Goncharov Oblomov part 2 read the summary. History of creation of "Oblomov"

The second chapter (part 1) of the novel tells about how various visitors came to Oblomov.

First came a young man of about twenty-five, shining with health, impeccably combed and dressed. It was Volkov. Shaming Oblomov for being in bed so late and calling his Persian dressing gown a dressing gown, Volkov boasted of a new tailcoat and invited Ilya Ilyich to go to Yekateringof, where amusements were planned for the first of May.

Oblomov flatly refused, explaining the refusal by his illness and boredom, which such holidays lead him to. Instead of a trip to Yekateringof, he invited the young man to his place for dinner - he so wanted to complain about his two misfortunes, to which he refused, because he was having dinner with Prince Tyumenev. Having refused from evening tea and concerned that he had to make it to ten more places today, Volkov left Oblomov. When he left, Ilya Ilyich thought, what an unfortunate person Volkov is, because he has so many things to do.

Then Sudbinsky, Oblomov's former colleague, entered the room. During the time that Ilya Ilyich resigned, a colleague became the head of the department, which he reported not without pleasure. Ilya Ilyich rejected Sudbinsky's offer to pick him up for a walk in Yekateringof, citing the fact that he was unwell and had a lot to do. They started talking about colleagues, after which, as if by chance, Sudbinsky announced his upcoming marriage and invited Oblomov to be best man.

- How, by all means! - said Oblomov, delighted that the wedding will take place only next week.

The bell rang. Sudbinsky, saying goodbye and promising to come back again, left. While thinking that a career does not make people happy, Oblomov did not notice that the writer Penkin, who works in the newspaper, was standing by his bed. Calling Ilya Ilyich "an incorrigible, carefree sloth," Penkin began to talk about his last article and the story he had written. In addition, he recommended Oblomov to read the poem "The love of a bribe-taker for a fallen woman," the author of which is incredibly talented: one can hear Dante, then Shakespeare ... sympathy, one pride only. Penkin did not agree with Oblomov, and they almost fell out, but stopped in time. Penkin began to get ready to leave and remembered that he had come to invite Oblomov to a walk in Yekateringof. Ilya Ilyich again referred to his ill health, and invited Penkin to his place for dinner. Penkin refused, since their editorial office is going to a restaurant today, and from there they go for a walk. "At night to write," thought Oblomov, "when to sleep? ..<…>Unhappy!"

The doorbell rang again. Alekseev entered (at least Oblomov greeted him that way, although no one knew for sure his last name: some said that Ivanov, others - Vasiliev, others - Andreev). He was a man of indeterminate age and indeterminate appearance. There was no wit, originality or other peculiarities in his mind either.

Alekseev came to invite Ilya Ilyich to Ovchinin for dinner, and from there to go to Yekateringof for the holiday. Oblomov was still lying, and Alekseev walked around the room from corner to corner, waiting for him to wash. Finally, he could not resist, asked why Ilya Ilyich was not going to. Oblomov replied that it was cloudy outside, he did not want to go. Alekseev noticed that it was cloudy because the windows had not been washed for a long time.

In the end Oblomov persuaded Alekseev to stay with him for lunch (it was Saturday, and he remembered that Tarantiev was invited to dinner) and began to complain about two misfortunes that happened to him. The reading of the letter of the headman, finally found, took place. Ilya Ilyich did not accept Alekseev's advice to move to another apartment and go to Oblomovka himself to deal with matters. Alekseev said that the sooner Stolz would come, he would settle everything. Ilya Ilyich became depressed, was silent for a long time, and then caught himself:

- Here's what to do! - he said resolutely and almost got out of bed. - And to do it as soon as possible, there is nothing to delay ... Firstly ...

But then the bell rang in the hall.

Summary of chapters of the novel "Oblomov"

Part 1	Part 2	Part 3	Part 4

In October 1805, Russian troops occupied the villages and cities of the Austrian archduchy, surrounded the Braunau fortress, where the apartment of the commander-in-chief Kutuzov was located. In one of the regiments, after a thirty verst march, they are preparing for a review. The commander-in-chief must drive up, the final preparations are underway. The regimental commander is happy with everything, but the soldiers' shoes are out of the ordinary idyllic picture: more than half of the boots are broken.

An adjutant from the main headquarters appears and reports to the regimental commander that the commander-in-chief ordered to present the soldiers without embellishment, as they were on the transition, in greatcoats and covers. The allies demand from Kutuzov an immediate connection with the army of Archduke Ferdinand and Mac, so he decides to show the deplorable state of the troops from Russia. In the ranks among the soldiers in greatcoats and covers there is a demoted Dolokhov in a greatcoat of a different color.

At the inspection, Kutuzov shows the Austrian general in what position his soldiers are. His adjutant, Prince Andrey, reminds of Dolokhov, who asks for an opportunity to improve. Upon his return from the inspection, Kutuzov begins negotiations with the Austrian general in the presence of his adjutant. Remembers General Mack's decisive victory, showing a letter from Archduke Ferdinand, in which he glorifies his achievements, and expresses the point of view that the Austrian troops no longer need the help of the Russians. The Austrian general does not like this opinion. He asks Kutuzov to draw up a memorandum from the reports of the Russian spies.

During the war, Prince Andrew was transformed, everything indicates that he is in his place. Gone are the bored expression on his face, an indifferent look and a measured tone, he is in good standing with Kutuzov, he is entrusted with serious assignments. Kutuzov is friends with Andrei's father, in a letter he informs him that Andrei promises to be an officer out of the ordinary in his knowledge, firmness and diligence. Kutuzov says he is happy to have such a subordinate at hand. Fellow soldiers treat Andrei in different ways, many dislike him, consider him cold and arrogant, but at the same time, of course, they respect and fear him.

Mac suddenly appears at the camp. The Austrians were defeated and surrendered their entire army at Ulm. Mack gives the details of the defeat of the army. Prince Andrey understands that the Russian troops are in an extremely difficult situation. He instantly imagines what awaits the army and him personally, trying to find a way out so as not to disgrace himself, yielding to the genius Bonaparte. His classmate chuckles at the defeated Austrians. Andrei abruptly interrupts him, noting that they are not lackeys who do not care about the lord's business, but the officers who serve their tsar and fatherland, rejoice at the common success and grieve about the common failure.

Nikolai Rostov serves in the Pavlodar hussar regiment. He is subordinate to the captain Denisov, Vaska Denisov, as he is called in the cavalry division. Together they live in the best apartment in the village, two miles from Braunau. One day Denisov returns the next morning in frustration after a major loss, gives Rostov to count the remaining money and put his wallet under his pillow. Officer Telyanin comes with him. He was transferred from the guards for offense. Co-workers clearly treat him badly. Velyanin remains alone in the house for some time, and after he leaves, it is discovered that the wallet has disappeared. Rostov offers Denisov money on credit. Denisov begins to shake the orderly, but he is not to blame. Rostov knows this for sure, as does who took the money. He goes to Telyanin, but does not find him: he went to the headquarters. Rostov catches up with the thief on his way to the headquarters, in a village tavern, publicly accuses him of stealing. He returns the money. Rostov tosses his wallet to Telyanin. In the evening, the officers discuss the incident. The regimental commander must respond to publicly accusing his officer of theft, but if he brings him to justice, the reputation of the entire regiment will suffer. Rostov is asked to apologize to the regimental commander, and then Telyanin will simply be expelled from the regiment, allegedly due to illness. In the end, Rostov agrees.

At this time, the newly arrived officer announces that Mack and his entire army have surrendered. A performance is scheduled for tomorrow.

Kutuzov's troops retreat to Vienna, burning bridges behind them. Crossing the river Ens, Russian troops join the commander of the rearguard with his retinue. The sent commander-in-chief Nesvitsky is also here. The general is dissatisfied with the delays in the crossing, sends Nesvitsky to hasten them and remind them to light the bridge behind them. There is a crush on the bridge, enemy troops are shelling the crossing. Nesvitsky sees Denisov, who demands that the infantry clear the way for the squadron. The crossing is over, only Denisov's squadron remained on the other side. Rostov is happy. Denisov wants to attack, but he is ordered to retreat.

It turns out that Nesvitsky mixed up the orders, as a result the bridge was not lit. The Colonel orders Denisov's squadron to return back to the bridge. There is no limit to the happiness of Rostov. He runs across the bridge, the enemy is heading towards him. The hussars manage to light the bridge. The French shoot three times with buckshot.

