A novel in four parts

Part one

I

In Gorokhovaya Street, in one of the large houses, the population of which would have been the size of an entire county town, Ilya Ilyich Oblomov was lying in bed in his apartment in the morning. He was a man of about thirty-two or three years of age, of medium height, of pleasant appearance, with dark gray eyes, but with no definite idea, no concentration in his features. The thought walked like a free bird across the face, fluttered in the eyes, settled on half-open lips, hid in the folds of the forehead, then completely disappeared, and then an even light of carelessness glowed all over the face. From the face, carelessness passed into the poses of the whole body, even into the folds of the dressing gown. Sometimes his eyes were darkened by an expression as if of weariness or boredom; but neither fatigue nor boredom could for a moment drive away from the face the gentleness that was the dominant and basic expression, not only of the face, but of the whole soul; and the soul shone so openly and clearly in the eyes, in the smile, in every movement of the head and hand. And a superficially observant, cold person, glancing casually at Oblomov, would say: “There must be a kind man, simplicity!” A deeper and more sympathetic person, peering into his face for a long time, would walk away in pleasant thought, with a smile. Ilya Ilyich's complexion was neither ruddy, nor swarthy, nor positively pale, but indifferent or seemed so, perhaps because Oblomov was somehow flabby beyond his years: from a lack of movement or air, or maybe that and another. In general, his body, judging by the dullness, is too white light neck, small plump arms, soft shoulders, seemed too pampered for a man. His movements, when he was even alarmed, were also restrained by softness and laziness, not devoid of a kind of grace. If a cloud of care came over the face from the soul, the look became foggy, wrinkles appeared on the forehead, a game of doubt, sadness, fright began; but seldom did this anxiety solidify in the form of a definite idea, still more rarely did it turn into an intention. All anxiety was resolved with a sigh and faded into apathy or drowsiness. How Oblomov's home costume went to his dead features and to his pampered body! He was wearing a dressing gown made of Persian material, a real oriental dressing gown, without the slightest hint of Europe, without tassels, without velvet, without a waist, very roomy, so that Oblomov could wrap himself in it twice. The sleeves, in the same Asian fashion, went from fingers to shoulder wider and wider. Although this dressing gown had lost its original freshness and in some places replaced its primitive, natural gloss with another, acquired, it still retained the brightness of oriental color and the strength of the fabric. The dressing gown had in the eyes of Oblomov a darkness of invaluable virtues: it is soft, flexible; the body does not feel it on itself; he, like an obedient slave, submits to the slightest movement of the body. Oblomov always went home without a tie and without a vest, because he loved space and freedom. His shoes were long, soft and wide; when, without looking, he lowered his legs from the bed to the floor, he would certainly hit them at once. Lying down with Ilya Ilyich was neither a necessity, like a sick person or a person who wants to sleep, nor an accident, like one who is tired, nor a pleasure, like a lazy person: this was his normal state. When he was at home - and he was almost always at home - he was always lying, and everyone was constantly in the same room where we found him, which served him as a bedroom, study and reception room. He had three more rooms, but he rarely looked in there, unless in the morning, and then not every day when a person swept his office, which was not done every day. In those rooms, the furniture was covered with covers, the curtains were lowered. The room where Ilya Ilyich lay seemed at first glance to be beautifully decorated. There was a bureau of mahogany, two sofas upholstered in silk, beautiful screens embroidered with birds and fruits unknown in nature. There were silk curtains, carpets, a few paintings, bronzes, porcelain, and many beautiful little things. But the experienced eye of a man of pure taste, with one cursory glance at everything that was there, would read only a desire to somehow maintain the decorum of inevitable decorum, if only to get rid of them. Oblomov, of course, only bothered about this when he cleaned his office. Refined taste would not be satisfied with these heavy, ungraceful mahogany chairs, wobbly bookcases. The back of one sofa sank down, the pasted wood lagged behind in places. Exactly the same character was worn by paintings, and vases, and trifles. The owner himself, however, looked at the decoration of his office so coldly and absent-mindedly, as if asking with his eyes: “Who dragged and instructed all this here?” From such a cold view of Oblomov on his property, and perhaps even from a colder view of the same object of his servant, Zakhar, the appearance of the office, if you look there more and more closely, struck by the neglect and negligence that prevailed in it. On the walls, near the paintings, cobwebs saturated with dust were molded in the form of festoons; mirrors, instead of reflecting objects, could rather serve as tablets for writing down some memoirs on them over the dust. Carpets were stained. There was a forgotten towel on the sofa; on the table, a rare morning, there was not a plate with a salt shaker and a gnawed bone that had not been removed from yesterday's dinner, and there were no bread crumbs lying around. If not for this plate, and not for a pipe just smoked leaning against the bed, or not for the owner himself lying on it, then one would think that no one lives here - everything was so dusty, faded and generally devoid of living traces of human presence. . On the bookcases, it is true, there were two or three open books, a newspaper was lying about, and an inkstand with feathers stood on the bureau; but the pages on which the books were unfolded were covered with dust and turned yellow; it is clear that they were abandoned long ago; the number of the newspaper was last year's, and if you dipped a pen in it, only a frightened fly would have escaped with a buzz. Ilya Ilyich woke up, contrary to his usual habit, very early, at eight o'clock. He is very concerned about something. On his face alternately appeared not the fear, not the melancholy and annoyance. It was evident that he was overcome by an internal struggle, and the mind had not yet come to the rescue. The fact is that on the eve of Oblomov received from the village, from his headman, a letter of unpleasant content. It is known what kind of troubles the headman can write about: crop failure, arrears, a decrease in income, etc. Although the headman wrote exactly the same letters to his master last year and in the third year, this last letter also had an effect as strong as any an unpleasant surprise. Is it easy? We had to think about the means to take some action. However, we must do justice to the care of Ilya Ilyich about his affairs. According to the first unpleasant letter from the headman, received several years ago, he already began to create in his mind a plan for various changes and improvements in the management of his estate. According to this plan, it was supposed to introduce various new economic, police and other measures. But the plan was far from being fully thought out, and the headman's unpleasant letters were repeated every year, prompting him to activity and, consequently, disturbing the peace. Oblomov was aware of the need to do something decisive before the end of the plan. As soon as he woke up, he immediately set out to get up, wash himself and, after drinking tea, think carefully, figure something out, write it down and generally do this business properly. For half an hour he lay still, tormented by this intention, but then he reasoned that he would still have time to do this even after tea, and tea can be drunk, as usual, in bed, especially since nothing prevents thinking