Oblomov by Iván Goncharov Read Free Book Online Page A

and did not notice a very thin dark man standing by his bed, a man whose face was practically invisible behind his whiskers, moustache, and imperial. He was dressed with studied negligence.
    ‘Good morning, Oblomov!’
    ‘Good morning, Penkin,’ said Oblomov. ‘Don’t come near, don’t come near, you’re straight from the cold!’
    ‘Oh, you funny fellow,’ Penkin said. ‘Still the same incorrigible, care-free idler!’
    ‘Yes, care-free!’ said Oblomov. ‘Let me show you the letter I received from my bailiff last night: I am racking my brains and you say: care-free! Where do you come from?’
    ‘From a bookshop: I went to find out if the magazines were out. Have you read my article?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘I’ll send it to you. Read it.’
    ‘What is it about?’ asked Oblomov, yawning heartily.
    ‘About trade, the emancipation of women, the beautiful April weather we’ve been having, and about a newly invented fire extinguisher. How is it you don’t read the papers? Why, you find all about our daily life there. But most of all I’m agitating for the realistic movement in literature.’
    ‘Have you plenty of work?’ asked Oblomov.
    ‘Oh, quite a lot. Two articles a week for my paper, reviewing novels, and I’ve just written a short story.’
    ‘What about?’
    ‘About the mayor of a provincial town who boxes the ears of the local tradespeople.’
    ‘Yes, that’s realism all right,’ said Oblomov.
    ‘Isn’t it?’ the literary gentleman said, looking pleased. ‘This is the main idea of my story and, mind you, I know it is new and daring. A traveller happened to see the beating and he went and complained to the Governor about it. The Governor ordered a civil servant, who was going to the town on official business, to look into the matter and, generally, find out all he could about the mayor’s conduct and personality. The official called a meeting of the local tradespeople on the pretext of discussing their trade with them, and began questioning them about that, too. Well, what do you think those shopkeepers did? Why, they bowed and scraped and praised the mayor up to the skies. The official made some private inquiries and found that the tradesmen were awful rogues, sold rotten goods, gave short measure, cheated the Government, were utterly immoral, so that the beating was a well-deserved punishment!’
    ‘So the mayor’s blows play the part of Fate in the ancient tragedies?’ said Oblomov.
    ‘Yes, indeed,’ Penkin was quick to agree. ‘You have a fine appreciation of literature, Oblomov. You ought to be a writer. You see, I’ve succeeded in showing up the mayor’s arbitrary disregard of the laws and the common people’s corrupt morals, the bad methods adopted by the subordinate officials, and the need for stern but legal measures. Don’t you think this idea of mine is – er – rather new?’
    ‘Yes, especially to me,’ said Oblomov. ‘I read so little, you see.’
    ‘As a matter of fact,’ said Penkin, ‘one doesn’t see many books in your room, does one? But you must read one thing, a most excellent poem will be published shortly – A Corrupt Official’s Love for a Fallen Woman – I can’t tell you who the author is. It is still a secret.’
    ‘What is it about?’
    ‘The whole mechanism of our social life is shown up, and all in a highly poetic vein. All the hidden wires are exposed, all the rungs of the social ladder are carefully examined. The author summons, as though for trial, the weak but vicious statesman and a whole swarm of corrupt officials who deceive him; and every type of fallen woman is closely scrutinized – Frenchwomen, German, Finnish – and everything, everything is soremarkably, so thrillingly true to life.… I’ve heard extracts from it – the author is a great man! He reminds one of Dante and Shakespeare.…’
    ‘Good Lord!’ cried Oblomov in surprise, sitting up. ‘Going a bit too far, aren’t you?’
    Penkin suddenly fell silent, realizing