The 35,000-strong Russian army retreats. She is pursued by Napoleon with his one hundred thousandth retinue. Food is running out, allies cannot be relied on.

The rate of retreat is increasing. Austrian troops are separated from the Russians. Kutuzov is left alone with his army. It is impossible to defend Vienna with such a composition. The previous plan for an offensive campaign is crumbling. Now we need to do our best not to destroy the armies and to unite with the troops coming from Russia.

A few days later, Kutuzov goes with the army to the left bank of the Danube and defeats the French division. The soldiers are emaciated but content. Prince Andrew during the battle is under the Austrian General Schmitt, who was killed. Andrey was also on the verge of death. The commander-in-chief entrusts him with an honorable mission - to bring the news of the victory to the Austrian court in Brunn. Andrey is riding in a mail cart. He is happy. At one of the stations, he is overtaken by a wagon train of Russians wounded in the last battle. They are in a deplorable state. Andrey gives them three gold pieces.

Arriving at the scene, Andrei appears before the Minister of War. He indifferently meets Bolkonsky, without enthusiasm he listens to the message of victory. He believes that the death of Schmitt is too expensive a price to pay for the victory. After the meeting, Prince Andrey feels disappointment, his happiness from victory destroyed the indifference of the Minister of War. Andrey is staying with his acquaintance, the promising Russian diplomat Bilibin, who was in good standing in Vienna. He is an educated and hardworking person, witty. Prince Andrey tells him about the reception at the Minister of War. Bolkonsky is perplexed: after Mack lost an entire army, and Archduke Ferdinand and Archduke Karl did not show themselves for a long time; after they made many mistakes, Kutuzov alone won a real victory, but the Minister of War did not even ask for details. Bilibin notes that no one cares about Russian victories. If Archduke Karl had defeated at least a company of Bonaparte's fire brigade, then this would have been noticed. Moreover, Vienna is already occupied, and Bonaparte is in Schönbrunn. "Do you think the campaign is over?" - asks Andrey. Bilibin replies that Austria has remained a fool, this situation is unusual for her, so she will definitely repay. He says he feels deceived - most likely, a secret agreement has already been concluded with France.

The next day, Prince Andrew goes to the palace of Emperor Franz. He meets with Prince Ippolit Kuragin, secretary of the embassy. Embassy officials are not interested in the war, but only in promotions and appointments. The Emperor gives Bolkonsky a separate audience, during which Andrei has the feeling that he simply does not know what to talk to him about. Bolkonsky is awarded the Austrian Order of Maria Theresa of the 3rd degree, Kutuzov also receives a high order. Bilibin appears and reports that the French crossed without any resistance to the other side of the Danube, the bridge was unexploded. Prince Andrew goes to the army. On the way, she hears what a terrible situation she is in, sees the running soldiers, disorderly carts, hears screams and groans.

Having entered the village, Bolkonsky goes to Kutuzov. He is in the hut with Prince Bagration and the Austrian general Weyrother, taken to the place of Schmit. At the end of the negotiations, Kutuzov goes out with Bagration on the porch, says goodbye, blesses him for the feat. Tears run down Kutuzov's face. Bolkonsky asks to leave him in the detachment of Prince Bagration. Kutuzov refuses, says that he himself needs good officers, and from Bagration's detachment tomorrow, at best, a tenth part will return.

The French army seeks to sever the connection between Kutuzov's army and the troops coming from Russia. Kutuzov sends Bagration's vanguard of four thousand to cut across.

His goal is to get ahead of the French and delay them. Hungry barefoot soldiers from the Bagrationovsky detachment make a forty-five-verst night trek through the mountains. A third of the army is lost, but it is possible to arrive at the appointed place several hours earlier than the French. Murat sees the weak detachment of Bagration and makes a fateful miscalculation: he considered that this was the entire army of Kutuzov, and offered a truce for three days. Kutuzov has the opportunity to give rest to the exhausted detachment of Bagration and let his carts go ahead, that is, to save the army.

However, Bonaparte figured out the deception and urgently sent an adjutant to Murat with a message.

Prince Andrew comes to Bagration - his request for introduction into the detachment is satisfied. Bolkonsky asks for permission to go around the positions to find out the location of the troops. The fate of the officers is unenviable, the soldiers are dragging doors, benches and fences from the village to the fires. Bolkonsky, with the headquarters officer accompanying him, enters the waitress's tent. There are several people inside. The headquarters captain scolds Captain Tushin for being without boots. Tushin makes excuses, Andrei feels sympathy for him.

Prince Andrew goes on. Naked soldiers are around the fires. Suddenly Andrei sees one of them approaching the French chain and talking quickly about something with the French grenadier. This is Dolokhov. Having traveled around the entire line of troops, Prince Andrew climbed to the battery, from which, according to the headquarters officer, the entire field can be seen. This was Tushin's battery.

Bolkonsky understands that the superiority is on the side of the French. In addition, behind the Russian position there is a steep and deep ravine, along which it is difficult for artillery and cavalry to retreat. Prince Andrew draws a plan for the disposition of the troops in a notebook, according to which all artillery should be concentrated in the center, and the cavalry retreat to the other side of the ravine. He hears conversing voices, one, very sincere, speaks of death, they say, it would be possible to know what will happen after it, then no one would be afraid of her. This is Captain Tushin speaking.

A whistle is heard, a cannonball falls nearby. Andrey together with Prince Bagration returns to the Tushin battery. Another core falls ahead of them. Captain Tushin is in command of the battery fire. Bagration sends an adjutant to the senior general, tell him to retreat as quickly as possible beyond the ravine. Everyone forgets about Tushin and his battalion. Prince Andrey realizes with amazement that Bagration creates the appearance that everything is going in agreement with him, but the case and the people "appointed" by him run everything. True, in the presence of Bagration, the chiefs become calmer, and the soldiers and officers - livelier.

In battle, Bagration, dismounted from his horse, goes forward in front of the ranks, without giving any order. Suddenly shots are heard between the French. The enemy ranks are upset. When the first shot is fired, Bagration looks around and shouts: "Hurray!" The attack leads to the retreat of the right flank. In the center, the forgotten battery of Tushin stops the movement of the French. Bagration sends an adjutant to the general of the left flank with orders to retreat immediately. He leaves, but, having barely driven away, he feels an overwhelming fear. He began to deliberately look for the general and the commanders where they could not be. Orders were not transmitted. While the battle is going on, the commanders of the left and right flanks quarrel, and the soldiers, not expecting a battle, calmly engage in peaceful affairs. The French attack the soldiers who were collecting firewood in the forest. The hussars were cut off from the retreat by the French chain.

The squadron where Rostov served was stopped facing the enemy. For a long time there was no Denisov's command, finally it sounded, and the attack began. A horse was killed near Rostov. He is surrounded by the French. He grabs a pistol, but does not shoot, but throws it at the Frenchman, he himself runs into the bushes where the Russian shooters are sitting. Rostov was wounded in the arm. Dolokhov distinguished himself in battle, was wounded, but remained in the ranks.

At the very end of the battle, the cannonade continues. This is Tushin's forgotten company. Bagration sends there a duty headquarters officer and then Prince Andrey with an order for the battery to retreat as soon as possible.

The cover, which stood near Tushin's cannons, left on someone's orders in the midst of the battle. The battery itself continued to fire. The French did not take it just because they thought of a much larger number of guns. It was assumed that the main forces of the Russians were concentrated in the center, when in fact there were only four cannons.

The French put ten guns to the right against Tushin's detachment. The Russians only noticed the battery after six rounds. There are victims: two horses were knocked down, a leg of the box counselor was torn off. Tushin's friend was killed at the beginning of the battle; in an hour, seventeen of the forty servants dropped out. However, despite this, the detachment continues to stand. Tushin is cheerful and absolutely not afraid of being killed or injured. The headquarters captain arrives, shouts that he has already been ordered to retreat twice already, then Prince Andrey brings the same order. The battery was destroyed, in a terrible state, but Prince Andrew remained, deciding that he would withdraw the guns from the position. With the surviving guns they moved up the hill, on the way, Prince Andrey said goodbye to Tushin.

Tushin is attacked with reproaches and remarks. He is upset, silent. On the way, he loaded the gun carriages with the wounded. A pale Rostov comes up to him, shell-shocked in the arm, and not for the first time asks to put him in prison. They put him in prison, they somehow drive up to the village.

Tushin was summoned to General Bagration. He thanks some of the generals, fixes the losses. The regimental commander tells with enthusiasm what he wanted to do. In fact, this was not done. Bagration asks how two guns were thrown in the center, but the duty headquarters officer does not know this.