while lying down. And so he did. After tea, he had already risen from his bed and almost got up; glancing at the shoes, he even began to lower one foot from the bed towards them, but immediately picked it up again. It struck half past ten, Ilya Ilyich started up. “What am I, really? he said aloud in annoyance. - You need to know your conscience: it's time to get down to business! Just let yourself go and... - Zakhar! he shouted. In the room, which was separated only by a short corridor from Ilya Ilyich's office, there was heard at first like the grumbling of a chained dog, then the sound of feet jumping off from somewhere. It was Zakhar who jumped off the couch, on which he usually spent his time, sitting immersed in a slumber. An elderly man entered the room, in a gray frock coat, with a hole under the arm, from which a piece of shirt stuck out, in a gray waistcoat, with copper buttons, with a skull bare as a knee, and with immensely wide and thick blond with graying whiskers, of which each it would be three beards. Zakhar did not try to change not only the image given to him by God, but also his costume, in which he walked in the village. The dress was sewn for him according to the pattern he had taken out of the village. He also liked the gray frock coat and waistcoat because in this half-uniform he saw a faint recollection of the livery that he had once worn when seeing the late gentlemen to church or on a visit; and the livery in his memoirs was the only representative of the dignity of the Oblomov family. Nothing more reminded the old man of the lordly, wide and quiet life in the wilderness of the village. The old gentlemen have died, the family portraits have remained at home and, tea, are lying around somewhere in the attic; legends about ancient life and the importance of surnames fade away or live only in the memory of the few old people left in the village. Therefore, a gray frock coat was dear to Zakhar: in it, and even in some signs preserved in the face and manners of the master, reminiscent of his parents, and in his whims, to which, although he grumbled, both to himself and aloud, but which between he respected it inwardly, as a manifestation of the lord's will, the master's right, he saw faint hints of obsolete greatness. Without these whims, he somehow did not feel the master over him; without them, nothing revived his youth, the village that they left long ago, and the legends about this old house, the only chronicle kept by old servants, nannies, mothers and passed down from generation to generation. The Oblomovs' house was once rich and famous in its area, but then, God knows why, everything became poorer, smaller, and finally imperceptibly lost among the not old noble houses. Only the gray-haired servants of the house kept and passed on to each other the faithful memory of the past, cherishing it as a shrine. That is why Zakhar loved his gray coat so much. Perhaps he valued his sideburns because in his childhood he saw many old servants with this old, aristocratic decoration. Ilya Ilyich, immersed in thought, did not notice Zakhar for a long time. Zakhar stood in front of him silently. Finally he coughed. — What are you? asked Ilya Ilyich.- You called, didn't you? - Called? Why did I call - I do not remember! he answered, stretching. - Go to yourself for now, and I will remember. Zakhar left, and Ilya Ilyich continued to lie and think about the accursed letter. A quarter of an hour has passed. - Well, it's full to lie down! he said; - Zakhar! Again the same jump and grumbling stronger. Zakhar entered, and Oblomov again plunged into thought. Zakhar stood for about two minutes, unfavorably, looking a little sideways at the master, and finally went to the door. — Where are you? Oblomov suddenly asked. “You don’t say anything, so why stand here for nothing?” Zakhar croaked, for lack of another voice, which, according to him, he lost while hunting with dogs, when he rode with an old master and when a strong wind blew into his throat. He stood half-turned in the middle of the room and kept looking sideways at Oblomov. “Are your legs withered that you can’t stand up?” You see, I'm preoccupied - just wait! Haven't stayed there yet? Look for the letter I received yesterday from the headman. Where are you doing it? - What letter? I didn’t see any letter,” said Zakhar. - You took it from the postman: such a dirty one! “Where did they put him—why should I know? said Zakhar, patting the papers and various things that lay on the table with his hand. “You never know anything. There, in the basket, look! Or fell behind the sofa? Here, the back of the sofa has not yet been repaired; what would you call a carpenter to fix? After all, you broke it. You won't think of anything! “I didn’t break it,” Zakhar answered, “she broke herself; it will not be a century for her to be: someday she must break. Ilya Ilyich did not consider it necessary to prove the contrary. Did you find it? he asked only. “Here are some letters.- Not those. “Well, it’s not like that anymore,” Zakhar said. - All right, come on! said Ilya Ilyich impatiently. - I'll get up, I'll find it myself. Zakhar went to his room, but as soon as he put his hands on the couch in order to jump on it, a hasty cry was heard again: “Zakhar, Zakhar!” - Oh, my God! Zakhar grumbled, going back to the office. — What is this torment? If only death would come sooner! - What do you want? - he said, holding on to the door of the office with one hand and looking at Oblomov, as a sign of displeasure, so sideways that he had to see the master half-heartedly, and the master could only see one immense whisker, from which you just expect two to fly out - three birds. — Handkerchief, quickly! You yourself could guess: you do not see! Ilya Ilyich remarked sternly. Zakhar did not show any particular displeasure or surprise at this order and reproach from the master, probably finding both of them very natural on his part. - And who knows where the handkerchief is? he grumbled, walking around the room and feeling each chair, although it could be seen that there was nothing on the chairs. - You're losing everything! he remarked, opening the door to the drawing-room to see if anyone was there. - Where to? Search here! I haven't been there since the third day. Yes, rather! - said Ilya Ilyich. - Where is the scarf? I don't have a scarf! said Zakhar, spreading his arms and looking around in all corners. “Yes, there he is,” he suddenly wheezed angrily, “under you!” There the end sticks out. Lie on it yourself, and ask for a handkerchief! And without waiting for an answer, Zakhar went out. Oblomov felt a little embarrassed at his own mistake. He quickly found another reason to make Zakhar guilty. - What a cleanliness you have everywhere: dust, dirt, my God! There, there, look in the corners - you're not doing anything! “If I don’t do anything ...” Zakhar spoke in an offended voice, “I try, I don’t regret my life!” And I wash and sweep the dust almost every day ... He pointed to the middle of the floor and to the table on which Oblomov dined. “Out, out,” he said, “everything is swept up, tidied up, as if for a wedding ... What else? — And what is this? interrupted Ilya Ilyich, pointing to the walls and the ceiling. — And this? And this? - He pointed to the towel thrown from yesterday and to the forgotten plate with a slice of bread on the table. “Well, I’ll probably take that away,” Zakhar said condescendingly, taking the plate. - Only this! And the dust on the walls, and the cobwebs? .. - Oblomov said, pointing to the walls. “I clean this up for the holy week: then I clean the image and remove the cobwebs ... - And books, pictures sweep? .. - Books and pictures before Christmas: then Anisya and I will go through all the cabinets. Now when are you going to clean up? You are all at home. - I sometimes go to the theater and visit: if only ... — What a cleaning at night! Oblomov looked reproachfully at him, shook his head and sighed, while Zakhar looked indifferently out the window and sighed too. The master, it seems, thought: “Well, brother, you are even more Oblomov than I myself,” and Zakhar