his conversation, and his way of
thinking, whatever it might be.
And though Oblomov was kind to him,
he loved and trusted
only one man,
perhaps because they had grown up,
studied, and lived together.
This man was Andrei Ivanovich Stolz.
Stolz was away,
but Oblomov was expecting him back
any hour.
You wanted to talk to me
about something.
I think you had better go. I'll think
about it first, and we'll talk later.
Very well. Indeed,
it would be better to do it later.
Everything is ready, Ilya Ilyich.
The landlord's agent's been here
again, about the flat...
Ilya Ilyich...
What are we to do?
They want us to move.
I have forbidden you to talk to me
about it.
All right, go, and take this away.
And I'll remember that there's some
cheese and ham left.
You'll serve it to me in the evening,
don'tyou try to eat ityourself,
as you always do,
and then lie to your master
that there wasn't any left.
If you didn't let people come here,
you would have more left.
I wish I were dead.
Instead of grudging me food,
you had better think about moving.
Other people move.
I say, other people are no worse
than us, and if they move
we can too.
Zakhar!
Come here.
Nearer, nearer.
Well, how do you feel?
You aren't happy, are you?
I haven't said anything except that...
Do you understand whatyou have said,
you venomous man?
- What have I said?
- Other people move.
Other people are no worse.
That's whatyou've said!
To you I'm like 'other people'.
Have you, venomous man, considered
what 'other people' are?
Shall I tell you?
What are 'other people'?
They might be ready enough
to move to new lodgings.
Lyagaev, for one, would tie up two
shirts in a handkerchief, and go off.
That is what 'other people' are!
And you imagine I'm like them?
Don't torment me
with heart-rending words, sir!
Comparing me to 'other people'!
Why, do I work? Don't I eat enough?
Do I look thin and wretched?
Do I go short of things?
I've never in my life
put on my stockings myself!
And to whom am I saying this? Haven't
you waited on me since I was a child?
You knowthat
I've been brought up tenderly,
have never suffered from cold
or hunger or poverty,
have never earned my living
or done any dirty work.
So how could you bring yourself
to compare me with other people?
And in my plan I had already assigned
you a house and a kitchen garden.
And a salary!
You were to be my steward
and butler and agent!
And after all that, you so bitterly
insulted your master,
whom you have served all your life,
whom you used to carry in your arms
as a baby...
Ilya Ilyich, the Lord be with you,
what are you talking about?
Oh, Mother, Queen of Heaven, all this
trouble coming upon us so suddenly!
Well, go away!
Give me some kvass!
Here, drink it.
Pull down the curtains.
Shut me in properly.
I may sleep for an hour.
Wake me up at half-past four.
A slight, pleasant numbness
spread over his limbs
and his senses were clouded
with sleep,
just as the surface of water is
clouded by the slight early frosts;
another minute and his mind would
have slipped Heaven knows where,
when suddenly Ilya Ilyich came to
himself and opened his eyes.
''Why, I haven't washed,'' he whispered.
''And I haven't done anything.
I haven't put down my plan on paper.
I haven't written to the Governor,
nor to the landlord,
I haven't checked the accounts -
the morning has been wasted!''
He pondered.
What does it mean?
''And would other people have done it
all?'' flashed through his mind.
Other people...
What are they?
He sank into thought, comparing
himself to ''others''.
This was one of the lucid, conscious
moments in Oblomov's life.
Horror possessed him
when there arose before him
a clear and vivid idea of what
human destiny was meant to be
as compared with his own existence.
He felt bitter at having
to confess all this to himself.
Fruitless regrets for the past,
burning reproaches of conscience
went through him