Tushin appears, hears Bagration's question and feels terrible guilt that he survived, having lost two guns. He is reproached for having a cover, in fact, he was not, but Tushin is afraid to let another boss down and therefore is silent. Prince Andrew stands up for him. He says that, having arrived at Tushin's, he did not find a cover, but two-thirds of the people and horses were killed, two weapons were warped; that the success of the battle was ensured primarily by the actions of Captain Tushin and his company. Bagration releases Tushin. He quietly thanks Prince Andrew.

Nikolai Rostov groans in pain, sees relatives in a dream and feels useless to anyone.

The next day the rest of Bagration's detachment joins Kutuzov's army.

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Oblomov, during his lazy dreams, always imagined the image of a tall and slender woman with a quiet and proud look, with her arms folded calmly on her chest, with a quiet but proud look and a pensive expression on her face. He never wanted to see in her awe, sudden tears, longing ... because with such women there is too much trouble.

After Oblomov broke out a declaration of love for Olga, they did not see each other for a long time. Her attitude towards him changed, she became more thoughtful. Stolz, leaving, "bequeathed" Oblomov to Olga, asked to look after him, to prevent him from staying at home. And in Olga's head a detailed plan was ripe for how she would disaccustom Oblomov to sleep after lunch, order him to read books and newspapers, write letters to the village, finish writing a plan for arranging an estate, prepare to go abroad ... And this she, so timid and silent, will become the culprit of this transformation! “He will live, act, bless life and it. To bring a person back to life - how much glory to the doctor when he saves a hopeless patient! And to save the morally dying mind, soul! " But this unexpected declaration of love should have changed everything. She did not know how to behave with Oblomov, and therefore was silent when meeting with him. Oblomov thought that he had frightened her, and therefore expected cold and stern glances, and, seeing her, tried to walk away.

Suddenly someone is walking, she hears.

"Someone is coming ..." thought Oblomov.

And they came face to face.

Olga Sergeevna! he said, shaking like an aspen leaf.

Ilya Ilyich! she answered timidly, and both stopped.

Hello, he said.

Hello, she said ...

They walked in silence along the path. Neither from the ruler of the teacher, nor from the eyebrows of the director, had Oblomov's heart pounded so much in his life as now. He wanted to say something, overpowered himself, but words did not come from his tongue; only my heart beat incredibly, as before a disaster ...

Yes, Olga Sergeevna, - he finally overcame himself, - I think you are surprised ... angry ...

I completely forgot ... - she said.

Believe me, it was involuntary ... I could not resist ... - he began to speak, gradually arming himself with courage. - If thunder had thundered then, the stone would have fallen over me, I would still say. It was impossible to restrain this by any forces ... For God's sake, do not think that I would want ... In a minute, God knows what I would give in order to return an incautious word ...

Forget it, - he continued, - forget it, especially since it is not true ...

Not true? - She suddenly repeated, straightened up and dropped the flowers.

Her eyes suddenly opened wide and flashed with amazement.

How not true? she repeated again.

Yes, for God's sake, don't get angry and forget. I assure you, this is only a momentary passion ... from music.

Only from music! ..

She changed in her face: two pink spots disappeared, and her eyes dim ...

He fell silent and did not know what to do. He saw only sudden annoyance and saw no reason.

I'll go home, '' she suddenly said, quickening her steps and turning into another alley ...

Give your hand as a sign that you are not angry ...

Without looking at him, she gave him the ends of her fingers, and as soon as he touched them, she immediately pulled her hand back.

No, you are angry! he said with a sigh. - How can I assure you that it was a hobby, that I would not allow myself to be forgotten? .. No, of course, I will not listen to your singing anymore ... If you leave like that, don’t smile, don’t shake hands in a friendly way, I .. have pity, Olga Sergeevna! I will be unwell, my knees are trembling, I can hardly stand ...

From what? she suddenly asked, looking at him.

And I don’t know myself, ”he said,“ now my shame is gone: I am not ashamed of my word ...

Speak! she said imperiously.

He was silent.

I want to cry again, looking at you ... You see, I have no pride, I am not ashamed of my heart ...

Why cry? she asked, and two pink spots appeared on her cheeks.

What? - she said, and the tears flowed from her chest; she waited tensely.

They went to the porch.

I feel ... - Oblomov was in a hurry to finish and stopped.

She slowly, as if with difficulty, ascended the steps.

The same music ... the same ... excitement ... the same ... chuv ... excuse me, excuse me - by God, I can't cope with myself ...

M-r Oblomov ... - she began sternly, then suddenly her face lit up with a ray of a smile, - I'm not angry, I forgive, - she added softly, - just go ahead ...

Oblomov looked after Olga for a long time. He came home happy and radiant, sat in the corner of the sofa and quickly drew on the dust on the table in large letters: "Olga." Then he called Zakhara, who had recently married Anisya, and ordered him to sweep and dust off. Then he lay down on the sofa and thought for a long time about his morning conversation with Olga: “She loves me! Is it possible? .. ”It was as if life had awakened in him, new dreams arose. But it was hard for him to believe that Olga could fall in love with him: "funny, with a sleepy look, with flabby cheeks ..." Approaching the mirror, he noticed that he had changed a lot, became fresh. At this time, a man from Olga's aunt came to call for dinner. Oblomov gave him money and went. He felt good and cheerful in his soul, all people seemed kind and happy. But disturbing doubts that Olga was only flirting with him did not give him peace. When he saw her, these doubts were almost dispelled. "No, she's not like that, not a liar ..." - he decided.

"This whole day was a day of gradual disappointment for Oblomov." He spent it with Olga's aunt, a smart, decent and dignified woman. She never worked, because it did not suit her, sometimes she read and spoke well, but she never dreamed or was clever. She did not trust anyone with her spiritual secrets, and loved to be alone only with the baron, who was the guardian of Olga's small estate that was pledged. The relationship between Olga and her aunt was simple and calm, they never showed displeasure to each other, however, there was no reason for this.

Oblomov's appearance in the house did not make much of an impression and did not attract anyone's attention. Stolz wanted to introduce his friend to a little prim people who cannot sleep after dinner, where you must always be well dressed and always remember what you are talking about. Stolz thought that a pretty young woman would be able to bring some revival into Oblomov's life - "it's like bringing a lamp into a gloomy room, from which an even light, a few degrees of heat, will spread in all dark corners, and the room will become more cheerful." But "he did not foresee that he was bringing in fireworks, Olga and Oblomov - even more so."

The aunt turned a blind eye to Oblomov's walks with Olga, because she did not see anything reprehensible in this. Oblomov talked with Olga's aunt for two hours, and when Olga appeared, he could not get enough of her. She has noticeably changed, seemed to have matured. "A naive, almost childish smile never appeared on her lips, she never looked so broadly, openly, with her eyes, when a question or bewilderment or innocent curiosity was expressed in them, as if she had nothing to ask ..." She looked at Oblomova, as if she had known him for a long time, joked and laughed, answered his questions in detail. It seemed that she was forcing herself to do what was needed and what others were doing.

After lunch, everyone went for a walk, and then returned home. Olga sang a romance, but there was no soul in her singing. Oblomov, without waiting for tea, said goodbye, and Olga nodded to him, as if to a good friend. In the next 3-4 days Olga looked at Oblomov simply, without the previous curiosity and without affection, and he could only wonder: “What is it with her? What does she think, feel? " But I could not understand anything. On the fourth and fifth days, he did not go to the Ilyinsky, he was going to go for a walk, went out onto the road, but did not want to go up the hill. I returned home and fell asleep. I woke up, had lunch, sat down at the table - "again nowhere and I don't want anything!" He announced to Zakhar that he was going to move to the city, to the Vyborg side, and when Zakhar left and then returned with a suitcase, he said that one of these days he would go abroad.

The next day Oblomov woke up at ten o'clock. Zakhar, serving him tea, said that he had met Olga Sergeevna in a bakery, she ordered her to bow, asked about her health, what she had had dinner, what she was doing these days. Zakhar, out of his spiritual simplicity, told the truth: he ate two chickens for dinner and lay on the couch all these days, going to move to the Vyborg side. Oblomov drove Zakhar out in annoyance and began to drink tea. Zakhar returned and said that the young lady had asked him to come to the park. Ilya Ilyich immediately got dressed and went to the park, walked around everything, looked into the pavilions and found her on the bench where their recent quarrel had taken place.

I thought you weren’t coming, ”she told him gently.

