Oblomov (67 page)

‘I am engaged!’ a girl thinks with a proud tremor, having at
last reached the moment which sheds a radiance over the whole of her life, and looking down upon the dark path along which she walked alone and unnoticed only yesterday.

Why, then, did Olga feel no tremor? She, too, had walked along a lonely and inconspicuous path, and at the crossroads had met
him
, who gave her his hand and led her out, not into the dazzling sunlight, but, as it were, to a broad, overflowing river, to wide fields, and friendly, smiling hills. The brilliant light did not force her to screw up her eyes, her heart did not stand still, her imagination did not catch fire. Her eyes rested with quiet joy on the broad stream of life, on its vast fields and green hills. A shiver did not run down her spine, her eyes did not gleam with pride: it was only when she transferred her gaze from the fields and hills to the man who gave her his hand that she felt a tear slowly rolling down her cheek….

She still sat as though asleep – so quiet was the dream of her happiness: she did not stir, she hardly breathed. Sunk in a trance, her mental gaze was fixed on a blue still night, warm and fragrant and pervaded by a gently shimmering radiance. The phantom vision of happiness spread out its broad wings and sailed slowly, like a cloud in the sky, over her head….

In that dream she did not see herself wrapped in gauze and lace for a couple of hours and in everyday rags for the rest of her life. She did not dream of a festive board, of lights, or of merry shouts; she dreamed of happiness, but such ordinary and unadorned happiness that once more, without a tremor of pride, but with deep emotion, she whispered: ‘I am his fiancée.’

5

D
EAR
me, how dull and gloomy everything was in Oblomov’s flat about eighteen months after his name-day, when Stolz had inadvertently turned up to dinner. Oblomov himself had grown more fat and flabby; boredom had eaten itself into his eyes and looked out of them like some kind of disease. He would walk up and down the room, then lie down and gaze at the ceiling; he would pick up a book from the bookcase, skim through a few lines, yawn, and begin to drum with his fingers on the table. Zakhar had grown still more clumsy and slovenly; patches appeared on his elbows; he looked wretched and starved, as though he had not enough to eat, slept badly, and did the work
of three men. Oblomov’s dressing-gown was worn out and however carefully the holes in it were mended it kept giving way everywhere and not only along the seams: he should have got a new one long ago. The blanket on the bed was also worn out and patched here and there; the curtains at the windows were faded and, though clean, looked like rags.

Zakhar brought an old table-cloth, spread it over half of the table near Oblomov, then carefully with his tongue between his teeth, brought the tray with a decanter of vodka, put bread on the table and went out. The landlady’s door opened and Agafya Matveyevna came in, carrying dexterously a frying-pan with a sizzling omelette. She, too, had changed terribly, and not to her advantage. She had grown thinner. She no longer had the plump, round cheeks which turned neither red nor pale; her scanty eyebrows were no longer shiny; her eyes were sunken. She wore an old cotton dress; her hands were sunburnt or rough with work, with the heat or the water, or both. Akulina was no longer in the house. Anisya had to do the work in the kitchen and in the vegetable garden; she had to look after the poultry, scrub the floors, and do the washing; as she could not manage it all by herself, Agafya Matveyevna had willy-nilly to do the work in the kitchen: she did little pounding, grating, and sieving, because they could afford but little coffee, cinnamon, and almonds, and she never even thought about lace. She had more often nowadays to chop onions, grate horse-radish, and similar condiments. There was a look of profound dejection on her face. But it was not about herself or her own coffee that she sighed; she was worried not because she had no opportunity to be busy and keep house on a big scale, to pound cinnamon, to put vanilla into the sauce, or boil thick cream, but because Oblomov had not tasted these things for over a year, because his coffee was not bought in large quantities from the best shops, but for ten copecks in the little shop round the corner; because his cream was not brought by a Finnish woman, but was supplied by the same little shop; because instead of a juicy chop, she was bringing him an omelette for lunch, fried with a tough piece of ham that had grown stale in the same little shop.

But what did it mean? It meant that for over a year the income from Oblomovka, sent punctually by Stolz, went in payment of the IOU given by Oblomov to the landlady.

