Oblomov - Ivan Goncharov [198]
At this moment Anisya thrust her head through the door.
‘Aren’t you ashamed to talk such nonsense, Zakhar?’ she said. ‘Don’t listen to him, sir. No one has been telling anyone, no one knows anything, I swear…’
‘All right, all right,’ Zakhar wheezed at her, raising his elbow as though to hit her in the chest. ‘Don’t you poke your nose where you’re not wanted!’
Anisya disappeared. Oblomov shook both fists at Zakhar, then quickly opened the door into the landlady’s part of the house. Agafya Matveyevna was sitting on the floor sorting out some junk in an old trunk; all round her lay heaps of rags, cottonwool, old clothes, buttons, and bits of fur.
‘I say,’ Oblomov said kindly, but in an agitated voice, ‘my servants talk all sorts of nonsense. Don’t believe them, for goodness’ sake.’
‘I haven’t heard anything,’ said the landlady. ‘What are they saying?’
‘About yesterday’s visit,’ Oblomov went on. ‘They say that some young lady came to see me….’
‘It is none of our business what visitors our tenant may have, is it?’ said the landlady.
‘But, please, don’t believe it: the whole thing is a slanderous story! I have had no visit from a young lady. It was the dressmaker who is making some shirts for me. She came to fit me….’
‘Where have you ordered the shirts?’ the landlady asked quickly. ‘Who is making them for you?’
‘In the French shop,’ Oblomov muttered.
‘Show me when they bring them. I know two girls who are excellent sempstresses. They stitch better than any French-woman. I saw their work myself; they brought it to show me. They are sewing for Count Metlinsky. No one could sew better. Your shirts, those you are wearing, can’t be compared with those they make.’
‘Thank you, I’ll remember that. Only, for heaven’s sake, don’t think it was a young lady.’
‘It’s none of my business who comes to see my tenant, is it? Even if it was a young lady – –’
‘No, no!’ Oblomov denied it vehemently. ‘Why, the young lady Zakhar is talking about is very tall and speaks in a low voice, and this one, the dressmaker, I mean, has a very high, clear voice – you must have heard her yourself, didn’t you? She has a lovely voice. Please don’t think – –’
‘It’s none of our business, is it?’ the landlady said as he was about to go. ‘So please don’t forget to tell me when you want some shirts made: the girls I know stitch so wonderfully – they are called Lisaveta Nikolaevna and Maria Nikolaevna.’
‘All right, I shan’t forget, only, please, don’t think – –’
He went out, then he dressed and drove to Olga’s. On his return home in the evening, he found on his table a letter from his neighbour in the country. He rushed to the lamp, read the letter – and his heart sank.
‘I should be greatly obliged,’ the neighbour wrote, ‘if you would transfer my power of attorney to some other person, for I have so great an accumulation of business that, to be quite frank, I cannot look after your estate as I should. It would be best for you to come here yourself, and better still to settle on your estate. It is a good estate, but it has been badly neglected. First of all, you must decide carefully which of your peasants are to pay an annual tax and which are to work your land three days a week. It is impossible to do that without you: the peasants have got out of hand, they take no notice of the new bailiff, and the old one is a rogue who must be carefully watched. It is impossible to tell you what your income amounts to. In the present rather confused state of affairs you will hardly receive more than three thousand, and that, too, only if you are on the spot. I have in mind the income from corn, for there is little hope of getting anything from the peasants who have to pay an annual tax: they have to be taken in hand and have their arrears sorted out – it will take three months to do that. The harvest was good and the price of corn high, and you ought to get the money in March or April, if you keep an eye on the sales yourself. But at the moment there is not