I've been looking for you all over the park for a long time, - he answered.

I knew what you would be looking for, and deliberately sat here in this alley: I thought that you would certainly walk along it ...

That I haven't seen you for a long time? she asked.

He was silent...

He vaguely understood that she had grown and was almost taller than him, that from now on there was no return to childish trust, that before them the Rubicon and the lost happiness were already on the other side: they had to step over.

She understood more clearly what was going on in him, and therefore the preponderance was on her side ... She instantly weighed her power over him, and she liked this role of a guiding star, a ray of light that she would pour over a standing lake and be reflected in it. ..

She triumphed in various ways her primacy in this fight ... Her look was speaking and understandable. It was as if she deliberately opened the famous page of the book and allowed to read the cherished passage.

Therefore, I can hope ... - suddenly, flushing with joy, he said.

Total! But...

She fell silent.

He was suddenly resurrected. And she, in turn, did not recognize Oblomov: the misty, sleepy face was instantly transformed, her eyes opened; the colors played on the cheeks; thoughts moved; desire and will flashed in his eyes. She, too, clearly read in this mute play of the face that Oblomov instantly had the purpose of life.

Life, life again opens up to me, - he said as if delirious, - here it is, in your eyes, in a smile, in this branch, in Casta diva ... everything is here ...

He then with delight, furtively glanced at her head, at the camp, at the curls, then squeezed a branch.

This all is mine! My! he repeated thoughtfully and did not believe himself.

You will not move to the Vyborg side? she asked when he was leaving home.

He laughed and did not even call Zakhar a fool.

Since then, Olga has become calmer, "but she lived and felt life only with Oblomov." She felt all the changes taking place in her soul and lived in her new sphere, without worry and anxiety. She did the same as before, but in a different way. She often recalled the predictions of Stolz, who said that she had not yet begun to live. And now I realized that he was right - she had just begun to live.

The image of Olga occupied all Oblomov's thoughts. He fell asleep, woke up and walked, thinking about her; both day and night mentally talked to her. He read books and retold them to Olga, wrote several letters to the village and changed the headman, and would even go to the village if he thought it possible to leave without Olga. He did not dine or go to bed during the day, and in a few weeks traveled all over the St. Petersburg suburbs.

The sympathy of Olga and Oblomov grew and developed, and Olga flourished with this feeling. Everyone noticed that she was prettier. When they were together, Oblomov looked at her for a long time, unable to look away. She easily read everything that was written on his face, and was proud of that, she could arouse such a strong feeling in him. "And she admired, and was proud of this man, who was thrown at her feet, by her strength!" Olga still ridiculed Oblomov's weaknesses, and every time he tried to dodge so as not to fall in her eyes. She deliberately asked him questions that he could not answer, and made him look for answers and then explain to her. He ran to bookstores, libraries, sometimes did not sleep at night, read, so that in the morning, as if by chance, he could answer Olga's question. But Olga's love was different from Oblomov's feelings.

I don’t know, ”she said thoughtfully, as if delving into herself and trying to grasp what was happening in her. “I don’t know if I’m in love with you; if not, then perhaps the minute has not yet arrived; I only know one thing, that I did not love my father, mother, or nanny so much ...

What's the difference? Do you feel anything special! .. - he wanted.

I like it differently, ”she said, tipping her back on the bench and wandering her eyes in the rushing clouds. - I'm bored without you; parting with you for a short time is a pity, for a long time it hurts. Once I knew forever, saw and believe that you love me - and happy, even though you never tell me that you love me. I don't know how to love more and better.

"Those are the words ... like Cordelia!" - thought Oblomov, looking at Olga passionately ...

You will die ... you, - she continued with a hesitation, - I will wear eternal mourning for you and will never smile again in my life. If you fall in love with another, I will murmur, I will not curse, but silently wish you happiness ... For me this love is like ... life, but life ...

She was looking for expression.

What is life, in your opinion? Oblomov asked.

Life is a duty, a duty, therefore, love is also a duty: as if God sent it to me, ”she said, raising her eyes to the sky,“ and ordered me to love.

Cordelia! - said Oblomov aloud. - And she's twenty-one! So that's what love, in your opinion! he added thoughtfully.

Yes, and I seem to have enough strength to live and love all my life ...

So the same motive played out between them in various variations. Meetings, conversations - it was all one song, only sounds, one light that burned brightly, and its rays only refracted and split into pink, green, yellow and fluttered in the atmosphere surrounding them. Every day and hour brought new sounds and rays, but the light burned alone, the tune sounded the same ...

Oblomov was at the mercy of his feelings and lived only in meetings with Olga. “I love, I love, I love” - Olga's recent confession sounded in him. But the next day he got up pale and gloomy, with traces of insomnia on his face and extinguished fire in his eyes. He drank his tea languidly, did not touch a single book, and sat down on the sofa and thought. He did not want to lie down - he was out of the habit, but he still rested his hand on the pillow. The image of Olga was in front of him, but somewhere in the fog. An inner voice told him that you can't live the way you want. “We have to groping, close our eyes to many things and not rave about happiness, not dare to murmur that it is slipping away - this is life!” He suddenly realized that he needed to part with Olga, his "poetic mood gave way to horror."

"Isn't this a mistake?" - suddenly flashed through his mind like lightning, and this lightning struck his very heart and broke it. He groaned. "Mistake! yes ... that's what! " - tossing and turning in his head.

"I love, I love, I love," was suddenly heard again in my memory, and my heart began to warm, but suddenly it went cold again. And this triple "love" Olga - what is it? Deception of her eyes, a sly whisper of an idle heart; not love, but only a premonition of love! ..

She loves now how she embroiders on the canvas: the pattern emerges quietly, lazily, she unfolds it even more lazily, admires it, then puts it down and forgets. Yes, this is just a preparation for love, an experience, and he is the subject who turned up first, a little bearable, for experience, on occasion ...

That's it! he said with horror, getting out of bed and lighting a candle with his trembling hand. - There is nothing else here and there never was! She was ready to receive love, her heart was waiting for her sensitively, and he met by accident, fell into a mistake ... Another will only appear - and she will sober up with horror from the mistake! How she would look at him then, how she turned away ... awful! I steal someone else's! I am a thief! What am I doing, what am I doing? How blind I am! - Oh my God!

He looked in the mirror: pale, yellow, his eyes dull. He remembered those young lucky ones, with a moisture-covered, pensive, but strong and deep look, like hers, with a fluttering spark in his eyes, with the confidence of victory in a smile, with such a cheerful gait, with a sonorous voice. And he will wait until one of them appears: she will suddenly flare up, look at him, Oblomov, and ... laugh!

He looked in the mirror again. "They don't like such people!" - he said.

Then he lay down and put his face to the pillow. “Goodbye Olga, be happy,” he concluded.

Oblomov told Zakhar that if they came for him from the Ilyinsky family, say that he had left for the city, but then decided to write Olga a letter stating that the feelings she was experiencing were not true love, but only an unconscious ability to love, but he consoles himself that "this short episode will leave ... a pure, fragrant memory ..." Having sent the letter, Oblomov began to imagine what Olga's face would be when she read it. At this time, he was informed that Olga asked to tell him to come at two o'clock, and now she is walking. Oblomov hurried to her, and saw that she was walking along the road, wiping away her tears. Olga reproached him for injustice, that he deliberately hurts her. Oblomov admitted that this letter was not needed and asked for forgiveness. They made up, and Olga ran home.

He stayed where he was and looked after her for a long time, like an angel flying away ...

What is this? - he said aloud in forgetfulness. - And - love too ... love? And I thought that she, like a sultry noon, would hang over those in love and nothing would move or die in her atmosphere: there is no peace in love, and it all moves somewhere forward, forward ... "like all life", says Stolz. And Joshua was not born yet, who would have told her: "Stop and do not move!" What will happen tomorrow? - he asked himself anxiously and thoughtfully, lazily went home.

As he walked past Olga's windows, he heard her constricted chest relieve in the sounds of Schubert, as if she were sobbing with happiness.

Oh my God! How good it is to live in the world!

At home Oblomov was waiting for a letter from Stolz, which began and ended with the words: "Now or never!" Andrei reproached his friend for immobility and invited him to come abroad, advised him to go to the village, deal with the peasants and start building a new house. Ilya Ilyich began to think, write, even went to the architect and prepared a plan for the house in which he was going to live with Olga.

A secret relationship was established between Oblomov and Olga, invisible to others: every look, every insignificant word spoken in front of others had its own meaning for them. They saw in everything a hint of love.