almost thought: “You're lying! you are only a master of speaking tricky and miserable words, but you don’t care about dust and cobwebs. “Do you understand,” said Ilya Ilyich, “that moths start from dust?” I sometimes even see a bed bug on the wall! - I have fleas too! Zakhar replied indifferently. — Is it good? After all, this is bullshit! Oblomov noted. Zakhar grinned all over his face, so that the grin even covered his eyebrows and sideburns, which parted to the sides from this, and a red spot spread all over his face up to his forehead. - What is my fault that there are bugs in the world? he said with naive surprise. Did I make them up? “It’s from impurity,” Oblomov interrupted. - What are you all lying about! “And I did not invent the impurity. - You have mice running around at night - I can hear it. And I didn't invent mice. There are a lot of this creature, like mice, cats, bedbugs, everywhere. - How can others not have moths or bedbugs? Distrust was expressed on Zakhar's face, or, to put it better, calm confidence that this does not happen. “I have a lot of everything,” he said stubbornly, “you can’t see through every bug, you can’t fit into a crack in it. And he himself, it seems, thought: “Yes, and what kind of sleep is it without a bug?” “You sweep, pick rubbish from the corners, and there will be nothing,” Oblomov taught. - Take it away, and tomorrow it will be typed again, - said Zakhar. “It won’t be enough,” the master interrupted, “it shouldn’t. “It will be enough, I know,” the servant repeated. - And it will be typed, so sweep it again. — How is it? Every day touch all the corners? Zakhar asked. — What kind of life is this? Better go to your soul! - Why are others clean? Oblomov objected. “Look opposite, at the tuner: it’s nice to look, but there’s only one girl ... “Where will the Germans get rubbish,” Zakhar suddenly objected. “Look how they live!” The whole family has been eating bones for a whole week. The coat passes from the shoulders of the father to the son, and from the son again to the father. The dresses on the wife and daughters are short: they all tuck their legs under themselves like geese ... Where can they get rubbish? They don’t have this, like we do, so that in the closets a bunch of old, worn-out dresses lie over the years, or a whole corner of bread crusts accumulated over the winter ... They don’t even have a crust lying around in vain: they make crackers, and drink with beer! Zakhar even spat through his teeth, talking about such a stingy life. - Nothing to talk about! - Ilya Ilyich objected, you better clean it up. “Sometimes I would take it away, but you don’t give it yourself,” said Zakhar. — Went yours! You see, I'm in the way. “Of course you do; you are all sitting at home: how will you clean up in front of you? Go away for the day, and I'll clean it up. - Here's what I thought up - to leave! Come on, you're better off. - Yes, right! Zakhar insisted. - Well, if only today they left, Anisya and I would clean everything up. And then we can’t manage it together: we still need to hire women, wash everything. - E! what an idea - bab! Go to yourself, - said Ilya Ilyich. He was no longer glad that he called Zakhar to this conversation. He kept forgetting that if you touch this delicate object just a little, you will not end up with trouble. Oblomov would like it to be clean, but he would like it to be done somehow, imperceptibly, naturally; and Zakhar always started a lawsuit, as soon as they began to demand from him sweeping dust, washing floors, etc. In this case, he will begin to prove the need for a huge fuss in the house, knowing very well that the mere thought of this horrified his master. Zakhar left, and Oblomov plunged into thought. A few minutes later another half hour struck. — What is it? said Ilya Ilyich, almost with horror. - Eleven o'clock soon, but I haven't got up yet, haven't washed my face yet? Zahar, Zahar! - Oh, my God! Well! - was heard from the hall, and then a well-known jump. - Ready to wash? Oblomov asked. - Done a long time ago! Zakhar answered. Why don't you get up? Why don't you tell me it's ready? I would have gotten up a long time ago. Come on, I'm following you now. I have to study, I'll sit down to write. Zakhar left, but returned a minute later with a scribbled and oily notebook and scraps of paper. “Well, if you write, then, by the way, if you please, and check the accounts: you have to pay the money. - What accounts? What money? Ilya Ilyich asked with displeasure. - From the butcher, from the greengrocer, from the laundress, from the baker: everyone asks for money. - Only about money and care! grumbled Ilya Ilyich. “And why don’t you file the bills a little, but all of a sudden? - You all drove me away: tomorrow, yes tomorrow ... “Well, now, isn’t it possible until tomorrow?” — No! They are already very annoying: they don’t lend anymore. Today is the first number. — Ah! Oblomov said sadly. — New concern! Well, what are you standing? Put it on the table. I’ll get up now, wash myself and look around,” said Ilya Ilyich. "So, are you ready to shower?" - Done! Zakhar said.- Well, now... He began, groaning, to push himself up in bed to get up. “I forgot to tell you,” Zakhar began, “just now, while you were still resting, the janitor’s manager sent: he says that you definitely need to move out ... you need an apartment. — Well, what is it? If you need it, then, of course, we will go. What are you doing to me? This is the third time you've told me about this. - They come to me too. - Say we'll go. - They say: you have been promising for a month, they say, but you still don’t move out; we say we'll let the police know. - Let them know! Oblomov said decisively. “We will move ourselves, as soon as it gets warmer, in three weeks. — Where weeks through three! The manager says that in two weeks the workers will come: they will break everything ... “Move out, he says, tomorrow or the day after tomorrow ...” — Eee! too nimble! See what else! Would you like to order now? Don't you dare remind me of the apartment. I already forbade you once; and you again. Look! — What am I to do? Zakhar replied. — What to do? - that's how he gets rid of me! answered Ilya Ilyich. He's asking me! What do I care? You do not bother me, but there as you want, and dispose of it, only so as not to move. Can't try for the master! - But how, father, Ilya Ilyich, I will arrange? Zakhar began with a soft hiss. - The house is not mine: how can one not move from someone else's house, if they are driven? If my house were, so I would with my great pleasure ... Is there any way to persuade them? “We, they say, have been living for a long time, we pay regularly.” “I did,” Zakhar said.- Well, what are they? — What! They set up their own: “Move, they say, we need to redo the apartment.” They want to make one big apartment out of the doctor's office and this one, for the wedding of the master's son. - Oh, my God! - Oblomov said with annoyance. “After all, there are such asses that get married!” He rolled onto his back. “You should write, sir, to the landlord,” said Zakhar, “so maybe he wouldn’t touch you, but would order you to break down that apartment over there first.” Zakhar pointed with his hand somewhere to the right. - Well, as soon as I get up, I'll write ... You go to your room, and I'll think about it. You don’t know how to do anything,” he added, “I have to worry about this rubbish myself. Zakhar left, and Oblomov began to think. But he was at a loss as to what to think about: whether about the letter from the headman, whether about moving to a new apartment, whether to begin to settle scores? He was lost in the tide of worldly worries and kept lying, tossing and turning from side to side. From time to time only jerky exclamations were heard: “Oh, my God! It touches life, it reaches everywhere. It is not known how long he would have remained in this indecision, but the bell rang in the hall. “Someone has come!” - said Oblomov, wrapping himself in a dressing gown. “And I haven’t gotten up yet—shame and that’s all!” Who would it be so early? And he, lying down, looked with curiosity at the door.