The ‘perfectly legal’ transaction of the landlady’s brother had been successful beyond expectation. At the first hint from Tarantyev at the ‘disgraceful affair’, Oblomov flushed and was
thrown into confusion; then they came to an agreement, then all the three of them had a drink, and Oblomov signed an IOU which had to be met at the end of four years. A month later Agafya Matveyevna signed a similar IOU made out in her brother’s name, without suspecting what it was and why she was signing it. Her brother told her that it was a document relating to the ownership of the house and asked her to write: ‘This IOU so-and-so’ (rank, name, and surname) ‘has signed with her own hand.’ The only objection she raised was that she would have so much to write, and she asked her brother to make Vanya write instead, because he wrote beautifully now and she might make a mess of it. But her brother insisted most firmly that she should do it herself, and she wrote it crookedly and slantingly and in big letters. She never heard of it again.

In signing the IOU, Oblomov partly comforted himself by the thought that the money would benefit Agafya Matveyevna’s children, and on the following day, when his head had cleared, he recalled the affair with shame and tried to forget it, avoiding his landlady’s brother; when Tarantyev brought up the subject, he threatened to leave the house immediately and go to the country. Afterwards, when he received the money from his estate, the landlady’s brother came to see him and declared that he, Oblomov, might find it easier to start paying at once out of his income, for then the claim would be paid in three years, while if he waited for the time the payment fell due, his estate would have to be sold by auction, since Oblomov had not the necessary amount in cash and was not likely to have it. Oblomov realized into what clutches he had fallen when all the money sent by Stolz went to the payment of his debt and he had only a small sum left to live on. The landlady’s brother was in a hurry to finish this voluntary arrangement with his debtor in about two years, fearing that something or other might happen to upset his plans, and that was why Oblomov suddenly found himself in difficulties. At first he did not notice it very much owing to his habit of never knowing how much money he had in his pocket; but Ivan Matveyevich took it into his head to become engaged to the daughter of some corn-chandler, and he rented a flat and moved out. Agafya Matveyevna’s ambitious housekeeping plans were suddenly curtailed: sturgeon, snow-white veal, turkey made their appearance in another kitchen, in Ivan Matveyevich’s new flat. There in the evenings the rooms were lit up, and his future relations, his colleagues, and Tarantyev gathered; everything had found its way there. Agafya Matveyevna
and Anisya were suddenly left with nothing to do, gaping in astonishment over their empty pots and pans. Agafya Matveyevna learnt for the first time that she possessed only a house, a kitchen garden, and chickens, and that neither cinnamon nor vanilla grew in her garden; she saw that the shopkeepers in the market gradually stopped bowing low to her and smiling and that these bows and smiles were now addressed to the tall, well-dressed new cook of her brother’s.

Oblomov had given the landlady all the money her brother had left him to live on, and for three or four months she went on as before as if nothing had happened, ground pounds of coffee, pounded cinnamon, roasted veal and turkey, and went on doing it to the last day on which she spent her last seventy copecks and came to tell him that she had no more money left. He turned over three times on the sofa at the news, then looked into the drawer of his desk; he had not any either. He tried to remember where he had put it and could not; he fumbled on the table for some coppers and asked Zakhar, who replied that he had not the faintest idea. She went to see her brother and naïvely told him that there was no money in the house.

‘And what did you and his lordship squander the thousand roubles I gave him for living expenses on?’ he asked. ‘Where am I to get the money from? You know I am going to be married. I can’t provide for two families, and you and your gentleman had better cut your coat according to your cloth.’

‘Why are you reproaching me with him?’ she said. ‘What has he done to you? He doesn’t harm anyone. He keeps to himself. It wasn’t I who enticed him to our house. You and Tarantyev did that.’

He gave her ten roubles and told her that he had no more. But having discussed the matter afterwards with Tarantyev at the ‘tavern’, he decided that it was impossible to abandon Oblomov and his sister in this way, for the news of it might reach Stolz, who would turn up unexpectedly, find out what was happening, and quite likely do something so that they would not have time to collect the debt in spite of its being ‘perfectly legal’. He was a German and, therefore, a crafty old rascal!