And Olga will flare up sometimes, with all her confidence in herself, when at the table they tell the story of someone's love, similar to her story; and as all love stories are similar, she often had to blush.

And Oblomov, at a hint of this, will suddenly grab such a bunch of crackers in embarrassment at tea that someone will certainly laugh.

They became empathetic and careful. Sometimes Olga will not tell her aunt that she saw Oblomov, and he will announce at home that he is going to the city, and he will go to the park ...

Summer moved on, went away. Mornings and evenings grew dark and damp. Not only lilacs - and lindens have faded, the berries have moved away. Oblomov and Olga saw each other every day.

He caught up with life, that is, he again assimilated everything from which he had lagged behind long ago; he knew why the French envoy left Rome, why the British were sending ships with an army to the East; was interested in when a new road would be built in Germany or France. But he didn’t think about the road through Oblomovka to the big village, he didn’t give a letter of attorney in the ward and didn’t send Stolz an answer to his letters.

He learned only that which revolved in the circle of daily conversations in Olga's house, what was read in the newspapers he received there, and quite diligently, thanks to Olga's persistence, followed the current foreign literature.

Everything else was buried in the realm of pure love.

Despite frequent changes in this rosy atmosphere, the main reason was the cloudless horizon. If Olga sometimes had to reflect on Oblomov, on her love for him, if this love left an idle time and an idle place in her heart, if not all of her questions found a complete and always ready answer in his head and his will was silent to the call of her will, and to her cheerfulness and trembling of life, he only responded with a motionless, passionate look - she fell into a painful thoughtfulness: something cold, like a snake, crawled into her heart, sobering her from dreams, and the warm, fabulous world of love turned into some kind of an autumn day when all objects appear in gray.

But Oblomov began to think that those around him were looking at them with Olga in a strange way, something began to torment his conscience. He did not answer all of Olga's questions, fearing to frighten her away. He suddenly realized that his behavior could ruin the reputation of an honest girl. “He was exhausted, cried like a child that the rainbow colors of his life had suddenly turned pale, that Olga would be a victim. All his love was a crime, a stain on his conscience. " He realized that there was only one way out of this situation: marriage. And he decided that that evening he would announce his decision to Olga.

Oblomov ran to look for Olga, but he was told that she was gone. He saw her going uphill and ran after her. Olga was either cheerful and playful, or suddenly fell into thoughtfulness. They started talking about their love, but he remembered that he had not come for this.

He cleared his throat again.

Look ... I wanted to say.

What? she asked, turning briskly to him.

He was timidly silent ...

Tell me! .. - she pestered.

I just wanted to say, - he began slowly, - that I love you so much, I love you so much that if ...

He hesitated ...

Imagine, - he began, - my heart is overflowing with one desire, my head - with one thought, but the will, the language does not obey me: I want to speak, and the words will not leave my tongue. But how simple, how ... Help me, Olga.

I don't know what's on your mind ...

Oh, for God's sake, without this you: your proud look is killing me, every word, like frost, freezes ...

She laughed.

You're crazy! she said, putting her hand on his head.

So, so I received the gift of thought and word! Olga, ”he said, kneeling before her,“ be my wife!

She was silent and turned away from him in the opposite direction.

Olga, give me your hand! he continued.

She did not give. He took it himself and applied it to his lips. She did not take away. The hand was warm, soft and slightly damp. He tried to look into her face - she turned away more and more.

Silence? he said anxiously and questioningly, kissing her hand.

Sign of consent! she finished quietly, still not looking at him.

How do you feel now? What do you think? he asked, remembering his dream of a bashful agreement, of tears.

The same as you, - she answered, continuing to look somewhere into the forest; only the excitement of her chest showed that she was holding herself back.

"Does she have tears in her eyes?" - thought Oblomov, but she stubbornly looked down. - Are you indifferent, are you calm? he said, trying to pull her hand to him.

Not indifferent, but calm.

Why then?

Because I had foreseen this for a long time and got used to the thought.

Long! he repeated in amazement.

Yes, from the minute I gave you a branch of lilac ... I mentally called you ...

She didn’t finish.

From that moment!

He opened his arms wide and wanted to enclose her in them ...

A strange thought stirred in him. She looked at him with calm pride and waited firmly; and he would like at this moment not pride and firmness, but tears, passion, hopping happiness, even for one minute, and then let the life of imperturbable peace flow!

And suddenly, no impetuous tears from unexpected happiness, no bashful consent! How to understand this!

A snake of doubt woke up in his heart ... Does she love or is just getting married? ...

But Olga confessed to Oblomov that she would never want to part with him, and he felt insanely happy.

Stolz was German only on his father's side, his mother was Russian. He spoke Russian and professed the Orthodox faith. He learned the Russian language from his mother, from books, in games with village boys. He knew German from his father and from books. Andrey Stolts grew up and was brought up in the village of Verkhlev, where his father was a manager. At the age of eight, he had already read the works of German authors, biblical verses, taught Krylov's fables and read sacred history.

When he grew up, his father began to take him with him to the factory, then to the fields, and from the age of fourteen Andrei went to the city on his father's instructions alone. The mother did not like this upbringing. She was afraid that her son would turn into the same German burgher from which his father came. She did not like the rudeness and independence of the Germans, and believed that there could not be a single gentleman in their nation. She lived as a governess in a rich house, lived abroad, traveled all over Germany and mixed all the Germans into one crowd of people with rude speech and rude hands, capable only of making money, order and boring regularity of life. In her son, she saw the ideal of a master - "a white, well-built boy ... with a clean face, with a clear and lively look ..." Therefore, every time Andrei returned from factories and fields in dirty clothes and with a wolfish appetite, she rushed to wash dress him up, told him about the poetry of life, sang about flowers, taught him to listen to the sounds of music.

Andrei studied well, and his father made him a tutor in his small boarding school and, in perfect German, appointed him a salary of ten rubles a month. And nearby was Oblomovka: “there is an eternal holiday! There they lose their jobs ... there the master doesn't get up at dawn and doesn't go to factories ... ”And in Verkhlev itself there is an empty house, locked up for most of the year. Once every three years it was filled with people, the prince and princess came with their families.

The prince is a gray-haired old man with three stars, the princess is a majestic beauty and volume of a woman, she did not talk to anyone, did not go anywhere, but sat in a green room with three old women. Together with the prince and princess, their sons, Pierre and Michel, came to the estate. “The first one immediately taught Andryusha how they beat the dawn in the cavalry and infantry, which sabers were hussars and which were dragoons, what colors of horses were in each regiment and where it was absolutely necessary to enter after training so as not to disgrace. Another, Michel, having just met Andryusha, he put him in position and began to make amazing things with his fists, hitting Andryusha in the nose, then in the belly, then said that this was an English fight. Three days later Andrei broke his nose in both the English and the Russian way, without any science, and gained authority from both princes. "

Andrey's father was an agronomist, technologist, teacher. After studying at the university, he returned to his father, who "gave him a knapsack, a hundred thalers and let him go to all four sides." He traveled to different countries, and stopped in Russia, where he lived for the last twenty years, "blessing his fate." And he "traced" the same road to his son. When Andrei graduated from the university and lived at home for three months, his father said that "he had nothing more to do in Verkhlev, that even Oblomov was sent to St. Petersburg, which, therefore, should be his time." Mother was no longer in the world, and there was no one to object to the father's decision. On the day of his departure, Stolz gave his son one hundred rubles.

You will go on horseback to the provincial town, ”he said. - There, get three hundred and fifty rubles from Kalinnikov, and leave the horse with him. If not, sell the horse; there will soon be a fair: they will give four hundred rubles and not for a hunter. It will take you forty rubles to get to Moscow, seventy-five rubles from there to Petersburg; will remain enough. Then - as you want. You did business with me, so you know that I have some capital; but before my death you do not count on him, and I will probably live another twenty years, unless a stone falls on my head. The lamp burns brightly, and there is a lot of oil in it. You are well educated: all careers are open to you; you can serve, trade, at least write, perhaps - I don't know what you will choose, what you feel more eager for ...

Yes, I'll see if it’s possible all of a sudden, ”said Andrey.

The father burst out laughing with all his might and began to pat his son on the shoulder so that the horse could not stand it. Andrey is nothing.

Well, if you don't have the skill, you won't be able to suddenly find your way yourself, you will need to consult, ask - go to Reingold: he will teach. ABOUT! he added, holding his fingers up and shaking his head. This ... this (he wanted to praise and could not find the word) ... We came together from Saxony. He has a four-story house. I'll tell you the address ...

