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OBLOMOV

By Ivan Goncharov

Translated From The Russian By C. J. Hogarth

London: George Allen & Unwin, Ltd.

1915

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OBLOMOV




PART I




I

One morning, in a flat in one of the great buildings in Gorokliovaia
Street, * the population of which was sufficient to constitute that of
a provincial town, there was lying in bed a gentleman named Ilya Ilyitch
Oblomov. He was a fellow of a little over thirty, of medium height, and
of pleasant exterior. Unfortunately, in his dark-grey eyes there was an
absence of any definite idea, and in his other features a total lack of
concentration. Suddenly a thought would wander across his face with
the freedom of a bird, flutter for a moment in his eyes, settle on his
half-opened lips, and remain momentarily lurking in the lines of his
forehead. Then it would disappear, and once more his face would glow
with a radiant _insouciance_ which extended even to his attitude and the
folds of his night-robe. At other times his glance would darken as with
weariness or _ennui_. Yet neither the one nor the other expression could
altogether banish from his countenance that gentleness which was the
ruling, the fundamental, characteristic, not only of his features, but
also of the spirit it which lay beneath them. That spirit shone in
his eyes, in his smile, and in his every movement of hand and head. On
glancing casually at Oblomov a cold, a superficially observant person
would have said, “Evidently he is good-natured, but a simpleton;”
 whereas a person of greater penetration and sympathy than the first
would have prolonged his glance, and then gone on his way thoughtfully,
and with a smile as though he were pleased with something.

     *  One of the principal streets of Petrograd.

Oblomov’s face was neither reddy nor dull nor pale, but of an indefinite
hue. At all events, that was the impression which it gave--possibly
because, through insufficiency of exercise, or through want of fresh
air, or through a lack of both, he was wrinkled beyond his years. In
general, to judge from the extreme whiteness of his bare neck, his
small, puffy hands, and his soft shoulders, one would conclude that
he possessed an effeminate body. Even when excited, his actions were
governed by an unvarying gentleness, added to a lassitude that was not
devoid of a certain peculiar grace. On the other hand, should depression
of spirits show itself in his face, His glance would grow dull, and
his brow furrowed, as doubt, despondency, and apprehension fell
to contending with one another. Yet this crisis of emotion seldom
crystallized into the form of a definite idea--still less into that of
a fixed resolve. Almost always such emotion evaporated in a sigh, and
shaded off into a sort of apathetic lethargy.

Oblomov’s indoor costume corresponded exactly with the quiet outlines
of his face and the effeminacy of his form. The costume in question
consisted of a dressing-gown of some Persian material--a real Eastern
dressing-gown--a garment that was devoid both of tassels and velvet
facings and a waist, yet so roomy that Oblomov might have wrapped
himself in it once or twice over. Also, in accordance with the immutable
custom of Asia, its sleeves widened steadily from knuckles to shoulder.
True, it was a dressing-gown which had lost its pristine freshness, and
had, in places, exchanged its natural, original sheen for one acquired
by hard wear; yet still it retained both the clarity of its Oriental
colouring and the soundness of its texture. In Oblomov’s eyes It was a
garment possessed of a myriad invaluable qualities, for it was so soft
and pliable that, when wearing it, the body was unaware of its presence,
and, like an obedient slave, it answered even to the slightest movement.
Neither waistcoat nor cravat did Oblomov wear when indoors, since he
loved freedom and space. For the same reason his slippers were long,
soft, and broad, to the end that, whenever he lowered his legs from the
bed to the floor without looking at what he was doing, his feet might
fit into the slippers at once.

With Oblomov, lying in bed was neither a necessity (as in the case of an
invalid or of a man who stands badly in need of sleep ) nor an accident
(as in the case of a man who is feeling worn out) nor a gratification
(as in the case of a man who is purely lazy). Rather, it represented his
normal condition. Whenever he was at home--and almost always he was at
home--he would spend his time in lying on his back. Likewise he used but
the one room--which was combined to serve both as bedroom