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Ilya Ilyich Oblomov - main character novel of the same name by Goncharov. This image is unique in that it fully denounces an uncharacteristic negative quality in the field of literature, but the state inherent in every person is laziness. Some people find the strength to overcome laziness and make laziness a periodic guest, for some, as in the case of Oblomov, laziness becomes a constant companion of life. Why is this happening, is there a way out of such a situation, and on whom does the result of such a confrontation depend? Goncharov gives answers to these questions, depicting all the consequences of such a life on the example of the nobleman Oblomov.

Oblomov is of noble origin

"A nobleman by birth." He has 300 serfs:
"Three hundred souls".

Ilya Ilyich is the owner of the family estate, in which he has not been for 12 years:
"twelfth year in St. Petersburg"

Ilya Ilyich Oblomov lives in St. Petersburg on:
"Pea street"

His age is not exactly known.

He is "a man of about thirty-two or three years old"
Oblomov has an attractive appearance, he evokes sympathy:
"medium height, good-looking"

He has gray eyes, but they are somehow empty:
"with dark gray eyes, but with the absence of any definite idea, any concentration in the features."

Oblomov leads a passive way of life, he is rarely outside the house, so his face seems colorless:

“Ilya Ilyich’s complexion was neither ruddy, nor swarthy, nor positively pale, but indifferent or seemed so, perhaps because Oblomov was somehow flabby beyond his years: from a lack of movement or air, or maybe both."

We invite you to familiarize yourself with summary novel by I. Goncharov, which talks about two sides of Russia in the 19th century.

Carelessness is Oblomov's constant state, his personal belongings also acquire this characteristic:
“From the face, carelessness passed into the poses of the whole body, even into the folds of the dressing gown.”
Sometimes his state of carelessness changed to boredom or fatigue:

“Sometimes his eyes were darkened by an expression as if tired or bored; but neither fatigue nor boredom could for a moment drive away the softness from the face, which was the dominant and basic expression, not only of the face, but of the whole soul.

Oblomov's favorite clothes are a dressing gown

“... From Persian material, a real oriental robe, without the slightest hint of Europe, without tassels, without velvet, without a waist, very roomy, so that Oblomov could wrap himself in it twice.”

His dressing gown was significantly worn, but this did not bother Oblomov: “it lost its original freshness and in some places replaced its primitive, natural gloss with another, acquired, but still retained the brightness of oriental paint and the strength of the fabric.”

Ilya Ilyich took a fancy to the dressing gown, because it is as “soft” as its owner:

“The dressing gown had in the eyes of Oblomov a darkness of invaluable virtues: it is soft, flexible; the body does not feel it on itself; he, like an obedient slave, submits to the slightest movement of the body.

Oblomov's favorite pastime is lying on the couch, he has no good reason for this - he does it out of laziness:

“Ilya Ilyich’s lying down was neither a necessity, like a sick person or a person who wants to sleep, nor an accident, like someone who is tired, nor a pleasure, like a lazy person: this was his normal state.”