He agreed to give her an additional fifty roubles a month, intending to recover that money from Oblomov’s income three years hence; but he made it absolutely clear to his sister, and even declared his readiness to take an oath on it, that he would not let them have another farthing; he calculated how much they would have to spend on food, how they ought to cut down
their expenses, and even told her what dishes she had to cook and when; having, finally, ascertained how much she could get for her chickens and cabbage, he declared that with all this she could live on the fat of the land.

For the first time in her life Agafya Matveyevna thought not of housekeeping but something else; for the first time she burst into tears, not because she was vexed with Akulina for breaking the crockery and not because her brother had scolded her for not doing the fish long enough; for the first time she was faced with the threat of privation, a threat directed not against her, but against Oblomov.

‘How can a gentleman like him’ she mused, ‘start eating buttered turnips instead of asparagus, mutton instead of hazel-grouse, salted pike-perch and, perhaps, brawn from the little shop instead of Gatchina trout and amber-coloured sturgeon….’ The horror of it! She did not think it out to the end, but dressed hurriedly, took a cab, and went to see her husband’s relatives – not at Easter or Christmas to a family dinner, but early in the morning, greatly worried, to tell them a strange tale and to ask them what she was to do and to get some money from them; they had plenty of money: they would give it to her at once when they knew it was for Oblomov. If she had wanted money for tea or coffee, for her children’s clothes and shoes and other similar luxuries, she would never have dreamt of asking for it, but she wanted it for some pressing need: she simply had to have it to get asparagus for Oblomov, to buy hazel-grouse and French peas which he liked so much…. But her relatives were surprised, gave her no money, but told her that if Oblomov had any gold or, perhaps, silver articles, or even furs, they could be pawned and that there were such nice people who would give him a third of their value and wait for repayment till he received his money from the country. This practical lesson would at any other time have been lost on the landlady and made no impression on her brilliant mind, however much one tried to explain the situation to her, but this time she grasped it with the wisdom of her heart, and having considered it carefully, pawned the pearls she had received as a dowry. The next day Oblomov, without suspecting anything, drank the currant vodka, following it up by some excellent smoked salmon, his favourite dish of giblets, and a fresh white hazel-hen. Agafya Matveyevna and the children had the servants’ cabbage soup and porridge, and it was only to keep Oblomov company that she drank two cups of coffee. Soon after pawning her string of pearls she took out of
a private chest her diamond necklace, then her silver, then her fur coat…. When the money from the country came, Oblomov gave it all to her. She redeemed the pearls, paid the interest on the necklace, the silver, and the fur, and set about once more cooking asparagus and hazel-grouse for him, drinking coffee with him only for the sake of appearances. The string of pearls went back to the pawnbrokers. And so week after week and day after day she struggled along, worrying how to make ends meet, sold her shawl, sent her best dress to be sold, remaining in her cheap, short-sleeved, cotton dress, and covering her neck on Sundays with an old worn-out kerchief. That was why she had grown so thin, why her eyes looked sunken, and why she brought Oblomov his lunch herself. She even had the pluck to look pleased when Oblomov told her that Tarantyev, Alexeyev, or Ivan Gerasimovich would be coming to dinner the following day. The dinner was palatable and well served. She never put the host to shame. But how much agitation, running about, entreaties in shops, sleepless nights, and even tears this cost her! How deeply she found herself suddenly immersed in the troubles of life and how well she came to know its happy and unhappy days! But she loved this life: notwithstanding the great bitterness of her tears and anxieties, she would not have exchanged it for her former tranquil existence, when she had not known Oblomov, when she lorded it with dignity among the hissing and boiling saucepans, frying-pans and pots, and issued her orders to Akulina and the caretaker. She shuddered with horror when the thought of death suddenly occurred to her, though death would at one blow put an end to her never-drying tears, her constant rushing about by day, and her inability to close her eyes by night.

Oblomov had his lunch, heard Masha read French, spent some time in Agafya Matveyevna’s room watching her mend Vanya’s school tunic, turning it a dozen times this way and that, and at the same time rushing into the kitchen to have a look at the mutton roasting for dinner and to see whether it was time to make the fish soup.