for repayment till he received his money from the country. This practical lesson would at any other time have been lost on the landlady and made no impression on her brilliant mind, however much one tried to explain the situation to her, but this time she grasped it with the wisdom of her heart, and having considered it carefully, pawned the pearls she had received as a dowry. The next day Oblomov, without suspecting anything, drank the currant vodka, following it up by some excellent smoked salmon, his favourite dish of giblets, and a fresh white hazel-hen. Agafya Matveyevna and the children had the servants’ cabbage soup and porridge, and it was only to keep Oblomov company that she drank two cups of coffee. Soon after pawning her string of pearls she took out of a private chest her diamond necklace, then her silver, then her fur coat…. When the money from the country came, Oblomov gave it all to her. She redeemed the pearls, paid the interest on the necklace, the silver, and the fur, and set about once more cooking asparagus and hazel-grouse for him, drinking coffee with him only for the sake of appearances. The string of pearls went back to the pawnbrokers. And so week after week and day after day she struggled along, worrying how to make ends meet, sold her shawl, sent her best dress to be sold, remaining in her cheap, short-sleeved, cotton dress, and covering her neck on Sundays with an old worn-out kerchief. That was why she had grown so thin, why her eyes looked sunken, and why she brought Oblomov his lunch herself. She even had the pluck to look pleased when Oblomov told her that Tarantyev, Alexeyev, or Ivan Gerasimovich would be coming to dinner the following day. The dinner was palatable and well served. She never put the host to shame. But how much agitation, running about, entreaties in shops, sleepless nights, and even tears this cost her! How deeply she found herself suddenly immersed in the troubles of life and how well she came to know its happy and unhappy days! But she loved this life: notwithstanding the great bitterness of her tears and anxieties, she would not have exchanged it for her former tranquil existence, when she had not known Oblomov, when she lorded it with dignity among the hissing and boiling saucepans, frying-pans and pots, and issued her orders to Akulina and the caretaker. She shuddered with horror when the thought of death suddenly occurred to her, though death would at one blow put an end to her never-drying tears, her constant rushing about by day, and her inability to close her eyes by night.
Oblomov had his lunch, heard Masha read French, spent some time in Agafya Matveyevna’s room watching her mend Vanya’s school tunic, turning it a dozen times this way and that, and at the same time rushing into the kitchen to have a look at the mutton roasting for dinner and to see whether it was time to make the fish soup.
‘You shouldn’t take so much trouble, really you shouldn’t,’ Oblomov said. ‘Give it a rest!’
‘Who’s going to take trouble, if not I?’ she said. ‘As soon as I’ve put two patches here, I’ll get the fish soup ready. What a naughty boy Vanya is, to be sure! Only last week I mended his coat, and now he’s torn it again! What are you laughing at?’ she turned to Vanya, who was sitting at the table in his shirt and trousers held up by one brace. ‘If I don’t mend it before morning, you will not be able to run out of the gate. I expect the boys must have torn it. You’ve been fighting, haven’t you?’
‘No, Mummie, it got torn by itself,’ said Vanya.
‘By itself, did it? You ought to be sitting at home and doing your homework and not running about in the streets. Next time Mr Oblomov says that you’re not doing your French lessons properly, I’ll take your shoes off as well: you’ll have to do your homework then!’
‘I don’t like French.’
‘Why not?’ asked Oblomov.
‘Oh, they’ve a lot of bad words in French.’
Agafya Matveyevna flushed. Oblomov burst out laughing. It was not the first time that the subject of ‘bad words’ had been raised.
‘Be quiet, you naughty boy,’ she