Oblomov (57 page)

‘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 landowner 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.

10

I
N
the evening of the same day Ivan Matveyevich and Tarantyev were sitting in one of the rooms of the upper floor of a two-storied house which, on one side, faced the street where Oblomov lived and, on the other, the quay. It was a so-called ‘tavern’, which always had two or three empty cabs waiting at its front door, the cabmen staying on the ground floor and drinking tea out of their saucers. The upper floor was reserved for the ‘gentlemen’ of Vyborg.

Glasses of tea and a bottle of rum stood on a table before Ivan Matveyevich and Tarantyev.

‘Real Jamaica rum,’ said Ivan Matveyevich, pouring some into his glass with a shaking hand. ‘Have some, old man.’

‘You must admit it,’ retorted Tarantyev, ‘you owe me this treat. You’d not have got such a tenant if you’d waited till the house had rotted away.’

‘True enough,’ Ivan Matveyevich interrupted. ‘And if our business comes off and Zatyorty goes to the country, you’ll get your commission.’

‘I’m afraid, old man, you’re damned stingy,’ said Tarantyev. ‘One has to bargain with you. Fifty roubles for such a lodger!’

‘I’m afraid he may be leaving – he’s threatening to,’ observed Ivan Matveyevich.

‘Don’t talk nonsense – a man of experience like you, too! Where will he go? He wouldn’t be driven out even by force now.’

‘And the wedding? I hear he’s getting married.’

Tarantyev burst out laughing.

‘He getting married! What do you bet that he won’t?’ he replied. ‘Why, he can’t go to bed without Zakhar’s help, and you talk of marriage! Till now I’ve been giving him a helping hand; if it hadn’t been for me, old man, he would have died of starvation or been clapped into jail. If the police inspector called or his landlord asked him for something, he never knew what to do – I had to do everything for him! He doesn’t understand a thing!’

‘You’re right. He told me he didn’t know what they did in a district court or in a Government department. He has no idea what sort of peasants he has. What a fool! I nearly burst out laughing.’

‘And the agreement, the agreement we drew up!’ Tarantyev
boasted. ‘You’re a past-master in drawing up documents, old man, I grant you that! It reminded me of my father. I wasn’t bad at it, either, but I’m afraid I’ve lost the knack – aye, I’ve lost the knack! The moment I sit down at the table my eyes begin to water. He never bothered to read it, just signed it! Barns, stables, kitchen gardens, and all!’

‘Yes, old man, while there are blockheads in Russia who sign papers without reading them, people like us can still manage to live. But for that life would have been terrible – things have grown so bad! In the old days it was different. What money have I made after twenty-five years in the Civil Service? Enough to live on in Vyborg without showing my nose anywhere else – plenty to eat, I’m not complaining! But, I’m afraid, a flat on Liteyny, carpets, a rich wife, and children who are admitted to the best houses – that’s a dream of the past! I haven’t got the right face for it, I’m told, and my fingers are red – Why do I drink? How can I help drinking? Just try! Worse than a footman – aye, to-day a footman doesn’t wear boots like mine and changes his shirt every day. The trouble is, I haven’t had the right education – the youngsters have got miles ahead of me: show off, read and talk French….’

‘And have no idea of practical affairs,’ added Tarantyev.

‘That’s where you’re wrong, old man: they have, but it’s different now. Everyone wants things to be as simple as possible and everyone is doing his best to trip us up. This is not the way to write, that’s quite unnecessary, a waste of time – you could do it much more quickly – always tripping us up.’

‘But the agreement is signed: they did not trip us up there, did they?’ said Tarantyev.

‘That, of course, is sacred. Let’s drink, old man. He’ll send Zatyorty to Oblomovka, and Zatyorty will gradually suck him dry: let his heirs get all that is left over….’

‘Let them,’ Tarantyev observed. ‘And there aren’t any real heirs, either: third cousins, some very distant relatives.’

‘It’s his marriage I’m afraid of!’ said Ivan Matveyevich.

‘Don’t be afraid, I tell you. Mark my words!’

‘No?’ Ivan Matveyevich retorted gaily. ‘You know,’ he added in a whisper, ‘he’s casting sheep’s eyes at my sister.’

‘Not really?’ Tarantyev said in astonishment.

‘Mum’s the word! I tell you I know what I’m talking about.’

‘Well, old man,’ Tarantyev said, hardly able to recover from his surprise, ‘I’d never have dreamed of it! And what about her?’

‘What about her? You know her, don’t you?’ he said, banging his fist on the table. ‘She can’t be expected to look after her interests, can she? A cow – that’s what she is, a blamed cow: hit her or hug her, she goes on grinning like a horse at a nose-bagful of oats. Another woman in her place would – oh, well! But I’ll keep an eye on them, I promise you – you realize what it may mean, don’t you?’

11

‘F
OUR
months! Another four months of constraint, secret meetings, suspicious faces, smiles!’ thought Oblomov as he mounted the stairs to the Ilyinskys’ flat. ‘Good Lord, when will it end? And I’m sure Olga will hurry me: to-day, to-morrow. She is so insistent, so inexorable! It’s difficult to convince her….’

Oblomov reached Olga’s room without meeting anybody. Olga was sitting in her small sitting-room, next to her bedroom, absorbed in reading a book. He appeared before her so suddenly that she gave a start, then held out her hand affectionately and with a smile, but her eyes seemed to be still reading the book; she looked absent-minded.

‘Are you alone?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Auntie has gone to Tsarskoye Selo. She wanted me to go with her. We shall be almost alone at dinner. Only Maria Semyonovna is coming; otherwise I should not have been able to receive you. You can’t talk to Auntie to-day. What an awful bore it is! But to-morrow – –’ she added and smiled. ‘And what if I had gone to Tsarskoye Selo to-day?’ she asked, jestingly.

He made no answer.

‘Are you worried?’ she asked.

‘I had a letter from the country,’ he said dully.

‘Where is it? Have you got it on you?’

He gave her the letter.