Oblomov - Ivan Goncharov [165]
Next day he went to town, taking with him a piece of stamped paper to settle his business at the courts: he drove to town reluctantly, yawning and gazing about him. He did not know where exactly the courts were, and called first on Ivan Gerasimovich to ask in which department he had to witness the signature of the deed of trust. Ivan Gerasimovich was very glad to see Oblomov and would not let him go without lunch. Then he sent for a friend to find out from him how the business was to be done, for he himself had got out of touch with such things. The lunch and the consultation were over only by three o’clock. It was too late for the courts, and the following day was Saturday and the courts would be closed, so that it all had to be put off till Monday.
Oblomov went to his new flat in Vyborg. He spent a long time driving along narrow lanes with long wooden fences on either side. At last he found a policeman who told him that the house was in a different part of the suburb, and he pointed to a street where there were only fences and no houses, with grass growing in the road, which was full of ruts made of dried mud. Oblomov drove on, admiring the nettles by the fences and the rowan-berries peeping out from behind them. At last the policeman pointed to a little old house standing in a yard, adding: ‘That’s it, sir.’ ‘The house of the widow of the Collegiate Assessor Pshenitzyn’, Oblomov read on the gate, and told the driver to drive into the yard.
The yard was the size of a room, so that the shaft of the carriage struck a corner and frightened a number of hens that scattered cackling in all directions, some even attempting to fly; a big black dog on a chain began to bark furiously, rushing to right and left and trying to reach the horses’ muzzles. Oblomov sat in the carriage on a level with the windows, finding it rather hard to get out. In the windows, crowded with pots of mignonette and marigolds, several heads could be seen looking out. Oblomov managed to get out of the carriage; the dog barked more fiercely than ever. He walked up the front steps and ran into a wrinkled old woman wearing a sarafan tucked up at the waist.
‘Who do you want?’ she asked.
‘The landlady, Mrs Pshenitzyn.’
The old woman bent her head in bewilderment.
‘Are you sure it isn’t Ivan Matveyevich you would like to see?’ she asked. ‘I’m afraid he isn’t at home. He hasn’t come back from the office yet.’
‘I want to see the landlady,’ said Oblomov.
Meanwhile the hubbub in the house continued. Heads kept peeping out of windows; the door behind the old woman kept opening and closing and different people looked out. Oblomov turned round: in the yard two children, a boy and a girl, stood regarding him with curiosity. A sleepy peasant in a sheepskin appeared from somewhere and, screening his eyes from the sun, gazed lazily at Oblomov and the carriage. The dog kept up a low and abrupt barking and every time Oblomov moved or a horse stamped, it began jumping about on its chain and barking continuously. On the right, over the fence, Oblomov saw an endless kitchen garden planted with cabbages, and on the left, over the fence, he could see several trees and a green wooden summer-house.
‘Do you want Agafya Matveyevna?’ the old woman asked. ‘Why?’
‘Tell the landlady that I want to see her,’ said Oblomov. ‘I have taken rooms here.’
‘So you are the new lodger, Mr Tarantyev’s friend, are you? Wait, I’ll tell her.’
She opened the door, and several heads drew back hastily and rushed away into the inner rooms. He managed to catch sight of a white-skinned, rather plump woman, with a bare neck and elbows and no cap on, who smiled