In the office of Ilya Ilyich there are a lot of things that their owner does not need - they were purchased and delivered, because it was accepted that way:
“He looked at the decoration of his office so coldly and absent-mindedly, as if asking with his eyes: “Who dragged and instructed all this here?”

In the house rented by Oblomov, there is no order - dust, debris are evenly distributed over all objects: “On the walls, near the paintings, a web saturated with dust was molded in the form of festoons; mirrors, instead of reflecting objects, could rather serve as tablets for writing down some memoirs on them over the dust. The carpets were stained."

The days of Ilya Ilyich always follow the same scenario - he doesn’t get up for a long time, lying on the sofa and intends to get up all morning, redo a bunch of things, but constantly delays his intention:
“he decided to get up, wash himself and, after drinking tea, think carefully, figure something out ... For half an hour he lay still, tormented by this intention, but then he decided that he would still have time to do this even after tea, and tea can be drunk, as usual, in bed, especially since nothing prevents you from thinking and lying down.

Some time later, the Oblomovs were rich and wealthy, but then things got worse, why this happened, the Oblomovs themselves do not know:
“he became poorer, became smaller, and finally imperceptibly got lost between not old noble houses.”

Oblomov often likes to call his servant Zakhar, almost always these are empty requests, sometimes Ilya Ilyich himself does not know why he called Zakhar:
“Why did I call it - I don’t remember! Go to yourself for now, and I will remember.

From time to time, apathy subsides from Oblomov, he reprimands Zakhara for the mess and garbage in the house, but the matter does not move beyond reprimands - everything remains in its place: “... moth starts from dust? I sometimes even see a bed bug on the wall!”

Ilya Ilyich does not like change, the need to move makes him terribly upset, he tries to delay this moment as much as possible, ignoring the request of the owner of the property to expedite the move:
“For a month, they say, they promised, but you still don’t leave ... we’ll let the police know.”

Fear of changing your life

He himself is aware of such intolerance to change.
"...I can't stand any change."
Oblomov does not tolerate cold:
"Don't come, don't come: you're out of the cold!"

Dinner parties and large gatherings seem to Ilya Ilyich a boring and stupid occupation:
“My God! Here is boredom - it must be hellish!

Oblomov does not like to work:
"work from eight o'clock to twelve, from twelve to five, and at home also - oh, oh."

Characteristics of Penkin about Oblomov:
"... an incorrigible, carefree sloth!"
Oblomov believes that work should not be too tiring: “Write at night ... when to sleep”

Oblomov's acquaintances are surprised by his inactivity. Taraniev says this about the laziness of Ilya Ilyich:
"It's almost twelve o'clock, and he's lying around"

Tarantiev deceives Oblomov and often takes money from him: "... snatched a banknote from Oblomov's hands and deftly put it in his pocket."
A few years ago, Oblomov tried to enter the service and became a collegiate secretary. The work was difficult for him.
"... running around, fuss began, everyone was embarrassed, everyone knocked each other down."

In view of his laziness and absent-mindedness, the service became hell for Oblomov, he hardly served for two years and left the service, considering this type of activity unsuitable for him:
“Ilya Ilyich suffered from fear and longing in the service, even with a kind, condescending boss.”

Ilya Ilyich often makes mistakes in his work, once he mixed up the addresses and sent the necessary documents not to Astrakhan but to Arkhangelsk. When the mistake was revealed, Oblomov worried for a long time, because he was aware of the irresponsibility of his act:
“although he and everyone else knew that the boss would confine himself to a remark; but his own conscience was much stricter than reprimand.

The only person who can stir up this sloth is his childhood friend Andrey Stolz:
"The youthful fever of Stolz infected Oblomov, and he burned with a thirst for work."

Studying was difficult for Oblomov - his parents often made him concessions and left him at home, at a time when the educational process was not completed. Oblomov never tried to correct this state of affairs, the level of his education suits Ilya Ilyich:
“... he had a whole abyss between science and life, which he did not try to cross. His life was on its own, and science on its own.

From constant idleness and immobility, Oblomov begins to experience various deviations in the functioning of his body systems:
“The stomach almost does not cook, heaviness in the pit of the stomach, heartburn tortured, breathing is difficult.”

He does not like to read either books or newspapers - his detachment from life suits Oblomov. This business is too tiring for the lazy Oblomov:
“The pages on which the books were unfolded were covered with dust and turned yellow; it is clear that they were abandoned long ago; the number of the newspaper was last year's.

Parents dreamed of the day when their son would gain a position in society, receive a significant increase, but at the same time they did not understand that an uneducated person would never achieve this, they seriously thought that this could happen by chance or some kind of fraud:

“They also dreamed of an embroidered uniform for him, imagined him as an adviser in the chamber, and his mother even as a governor; but they would like to achieve all this somehow cheaper, with various tricks.

Zakhar's attempts to stir up the owner do not lead to anything good. Oblomov fights off the servant:
“Oblomov suddenly, unexpectedly jumped to his feet and rushed at Zakhar. Zakhar rushed from him with all his legs, but at the third step Oblomov sobered up completely from sleep and began to stretch, yawning: “Give ... kvass”

Stolz and Oblomov are connected with childhood memories - Andrei cannot see how his friend's days pass aimlessly:
“Everyone is busy, but you don’t need anything.”

Stolz manages to activate Ilya Ilyich. He pulls Oblomov into the light, where Ilya Ilyich at first feels out of place, but over time, this feeling passes. Stolz encourages a friend to go abroad together. The friend agrees. Oblomov enthusiastically takes up the preparation:
“Ilya Ilyich already had his passport ready, he even ordered a travel coat for himself, bought a cap.”

Oblomov's love for Olga

Ilya Ilyich's falling in love became the reason for the refusal of the trip - a new feeling does not allow Oblomov to leave the object of his adoration even for a short time:

"Oblomov did not leave either a month or three." Oblomov's move is finally carried out.

