Oblomov / Обломов. Книга для чтения на английском языке. Иван Гончаров

«It’s not my house, is it? How can we refuse to go, if we’re being chucked out? Now, if it was my house, sir, I’d have been only too glad…»

      «Can’t you persuade them somehow? Tell them we’ve 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 doctor’s next door into one big flat in time for the landlord’s son’s 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 don’t you write to the landlord, sir?» said Zakhar. «Perhaps he wouldn’t bother you then, but tell the workmen to break down the flat next door first».

      Zakhar pointed somewhere to the right.

      «Oh, very well, I’ll write as soon as I get up. You’d better go back to your room now, and I’ll think it over», he added. «It seems that you can’t 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 bailiff’s 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 can’t 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.

      «There’s someone at the door already», said Oblomov, wrapping his dressing-gown round him, «and I haven’t got up yet. Oh, it’s 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.

      «Don’t come near me», Oblomov cried, «don’t come near me; you’re 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 aren’t up yet! What an old-fashioned dressing-gown you’re wearing – I haven’t seen one like it for ages!»

      «It’s 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. «Couldn’t feel worse. High blood pressure, you know. And how are you?»

      «Me? I’m 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 tailor’s. How do you like my frock-coat? Splendid, isn’t it?» he said, turning round before Oblomov.

      «Splendid! In excellent taste», said Oblomov. «But why is it so wide at the back?»

      «It’s 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. It’s the first of May to-day: Goryunov and I are going to Yekaterinhof. Oh, you don’t know, do you? Misha Goryunov has received his commission – so we’re 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 don’t think I’ll 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 won’t tell anyone – on your word of honour?» Volkov went on, sitting down on the sofa beside him.

      «I won't».

      «I–I’m in love with Lydia», he whispered.

      «Bravo! How long? – She’s very charming, I believe».

      «For three weeks», Volkov said with a deep sigh. «And Misha is in love with Dashenka».

      «Which Dashenka?»

      «Where have you been, Oblomov? You don’t know Dashenka? Why, the whole town is crazy about her dancing. To-night I’m going to the ballet with him: he wants to throw a bouquet on to the stage. I must introduce him into society. He’s so shy – a novice. Oh, good Lord, I have got to go and buy some camelias».

      «Whatever for? You’d better come and dine with me. We’d have a talk. I’m afraid two awful things have happened to me…»

      «Sorry, I can’t. I’m dining at Prince Tyumenev’s. The Goryunovs will be there and she – my darling Lydia», he added in a whisper. «Why have you given up the prince? It’s such a gay house! So wealthy! And their country cottage! Buried in flowers! They’ve added a balcony to it – gothique. I understand they’re going to have dances there in the summer – tableaux vivants! You’ll be coming, won’t you?»

      «No, I don’t think I will».

      «Oh, what a splendid house! On their Wednesday at homes last winter there were never fewer than fifty people there – sometimes, indeed, there were as many as a hundred!»

      «Good heavens, I can imagine how horribly boring it must have been».

      «Boring! How can you say that? The more the merrier. Lydia, too, used to come, but I never noticed her there, then suddenly -

      In vain to banish her from my mind I try,

      And by reason, my passion to tame» —

      he sang, and without thinking sat down in the arm-chair, but jumped up immediately and began dusting his clothes.

      «How awfully dusty your room is!» he said.

      «It’s all Zakhar’s fault!» Oblomov complained.

      «Well, I must be off», said Volkov. «Must