Don’t, don’t tell, "objected Andrei," I’ll go to him when I have a four-story house, and now I’ll do without him ...

Again rubbing on the shoulder.

Andrey jumped onto the horse. Two bags were tied by the saddle: one contained an oilcloth cloak, and one could see thick boots lined with nails and several shirts made of Verkhlevsky linen — things bought and taken at the insistence of his father; in the other lay an elegant tailcoat of thin cloth, a shaggy coat, a dozen thin shirts and boots, ordered in Moscow, in memory of mother's instructions ...

Father and son looked at each other in silence, "as if they pierced each other through and through," and said goodbye. The neighbors crowded nearby, surprised and indignant, discussed such a farewell, one woman could not stand it and cried: “Father you, saint! Poor orphan! You don’t have a dear mother, no one to bless you ... Let me at least cross you, my handsome man! .. ”Andrei jumped off the horse, hugged the old woman, then he was about to ride and suddenly began to cry - in her words he heard his mother's voice. He hugged the woman tightly, jumped on his horse and disappeared into the dust.

Stolz was the same age as Oblomov, and he was already over thirty. “He served, retired, went about his business and really made a house and money” - he was involved in some company sending goods abroad.

He is incessantly on the move: if society needs to send an agent to Belgium or England, they send him; you need to write a project or adapt a new idea to the case - they choose it. Meanwhile, he travels to the light and reads: when he has time - God knows.

It is all composed of bones, muscles and nerves, like a blood English horse. He is thin; he has almost no cheeks at all, that is, bone and muscle, but not a sign of fat roundness; the complexion is even, swarthy and no blush; the eyes, although a little greenish, are expressive.

He had no unnecessary movements. If he sat, he sat calmly, if he acted, then he used as much facial expressions as was necessary ...

He walked steadily, briskly; he lived on a budget, trying to spend every day, like every ruble ... It seems that he controlled both sorrows and joys, like the movement of his hands, like the steps of his feet, or how he dealt with bad and good weather ...

A simple, that is, a direct, real outlook on life - that was his constant task ...

Most of all he did not like imagination, he was afraid of every dream. The mysterious and enigmatic had no place in his soul. As well as the imagination, so he followed the heart subtly and carefully - the area of \u200b\u200bheart affairs was still unknown to him. Carried away, he never lost ground under his feet, and felt enough strength in himself if something happened "to dash and be free." He was never blinded by beauty and was not a slave. “He did not have idols, but he retained the strength of the soul, the strength of the body ...; some freshness and strength emanated from him, before which unselfconscious women were involuntarily embarrassed. He knew the value of these properties and wasted them sparingly, so those around him considered him an insensitive egoist. His ability to resist impulses and not go beyond the boundaries of the natural was branded and immediately justified, but they did not understand and did not cease to be surprised. In his stubbornness, he gradually fell into puritanical fanaticism and said that “the normal purpose of a person is to live four seasons, that is, four ages, without leaps and bring the vessel of life to last daywithout shedding a single drop in vain, and that even and slow burning of fire is better than stormy fires, no matter what poetry burns in them. "

He stubbornly walked along the chosen road, and no one saw that he was painfully thinking about anything or hurting his soul. To everything that he did not meet, he found the necessary method, and in achieving the goal he put perseverance above all else. He himself went to his goal, “bravely stepping over all obstacles,” and could abandon it only if a wall appeared in front of him or an abyss opened up.

How could such a person be close to Oblomov, in which every feature, every step, all existence was a flagrant protest against Stolz's life? This, it seems, is a question that has already been resolved, that the opposite extremes, if they do not serve as a reason for sympathy, as they thought before, do not in any way hinder it.

Moreover, they were connected by childhood and school - two strong springs, then Russian, kind, fat caresses, abundantly lavished in the Oblomov family on a German boy, then the role of a strong one, which Stolz played under Oblomov both physically and morally, and finally, and most of all, at the base of Oblomov's nature lay a pure, light and kind beginning, filled with deep sympathy for everything that is good and that only opened up and responded to the call of this simple, uncomplicated, eternally trusting heart ...

Andrei often, looking away from business or from the secular crowd, in the evening, went from the ball to sit on Oblomov's wide sofa and in a lazy conversation to take away and calm down an anxious or tired soul, and always experienced the comforting feeling that a person experiences when he comes from magnificent halls under own modest shelter or returning from the beauties of southern nature to a birch grove, where he walked as a child.

Hello Ilya. How glad I am to see you! Well, how are you doing? Are you healthy? Stolz asked.

Oh, no, it's bad, brother Andrei, - Oblomov said with a sigh, - what health!

What, sick? Stolz asked carefully.

The barley was overpowered: only that week one left the right eye, and now another sits down.

Stolz laughed.

Only? - he asked. “You’ve slept for yourself.

What "only": heartburn torments. You should have listened to what the doctor said just now. "Go abroad, he says, otherwise it's bad: there might be a blow."

Well, what are you?

I will not go.

From what?

Have mercy! Listen to what he said here: "I live somewhere on a mountain, go to Egypt or America ..."

Well? - Stolz said coolly. - You will be in Egypt in two weeks, in America in three ...

Stolz, hearing with a smile the complaint of a friend about his misfortunes, advised him to give free rein to the peasants and go to the village himself. And the housing issue, in his opinion, is easily solved: you need to move. Andrei asked a friend about how he spent his time, what he read, with whom he communicated, and spoke with displeasure about Oblomov's frequent visitors, especially about Tarantiev.

Have mercy, Ilya! - said Stolz, turning an amazed look at Oblomov. - What are you doing yourself? Like a lump of dough, curled up and lie.

True, Andrei, as a lump, - Oblomov responded sadly.

Is consciousness really a justification?

No, this is just an answer to your words; I'm not making excuses, ”Oblomov remarked with a sigh.

You have to get out of this dream.

Tried it before, failed, but now ... why? Nothing evokes, the soul is not torn, the mind sleeps peacefully! - with barely noticeable bitterness he concluded. - Completely about it ... Tell me better, where are you from now?

From Kiev. I'll go abroad in two weeks. Go and you ...

Good; perhaps ... - decided Oblomov.

So sit down, write your request, tomorrow and give it ...

So tomorrow too! - Oblomov began, catching himself. - What haste they have, as if someone were driving! Let's think, talk, and then God willing! But perhaps first to the village, and abroad ... after ...

Stolz decided to stop at Oblomov's and get his friend out of his sleepy state, made him get dressed and get ready: “We’ll have lunch somewhere on the go, then we’ll go home at two or three, and ...” Ten minutes later, Stolz came out shaved and combed, and Oblomov sat on the bed, slowly buttoning his shirt. In front of him, Zakhar stood on one knee with an unpeeled boot and waited for the master to be free.

Although it was not too early, they managed to drop in somewhere on business, then Stolz took one gold miner with him to dinner, then went to the latter's dacha to drink tea, found a large company, and Oblomov suddenly found himself in a crowd of people from perfect solitude. They returned home late at night.

On the next, on the third day, again, and the whole week passed unnoticed. Oblomov protested, complained, argued, but was carried away and accompanied his friend everywhere.

One day, returning from somewhere late, he particularly rebelled against this fuss.

For whole days, - Oblomov grumbled, putting on a robe, - you don't take off your boots: your legs are itching! I don’t like your Petersburg life! he continued, lying on the sofa.

Which one do you like? Stolz asked.

Not the same as here.

Why didn't you like it here exactly?

Everything, the eternal running and running, the eternal play of crappy passions, especially greed, interrupting each other's roads, gossip, gossip, clicking each other, this is looking from head to toe; if you listen to what they say, your head will spin, you will go crazy. It seems that people look so smart, with such dignity on their face, you just hear: "This was given something, he received a rent." - "Have mercy, for what?" someone shouts. “This one played yesterday at the club; he takes three hundred thousand! " Boredom, boredom, boredom! .. Where is the man here? Where is his wholeness? Where did he hide, how did he exchange for every little thing? ..

Life: life is good!

What to look for there? interests of the mind, the heart? Look where the center around which all this revolves: there is none, there is nothing deep that touches the living. All these are dead, sleeping people, worse than me, these members of the world and society! What drives them in life? Here they are not lying, but scurrying every day like flies, back and forth, but what's the use? You will enter the hall and not admire how the guests are seated symmetrically, how calmly and thoughtfully they sit - at the cards. Needless to say, glorious task of life! An excellent example for the mind movement seeker! Aren't they dead? Don't they sleep sitting all their lives? Why am I more to blame than them, lying at home and not infecting heads with threes and jacks? ..