Ilya Ilyich does not experience stress at the same time - his thoughts are occupied by Olga Ilyinskaya:
"Tarantiev moved his whole house to his godfather, in a lane, on the Vyborg side."

Oblomov fell in love for the first time. He is ashamed of his feelings, does not know what to do and how he should behave towards his beloved:
“Oh my God, how pretty she is! There are such things in the world! he thought, looking at her with almost frightened eyes.

Oblomov is a sensual, impulsive person, succumbing to emotions, he confesses his love to Olga:
“I feel… not music… but… love.”

Oblomov is not known for his courage - in difficult situations, he flees. This seems to him better than saying or doing something out of place: “without looking back, he ran out of the rooms.”

Ilya Ilyich is a conscientious person, he worries that his actions or words could provoke unpleasant experiences in those people who are dear to him:
“I was tormented by the fact that he frightened, insulted her”
Oblomov is a very emotional person, he is not used to hiding his feelings.
"... I'm not ashamed of my heart."

The emerging Love for Olga became the cause of not only his physical, but also mental activity. He begins to actively read books, because his beloved likes to listen to retellings of books, visits the theater and opera. He behaves like a true romantic - he takes walks in nature, gives Olga flowers:
“He is with Olga from morning to evening; he reads with her, sends flowers, walks on the lake, in the mountains.

Inactivity, fear of change played a cruel joke with Oblomov. The uncertainty that arose between Oblomov and Ilyinskaya became painful for the girl. Olga is afraid that Oblomov will not keep his word and not marry her, because he always has a lot of excuses to postpone the wedding. Oblomov cannot even dare to ask for the girl's hand. This leads to a break in the relationship:
“I loved the future Oblomov! You are meek, honest, Ilya; you are gentle ... dove; you hide your head under your wing - and you want nothing more; you are ready to coo all your life under the roof.

Oblomov returns to his usual life. Passivity and the absence of any activity other than lying on the couch and eating food are bad for his health - Oblomov gets an apoplexy:
“They bled and then announced that it was an apoplexy and that he needed to lead a different way of life.”

Despite everything, Oblomov does not change his habits. Ilya Ilyich perceives the arrival of Stolz with enthusiasm, but no longer succumbs to his persuasion to change his life. He is happy: he fell in love with the mistress of the house, who does not require anything from him and takes care of him like a child:
"Do not make vain attempts, do not persuade me: I will stay here."

The fact that Pshenitsyna ( new love Oblomov) is not a noblewoman, does not allow confessing the true reasons for refusing to leave St. Petersburg: “Leave me completely ... forget it ...”

Stolz is periodically interested in the fate of Oblomov. On his last visit to a friend, Andrei learns horrifying news - Oblomov lives with Pshenitsyna as with his wife, they have a joint child. Oblomov realizes that he will not live long and asks a friend to take care of his son:
“... this child is my son! His name is Andrei, in memory of you.

Oblomov's death

Oblomov dies as quietly as he lived - no one heard how Oblomov died, he was found dead on the couch, the cause of his death was a new apoplexy:
"The head moved a little from the pillow and the hand was convulsively pressed to the heart."

The image of Oblomov is not without positive qualities, but his laziness, apathy and fear of change reduce all aspirations and positive to nothing. His personality evokes feelings of regret in other characters in the novel. His friends are trying to help him get out of the swamp of laziness, but to no avail.
Oblomovism gained complete power over Ilya and became the cause of his death.

OBLOMOV AND OTHERS. Goncharov

The distinct division of the Russian calendar into four seasons is a gift from the continental power of its literature. About how brilliantly Goncharov learned this lesson, says the composition of his masterpiece - "Oblomov". The annual cycle of nature, the measured and timely alternation of the seasons constitute the inner basis, the skeleton of the famous novel. The ideal Oblomovka, in which "the birth circle is performed correctly and calmly - the prototype of the entire construction of" Oblomov "". The plot obediently follows the seasons, finding the source of its existence in humility before the eternal order.

The novel is strictly subject to the calendar. It starts in the spring - May 1. All the stormy action - the love of Oblomov and Olga - falls on the summer. And the actual novel part of the book ends in winter - with the first snow.

The composition of the novel, inscribed in the annual circle, leads to a smooth completion of everything. storylines. It seems that such a construction was borrowed by Goncharov directly from his native nature. Oblomov's life - from his love to his dinner menu - is included in this organic order. It is reflected in the natural annual cycle, finding a scale for comparison in the calendar.

The sophisticated, peculiar structure of Goncharov's novel is characteristic of Russian poetics with its unusualness. Russian classics, not burdened by old traditions, often ignored ready-made genre forms, preferring to create them anew each time, for their own special purposes. Both novels in verse and poems in prose appeared from an overabundance of content that required an original system of presentation.

Oblomov is no exception. It could be called a special prose drama. Theatrical conventions (seven guests come to the couch potato Oblomov in one day) Goncharov combines with detailed everyday writing, a rhetorical sketch of morals is combined with a stage-driven, often absurd colloquial element. (By the way, speaking of language, we can assume that the image of Oblomov was born from a Russian predilection for indefinite particles. He is the living embodiment of all these “something, would, or something.”)

From the point of view of the history of literature, Oblomov occupies a middle position. He is the link between the first and second half of the 19th century. Goncharov, taking an extra person from Pushkin and Lermontov, gave him purely national - Russian - features. At the same time, Oblomov lives in Gogol's universe, and yearns for the Tolstoy ideal of universal "nepotism".

Goncharov's kinship with his contemporaries is especially evident in the first part of the novel - this exposition that has grown by a quarter of the book. To acquaint readers with the hero, the author organizes a parade of secondary characters, each of which is described according to the recipes of the then fashionable natural school. Secular man Volkov, careerist Sudbinsky, writer Penkin. Goncharov needs this gallery of types, popular in the middle of the last century, insofar as he needs to show that for the sake of their ridiculous activities, Oblomov should not get up from the sofa. (Really, is it worth it to get up to read the poem "The Love of a Briber for a Fallen Woman", which Penkin warmly recommends to him?)

