put it off till to-morrow now?»
«No, sir. They keep on pestering me, sir. They wont give us any credit. To-days the first of the month».
«Oh dear!» said Oblomov dejectedly. «A fresh worry! Well, what are you standing there for? Put them on the table. Ill get up presently, wash, and have a look at them. So my water is ready, is it?»
«Its ready, sir», said Zakhar.
«All right, now», he groaned and was about to raise himself in his bed in order to get up.
«I forgot to tell you, sir», Zakhar began. «Just a few hours ago, while you were still asleep, the house agent sent the porter to say that we must move they want the flat».
«Well, what about it? If they want it, we shall of course move. What are you pestering me for? Its the third time youve told me».
«Theyre pestering me too, sir».
«Tell them were going to move».
«They say, sir, youve been promising to move for the last month but you still dont move. Theyre threatening to tell the police».
«Let them!» Oblomov said resolutely. «Well move as soon as the weather gets warmer in three weeks or so».
«In three weeks, sir? Why, sir, the agent says the workmen are coming in in a fortnights time. Theyre going to break the whole place down. Youll have to move to-morrow or the day after thats what he says, sir!»
«Does he? Hes in too much of a hurry! He wants us to move at once, does he? Dont you dare even to mention the flat to me again. Ive told you once before and youre at it again. Take care!»
«But what am I to do, sir?» Zakhar asked.
«What are you to do? So thats the way you want to wriggle out of your responsibilities?» replied Oblomov. «Youre asking me! What do I care? So long as you dont bother me, you can make any arrangements you like, provided we havent got to move out of this flat! You wont do anything for your master, will you?»
«But what can I do, sir?» Zakhar began, speaking in a soft, hoarse voice. «Its not my house, is it? How can we refuse to go, if were being chucked out? Now, if it was my house, sir, Id have been only too glad»
«Cant you persuade them somehow? Tell them weve been here for years, always paid the rent regularly»
«I told them that, sir».
«Oh? Well, what did they say?»
«Why, sir, what do you think they said? They just keep on saying we must move because they have to do all sorts of alterations. You see, sir, they want to convert this flat and the doctors next door into one big flat in time for the landlords sons wedding».
«Goodness me, how do you like that?» Oblomov said with vexation. «To think that there are such donkeys who want to get married!»
He turned over on his back.
«Why dont you write to the landlord, sir?» said Zakhar. «Perhaps he wouldnt bother you then, but tell the workmen to break down the flat next door first».
Zakhar pointed somewhere to the right.
«Oh, very well, Ill write as soon as I get up. Youd better go back to your room now, and Ill think it over», he added. «It seems that you cant do anything and I shall have to arrange this stupid affair myself too».
Zakhar went out of the room and Oblomov began thinking. But he could not make up his mind what he was to think of first: the bailiffs letter, or moving out of the flat, or looking through the accounts. He was lost in a flood of worldly cares, and remained lying in bed, turning over from side to side. At times sudden cries were heard in the room: «Oh dear, oh dear! You cant run away from life it gets at you everywhere!»
It is difficult to say how long he would have remained in this state of indecision, if there had not been a ring at the front door.
«Theres someone at the door already», said Oblomov, wrapping his dressing-gown round him, «and I havent got up yet. Oh, its disgraceful! I wonder who it can be so early?»
And without attempting to get up, he looked curiously at the door.
2
A YOUNG MAN of twenty-five, looking the picture of health, with laughing cheeks, lips, and eyes, entered the room. It made one envious to look at him.
He was irreproachably groomed and dressed, and his countenance, linen, gloves, and frock-coat had a dazzling freshness. An elegant chain with numberless tiny trinkets stretched across his waistcoat. He pulled out a handkerchief of the finest lawn, inhaled the perfumes of the Orient, then, passing it lightly across his face and his shiny hat, flicked his patent leather boots with it.
«Oh, Volkov, how are you?» said Oblomov.
«How are you, Oblomov?» the dazzling gentleman said, walking up to him.
«Dont come near me», Oblomov cried, «dont come near me; youre straight from the cold street!»
«Oh, you spoilt darling, you sybarite!» Volkov said, looking for a place to put down his hat, but, seeing the dust everywhere, he decided to keep it in his hand. He parted the skirts of his frock-coat to sit down, but after a careful glance at the armchair, remained standing.
«You arent up yet! What an old-fashioned dressing-gown youre wearing I havent seen one like it for ages!»
«Its a perfectly good dressing-gown», said Oblomov, lovingly wrapping the wide folds of the garment round him.
«Are you well?» asked Volkov.
«Well? Good Lord, no!» Oblomov answered, yawning. «Couldnt feel worse. High blood pressure, you know. And how are you?»
«Me? Im all right. In perfect health, and having a jolly good time», the young man added with feeling.
«Where do you come from so early?» asked Oblomov.
«From my tailors. How do you like my frock-coat? Splendid, isnt it?» he said, turning round before Oblomov.
«Splendid! In excellent taste», said Oblomov. «But why is it so wide at the back?»
«Its a riding-coat; for riding on horseback».
«Oh, I see! But do you ride?»
«Of course I do! I had the coat specially made for to-day. Its the first of May to-day: Goryunov and I are going to Yekaterinhof. Oh, you dont know, do you? Misha Goryunov has received his commission so were celebrating to-day», Volkov added with enthusiasm.
«Oh, indeed», said Oblomov.
«He has a chestnut horse», Volkov went on. «All the horses in his regiment are chestnut; and mine is a black one. How will you go will you walk or drive?»
«Oh, I dont think Ill go at all», said Oblomov.
«Not go to Yekaterinhof on the first of May? Good Lord, Oblomov!» Volkov cried in surprise. «Why, everyone will be there!»
«Not everyone, surely», Oblomov observed lazily.
«Do come, my dear fellow! Sofya Nikolayevna and Lydia will be alone in the carriage, and the seat opposite is entirely at your disposal».
«No, that seat is too small for me. And, besides, what on earth am I going to do there?»
«Very well, in that case Misha could hire another horse for you».
«The things he thinks of!» Oblomov said, almost to himself. «Why are you so interested in the Goryunovs?»
«Oh!» Volkov said, flushing crimson. «Shall I tell you?»
«Do».
«You wont tell anyone on your word of honour?» Volkov went on, sitting down on the sofa beside him.