And our best youth, what are they doing? Doesn't he sleep, walking, driving along the Nevsky, dancing? The daily empty shuffle of days! And look, with what pride and unknown dignity, with a repulsive gaze, they look who are not dressed as they are, who do not bear their name and rank. And the unfortunate ones imagine that they are still higher than the crowd: "We are serving, where, except for us, no one serves ..." And they will converge, get drunk and fight, like wild ones! Are these living, sleepy people? Yes, not only young people: look at the adults. Gather, feed each other, no cordiality ... no kindness, no mutual attraction!

They gather for dinner, for the evening, as in a position, without fun, cold, to boast of a cook, a salon, and then make fun of one at hand, substitute a leg for one another ... What kind of life is this? I don't want her. What will I learn there, what will I extract?

No one has a clear, calm look, ”Oblomov continued,“ everyone is infected from each other with some kind of painful care, longing, painfully looking for something. And the goodness of truth, blessings to themselves and others - no, they pale from the success of a comrade ... There is no business of their own, they scattered on all sides, did not go for anything. Under this all-embracing emptiness lies, lack of sympathy for everything! And to choose a modest, laboring path and walk along it, to break through a deep rut is boring, imperceptible; there omniscience will not help and there is no one to put dust in the eyes.

Well, you and I didn't scatter, Ilya. Where is our humble, work path? Stolz asked.

Oblomov suddenly fell silent.

But I will only finish ... the plan ... - he said. - God bless them! - added with annoyance then. “I don’t touch them, I’m not looking for anything; I just don't see normal life in this. No, this is not life, but a distortion of the norm, the ideal of life, which nature has indicated as a goal for man ...

What is this ideal, the norm of life?

And Oblomov told a friend about the life plan he had “drawn”. He wanted to get married and go to the village. When Stolz asked why he didn't marry, he answered that there was no money. The ideal of Ilya Ilyich's life was Oblomovka, in which he grew up.

Well, I would get up in the morning, - Oblomov began, putting his hands under the back of his head, - and an expression of peace spread across his face: he was mentally already in the village. - The weather is beautiful, the sky is bluer, bluer, not a single cloud, - he said, - one side of the house in the plan faces my balcony to the east, towards the garden, towards the fields, the other towards the village. While waiting for my wife to wake up, I would put on a dressing gown and walk around the garden to breathe the morning fumes; there I would have found a gardener, watering flowers together, trimming bushes and trees. I am making a bouquet for my wife. Then I go to the bath or swim in the river, return - the balcony is already open; my wife in a blouse, in a light cap, which holds on a little, that and look will fly off my head ... She is waiting for me. “The tea is ready,” she says. - What a kiss! What tea! What a quiet armchair! .. Then, putting on a spacious frock coat or jacket of some kind, embracing his wife for a hoop, go deep with her into the endless, dark alley; walk quietly, thoughtfully, silently or think aloud, dream, count minutes of happiness, like the beating of a pulse; listen to how the heart beats and freezes; look for sympathy in nature ... and imperceptibly go out to the river, to the field ... The river splashes a little; the ears are agitated by the breeze, the heat ... get into the boat, the wife rules, barely lifts the oar ...

Then you can go to the greenhouse, - continued Oblomov, himself reveling in the ideal of painted happiness. He drew from his imagination ready-made pictures he had drawn long ago, and therefore spoke with animation, without stopping. - Look at the peaches, grapes, - he said, - say what to serve, then come back, have a little breakfast and wait for the guests ... And the kitchen is boiling at this time; a cook in an apron and a cap, white as snow, fusses about ... Then lie down on the couch; the wife reads something new aloud; we stop, we argue ... But guests are coming, for example, you and your wife ... Let's start yesterday's unfinished conversation; jokes or eloquent silence, thoughtfulness will come ... Then, as the heat blows down, they would send a cart with a samovar, with dessert to a birch grove, otherwise in the field, on the mown grass, they would spread carpets between the stacks and so bliss to okroshka and steak. The peasants are walking from the field, with braids on their shoulders; there a cart with hay will crawl, covering the whole cart and horse; above, from the heap, sticks out a peasant's hat with flowers and a child's head; there is a crowd of barefoot women with sickles, they are wailing ... The lights are already on in the house; five knives are knocking in the kitchen; a frying pan of mushrooms, cutlets, berries ... there is music ... Guests go to the wings, to the pavilions; and tomorrow we scattered: some fishing, some with a gun, and some just sitting there ...

And the whole century like that? Stolz asked.

Up to gray hair, to the grave. This is life!

No, this is not life!

How not life? What isn't there? Think that you would not see a single pale, suffering face, no concern, not a single question about the Senate, about the stock exchange, about shares, about reports, about a reception at the minister, about ranks, about an increase in canteen money. And all the conversations are to your liking! You would never need to move out of your apartment - that alone is worth it! And this is not life?

This is not life! Stolz repeated stubbornly.

What do you think this is?

This ... (Stolz pondered and looked for what to call this life.) Some kind of ... Oblomovism, - he said at last.

O-bloody movement! - Ilya Ilyich said slowly, surprised at this strange word and sorting it through the warehouses. - Ob-lo-mov-shchina!

He looked strangely and intently at Stolz.

Oblomov was sincerely surprised: is not the goal of running, passions, wars, trade - not the desire for peace? Stolz reproachfully reminded him of their youthful dreams: to serve as long as there is enough strength, to work in order to have a sweeter rest, and to rest means living a different, graceful side of life; to go around other people's lands in order to love your own more strongly, because "all life is thought and work." Oblomov began to recall the past, when together they dreamed of looking at the canvases of famous artists, traveling around different countries ... But all this was in the past, and now all these dreams and aspirations seemed to Oblomov as empty stupidity, while for Stolz labor is “an image, content, element and the purpose of life ”. He said that he was going to "lift" Oblomov for the last time so that he would not disappear at all. Oblomov listened to his friend with worried eyes and admitted that he himself was not happy with such a life, he himself understood that he was digging his own grave and mourning himself, but he did not have enough will and strength to change everything. “Lead me wherever you want…, but I won't budge alone,” Oblomov asked his friend. - Do you know, Andrei, in my life there has never been any ... fire! It did not look like a morning, on which colors gradually fall ... No, my life began with extinguishing ... From the first minute, when I realized myself, I felt that I was already extinguishing ..., extinguished and ruining my strength ... Or I did not understand this life, or it’s no good, and I didn’t know anything better, I didn’t see ... ”Stolz silently listened to his friend's confession and decided to take him abroad, then to the village, and then find the case. "Now or never - remember!" he added, leaving.

"Now or never!" - Terrible words appeared to Oblomov, as soon as he woke up in the morning.

He got out of bed, walked around the room three times, looked into the living room: Stolz was sitting and writing.

Zakhar! he called.

You can't hear the jump from the stove - Zakhar doesn't find it: Stolz sent him to the post office.

Oblomov went to his dusty table, sat down, took a pen, dipped it into an inkwell, but there was no ink, looked for paper - also not.

He thought about it and mechanically began to draw with his finger on the dust, then looked at what he had written: it was Oblomovism.

He quickly erased the writing with his sleeve. He dreamed of this word at night written in fire on the walls, like Balthazar at a feast.

Zakhar came and, finding Oblomov not on the bed, looked dimly at the master, surprised that he was on his feet. In this dull look of surprise it was written: "Oblomovism!"

"One word," thought Ilya Ilyich, "and what a ... poisonous! .."

Two weeks later, Stolz left for England, took a word from Oblomov that he would soon arrive in Paris and there they would meet. Ilya Ilyich was actively preparing for his departure: the passport was already ready, all that remained was to buy some clothes and food. Zakhar ran around the shops, and although he put a lot of coins in his pocket, he cursed both the master and everyone who invented travel. Oblomov's acquaintances watched him incredulously, saying: "Imagine: Oblomov has moved on!"

"But Oblomov did not leave either after a month or three" - on the eve of his departure he was bitten by a fly and his lip was swollen. Stolz had been waiting for a friend in Paris for a long time, wrote him "frantic" letters, but did not receive an answer to them.

From what? The ink is probably dry in the inkwell and the paper is gone? Or, perhaps, because in Oblomov's style they often collide which the and what, or, finally, Ilya Ilyich in a formidable clique: now or never stopped at the last, put his hands under his head - and Zakhar wakes him in vain.