All these insignificant figures, with their fuss, compromise the surrounding life in the eyes of Oblomov. He - the motionless center of the plot - immediately stands out with mysterious significance among these - not characters - types.

And in the future, Goncharov does not abandon the methods of typification, but he no longer goes from physiological essays, but from “ dead souls”- a book closely associated with Oblomov. So, the fanfaron and petty swindler Tarantiev grew out of Nozdrev, Oblomov himself is in some way close to Manilov, and Stolz is similar to Chichikov, which he could become by the third volume of Dead Souls.

The frontal, condensed, accelerated image of Oblomov in the first part of the novel essentially exhausts the theme of "Oblomovism". The whole life of the hero - both external and internal, his past ("Oblomov's Dream") and future - seems to be already revealed in this part. However, the very fact of the existence of the other three parts suggests that a superficial reading of the book only allows one to detect Oblomovism in it, but not Oblomov - a type, not an image.

By provocatively suggesting conclusions about Oblomov at the beginning of the book, the author is actually masking his incomparably more complex point of view on the hero. Deep into the fabric of the novel, Goncharov implanted the contradictory voice of the narrator, which destroys the unambiguous interpretation of the novel.

On the last page of the book, we learn that Stolz tells the whole story of Oblomov: "And he (Stolz - Auth.) told him (the narrator - Auth.) What is written here." This story was recorded by a listener of Stolz, in whom it is easy to recognize Goncharov himself: "A writer, full, with an apathetic face, thoughtful, as if sleepy eyes."

These two voices - the resonant, pedantic tone of Stolz and the mocking, but sympathetic tone of the author himself - accompany Oblomov throughout his journey, preventing the novel from becoming a flat sketch of morals. Intricately intertwined intonations do not contrast, but complement each other: the first does not negate the second. Because of this construction of the author's speech, the multi-layeredness of the book arises. As is usually the case in a Russian novel, a metaphysical theme emerges behind the social plane.

In Oblomov, all words that do not belong to the characters should not be read directly, as a preliminary criticism of the novel, but as an artistically depicted word. Only then will the phenomenal duality of Oblomov, a hero who goes far beyond the contours of the plot, be revealed.

The feeling of monumentality of Oblomov’s figure is already generated by his first portrait: “The thought walked like a free bird across his face, fluttered in his eyes, sat on half-open lips, hid in the folds of his forehead, then completely disappeared, and then an even light of carelessness glowed all over his face. From the face, carelessness passed into the poses of the whole body, even into the folds of the dressing gown.

These frozen, petrified "folds" suggest an analogy with an ancient statue. The comparison is fundamentally important, which Goncharov consistently draws throughout the novel. In Oblomov's figure, golden ratio, which gives a feeling of lightness, harmony and completeness to antique sculpture. Oblomov's immobility is graceful in its monumentality, it is endowed with certain meaning. In any case, as long as he does nothing, but only represents himself.

Oblomov seems funny only in motion, for example, in the company of Stolz. But in the eyes of the widow Pshenitsyna, who is in love with him, Oblomov again turns into a statue: “He will sit down, cross his legs, prop his head with his hand - he does everything so freely, calmly and beautifully ... he is all so good, so clean, maybe nothing do and don't do."

And in the eyes of Oblomov himself, his then-beloved Olga freezes in beautiful immobility: “If she were turned into a statue, she would be a statue of grace and harmony.”

The tragic ending of Oblomov's love is explained precisely by the fact that he saw their union as a sculptural group by the union of two statues frozen in eternity.

But Olga is not a statue. For her, for Stolz, and for all the other heroes of the book, Goncharov finds another analogy - a car.

The conflict of the novel is the collision of the statue with the machine. The first is beautiful, the second is functional. One is standing, the other is moving. The transition from a static to a dynamic state - Oblomov's love for Olga - puts the main character in the position of a machine. Love is the winding key that sets romance in motion. The plant ends and Oblomov freezes - and dies - at home, on the Vyborg side.

“You are the fire and strength of this machine,” Oblomov says to Olga, calling himself a machine and already guessing that in fact there is simply no place for an engine in it, that it is solid, like a marble statue.

Active Stolz and Olga live to do something. Oblomov lives just like that. From their point of view, Oblomov is dead. With him, death and life merge into one, there is no strict border between them - rather an intermediate state: a dream, a dream, Oblomovka.

At the same time, Oblomov is the only genuine person in the novel, the only one whose existence is not limited to the role he has assumed. In the upcoming wedding, he is most afraid of the fact that he, Oblomov, will turn into a "groom", acquire a specific, definite status. (Olga, on the contrary, is pleased: “I am the bride,” she thinks with proud awe.)

Because Oblomov cannot be included in the surrounding life, because it is made by people-machines, people-roles. Each has its own goal, its own gear, with which they are linked for convenience with others. Smooth, "marble" Oblomov nothing to cling to others. He is not able to split his personality into the role of husband, landowner, official. He is just a man.

Oblomov is in the novel complete, perfect and therefore motionless. He has already taken place, fulfilling his destiny only by the fact that he was born. “His life was not only formed, but also created, it was even intended so simply, no wonder, to express the possibility of an ideally calm side of human existence,” Oblomov comes to this conclusion by the end of his days. Here, on the outskirts of St. Petersburg, in a modified Oblomovka, having finally come to terms with existence, he finally finds himself. And only here, for the first time, did he manage to adequately reflect Stolz's pedagogical claims. On their last meeting, “Oblomov looked calmly and resolutely” at his friend, who, in a patter, for himself, painted “the dawn of new happiness” - railways, marinas, schools ... Goncharov constructs his novel in such a way that it provokes the reader to compare Stolz with Oblomov. All the advantages seem to be on the side of Stolz. After all, he - a homunculus - was not created naturally, but according to the recipe of an ideal personality. This is an ethnographic German-Russian cocktail that should set in motion the clumsy Russian colossus.