No, his inkwell is full of ink, on the table are letters, paper, even stamped paper, moreover, written in his own hand ...

He gets up at seven o'clock, reads, carries books somewhere. No sleep, no fatigue, no boredom on my face. Even colors appeared on him, a sparkle in his eyes, something like courage or at least self-confidence. The dressing gown is not to be seen on him: Tarantyev took him with him to the godfather with other things.

Oblomov sits with a book or writes in his home coat; a light kerchief is worn around the neck; the collars of the shirt are released over the tie and shine like snow. He comes out in a frock coat, beautifully tailored, in a smart hat ... He is cheerful, hums ... Why is this?

Here he is sitting at the window of his dacha (he lives in a dacha, a few miles from the city), next to him is a bouquet of flowers. He is nimbly finishing something, while he himself constantly looks through the bushes, at the path, and again hurries to write.

Suddenly sand crunched along the path under light steps; Oblomov dropped his pen, grabbed the bouquet and ran to the window.

Is that you, Olga Sergeevna? Now! - he said, grabbed his cap, a cane, ran out the gate, gave his hand to some beautiful woman and disappeared with her in the forest, in the shade of huge firs ...

Before leaving, Stolz introduced Oblomov to Olga Ilyinskaya and her aunt. When he first brought Oblomov into the house of Olga's aunt, there were guests there, and Ilya Ilyich felt uncomfortable. Olga was very happy with Stolz, whom she loved “because he always made her laugh and did not let her get bored, but she was also a little afraid, because she felt like a child in front of him. She understood that he was above her, and could turn to him with any question. Stolz admired her "as a wonderful creature, with a fragrant freshness of mind and feelings." For him, she was a lovely, promising child. Andrei spoke to her more often than to other women, “because, although unconsciously, she walked a simple, natural way of life and by a happy nature, by a sound but outwitted upbringing, she did not shy away from the natural manifestation of thought, feeling, will, even to the slightest, barely noticeable movement of the eyes, lips, hands. " And, perhaps, she walked so easily through life, because she felt next to her "confident steps of a friend" whom she believed.

Be that as it may, but in a rare girl you will find such simplicity and natural freedom of sight, word, deed. You will never read in her eyes: “Now I will press my lip a little and think - I am so good-looking. I will look there and be scared, I will scream a little, now they will run up to me. I will sit at the piano and stick out the tip of my foot a little bit "...

No pretense, no coquetry, no lies, no tinsel, no intent! On the other hand, she was appreciated by almost Stolz alone, but she sat alone more than one mazurka, not hiding her boredom; but, looking at her, the most amiable of the young people were taciturn, not knowing what and how to tell her ...

Some considered her simple, shorter, shallow, because neither wise maxims about life, about love, nor quick, unexpected and bold remarks, nor read or overheard judgments about music and literature fell from her tongue: she said little, and then her own , no matter - and smart and lively "gentlemen" bypassed her; the unstable, on the contrary, considered her too sophisticated and were a little afraid. Stolz alone spoke to her incessantly and made her laugh.

She loved music, but she sang more often on the sly, or to Stolz, or to some boarding friend; and she sang, according to Stolz, like no other singer sings.

Oblomov at first glance aroused benevolent curiosity in Olga. He was embarrassed by the glances of Olga, which she threw at him. When he began to say goodbye after supper, Olga invited him to dinner the next day. From that moment on, Olga's gaze did not leave Oblomov's head, and no matter what lazy posture he took, he could not fall asleep. "And the robe seemed disgusting to him, and Zakhar is stupid and unbearable, and the dust and cobwebs are unbearable."

He ordered to take out some of the trashy pictures that some patron of poor artists had imposed on him; he himself straightened the curtain, which had not risen for a long time, called Anisya and ordered to wipe the windows, brushed away the cobwebs, and then lay down on his side and thought about Olga for an hour.

At first he closely took up her appearance, he kept drawing her portrait in his memory.

Olga in the strict sense was not a beauty, that is, there was no whiteness in her, no bright coloring of her cheeks and lips, and her eyes did not burn with rays of inner fire; there were no coral on the lips, no pearls in the mouth, no minature hands, like a five-year-old child, with fingers in the form of grapes.

But if she were to be turned into a statue, she would be a statue of grace and harmony. The size of the head strictly corresponded to the somewhat high growth, the size of the head - the oval and the size of the face; all this, in turn, was in harmony with the shoulders, the shoulders - with the camp ...

Whoever met her, even the absent-minded one, stopped for a moment before this so strictly and deliberately, artistically created being.

The nose has formed a slightly prominently convex, graceful line; the lips are thin and for the most part compressed: a sign of thought continuously directed at something. The same presence of a speaking thought shone in the sharp-sighted, always vigorous, gaze of dark, gray-blue eyes that did not miss anything. The eyebrows gave a special beauty to the eyes: they were not arched, they did not round the eyes with two thin threads plucked with a finger - no, they were two light brown, fluffy, almost straight stripes that rarely lay symmetrically: one line was higher than the other, from this above the eyebrow there was a small fold in which something seemed to say, as if a thought rested there.

Olga walked with her head bent slightly forward, so slender and nobly resting on her thin, proud neck; she moved with her whole body evenly, walking lightly, almost imperceptibly ...

Oblomov decided that he would go to Olga's aunt for the last time, but the days passed, and he continued to go to Ilyinskaya. One day Tarantiev transported all Oblomov's things to the Vyborg side, to his godfather, and Ilya Ilyich settled in a free dacha, located opposite Olga's aunt's dacha. He was with Olga from morning to evening, he read to her, sent flowers, walked with her in the mountains, sailed on a boat on the lake ... Stolz told Olga about Oblomov's weaknesses, and she did not miss the moment to make fun of him. One evening, Stolz asked Olga to sing.

She sang many arias and romances, at the direction of Stolz; in some there was expressed suffering with a vague presentiment of happiness, in others - joy, but in these sounds there was already an embryo of sadness.

From the words, from the sounds, from this pure, strong girlish voice, my heart beat, my nerves trembled, my eyes sparkled and flooded with tears. At the same moment I wanted to die, not to wake up from sounds, and now my heart again longed for life ...

Oblomov flared up, exhausted, with difficulty holding back tears, and it was even more difficult for him to stifle a joyful cry, ready to escape from his soul. For a long time he had not felt such vigor, such a strength that, it seemed, all rose from the bottom of his soul, ready for a feat.

At that moment he would even have gone abroad, if he could only sit down and go.

In conclusion, she sang Casta diva: all the delight, thoughts rushing like lightning in my head, trembling like needles running through the body - all this destroyed Oblomov: he was exhausted.

Are you satisfied with me today? - Olga Stoltsa suddenly asked, having stopped singing.

Ask Oblomov, what will he say? - said Stolz.

Oh! - burst out from Oblomov.

He suddenly grabbed Olga by the hand and immediately left and was very embarrassed.

Sorry ... - he muttered.

Do you hear? - Stolz told her. - Tell me honestly, Ilya: how long has this happened to you?

It could have happened this morning, if a husky organ was passing by the windows ... - Olga intervened with kindness, so gently that she took the sting out of her sarcasm.

He glanced at her reproachfully.

That night he did not sleep, but sad and thoughtful walked around the room. As soon as dawn broke, he left the house, walked the streets. And three days later he was again at Olga's aunt, and in the evening he was at the piano alone with Olga. She, as usual, began to make fun of him, and he admired her: “My God! What a pretty one! There are such in the world… ”From happiness it was hard for him to breathe, and in his head a whirlwind of disordered thoughts rushed. He looked at her and did not hear her words. Then Olga began to sing, and when she stopped, she looked back at Oblomov and saw that "the dawn of rebellious happiness awakened from the bottom of his soul was shining on his face."

But she knew why he had such a face, and inwardly modestly triumphed, admiring this expression of her strength.

Look in the mirror, - she continued, smiling at him showing his face in the mirror, - my eyes are shining, my God, there are tears in them! How deeply do you feel the music! ..

No, I feel ... not music ... but ... love! - said Oblomov quietly.

She instantly left his hand and changed in her face. Her gaze met his gaze directed at her: this gaze was motionless, almost insane; it was not Oblomov who looked at them, but passion.

Olga realized that the word escaped from him, that he had no power in it and that it was the truth.

He came to his senses, took his hat and, without looking back, ran out of the room. She no longer followed him with a curious gaze; for a long time, without moving, she stood at the piano, like a statue, and stubbornly looked down; only the chest rose and fell vigorously ...