However, the glorification of Stolz is similar to his self-justification. All journalistic pieces of the text, where the voice of the narrator addresses the reader directly, are built in the same rational key, with the same judicious intonation with which Stoltz himself speaks. In this voice, one can feel the foreign syntax of too correct Russian speech (“my incomparable, but clumsy Oblomov”).

Even more important is that Goncharov shows Oblomov, and talks about Stolz. Oblomov's love for Olga, which, by the way, takes place against the backdrop of a Russian, and not Swiss, landscape, like Stolz's, is transmitted directly. The story of Stolz's marriage is given in an inserted short story. When Oblomov acts in the second and third parts of the novel - courting Olga - the narrator almost completely disappears from the text, but he appears whenever Stolz appears in the book.

This subtle compositional compensation deepens the image of Oblomov. What we know about him from the narrator contradicts what we see for ourselves. For Stolz, Oblomov is clear and simple (he is the author of the famous term - “Oblomovism”). For Goncharov and I, Oblomov is a mystery.

The emphasized intelligibility of Stolz's relations with the world, with people, is opposed to the mysterious understatement, the illogicality of Oblomov's connections. Roughly speaking, Stolz can be retold, Oblomov - in no case.

This is the basis of Oblomov's wonderful dialogue with Zakhar, a dialogue in which the master blames the servant who dared to confuse him with "another." This whole conversation, vividly reminiscent of both Gogol and Dostoyevsky, is absurd. So, Oblomov, explaining to Zakhar why he cannot move to a new apartment, gives completely absurd arguments: “When I get up and see something else instead of this turner sign, on the contrary, or if this shorn old woman does not look out of the window before dinner So I'm bored." The unknown Lyagachev already appears in the text, for whom it’s easy to move: “He will take the ruler under his armpit” - and he will move. Already "both of them ceased to understand each other, and finally each and himself." But the scene does not lose tension, it is all filled with a vague meaning.

This absurd scandal reveals the inner relationship of the master and his servant, their blood closeness - after all, they are brothers in Oblomovka. And without any logic, it is clear to Oblomov and Zakhar that the “others” are alien, strange creatures, strangers to their way of life.

It turns out that the worst thing for Oblomov is to lose this very uniqueness of his personality, to merge with “others”. Therefore, he comes to such horror, accidentally overhearing that he was called "some kind of Oblomov."

In the light of this mystical horror - to lose oneself in the crowd - Oblomov's supposedly empty exclamations sound completely different: “Where is the man here? Where is its wholeness? Where did he hide, how did he exchange for every little thing?

Whatever form of activity the world Oblomov, he always finds a way to see in it an empty fuss, exchanging the soul for nothing. The world requires a person to be not a full-fledged person, but only a part of it - a husband, an official, a hero. And Stolz has nothing to object to Oblomov, except: "You are talking like an ancient one."

Oblomov really talks like "ancient". And the narrator, describing his hero, constantly hints at the source of the novel, calling himself "another Homer." The archaic idyll, signs of the prehistoric Golden Age, which are especially noticeable in the description of Oblomovka, transfer the hero to another time - to the epic. Oblomov gradually plunges into eternity, where "the present and the past have merged and mixed up," and the future does not exist at all. The true meaning of his life is not to chase after Stolz in a vain attempt to be modern, but on the contrary, to avoid the movement of time. Oblomov lives in his own, autonomous time, which is why he died, “as if a clock that had been forgotten to start had stopped.” He dissolved in his dream - to hold, to stop time, to freeze in the absolute being of the longed-for Oblomovka.

Oblomov's utopia is a world that came out of history, a world so beautiful that it cannot be improved. And that means a world devoid of purpose.

Goncharov draws Oblomov's ideal with vivid colors, but places it outside the limits of earthly life. Sleepy Oblomovka is an afterlife kingdom, it is the absolute peace of a person turned into an ideal statue. Fragmentation is death.

So Goncharov leads his hero to a tragic paradox. Oblomov's incompatibility with the world comes from the fact that he is dead among the living. Its completeness, completeness, lonely self-sufficiency is the perfection of a corpse, a mummy. "Or - a beautiful, but motionless statue." At the same time, all the characters in the novel - just fragments of an integral Oblomov personality - are alive because of their imperfection, their incompleteness. Fulfilling their life program, their machine function, they exist today, in history. Oblomov, on the other hand, lives in eternity, endless, like death.

It would seem that this prejudges Oblomov's dispute with the "others": the dead have no hope of defeating the living.

However, Oblomov's perception of an ideal life as death is hopeless, but not tragic. The equal sign, which Oblomov puts between non-existence before birth and non-existence after death, only indicates the illusory nature of the gap between these two states, the gap called life. Oblomov's "equal" means only the identity of two zeros.

Goncharov does not undertake to challenge the correctness of this identity. He leaves the reader alone with zero - the symbol of Oblomov's round, whole world.

This zero, finding its correspondence in the composition of the book, reminds both of the ideal - in the continental climate - perfection of the annual circle, and of the letter "o", with which the titles of all Goncharov's novels begin.

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One O out of three. Goncharov Turgenev wrote short novels. And we are grateful to him for this. Tolstoy and Dostoevsky wrote long novels. Goncharov wrote long and ... boring - it sounds insulting. Okay: long and slow novels. There is such a memory: Goncharov wrote three novels, and

Goncharov's novel "Oblomov" was written in 1859, when the issues of choosing between the old, feudal, primordially Russian foundations and new, bourgeois, pro-European ideas became especially acute in Russian society. The ambiguous depiction of the characters, the lack of an accurately formulated opinion of the author, and the subtle psychologism of the narration make it difficult to understand ideological content novel, however, understanding the essence of Oblomov is possible through analysis central characters works - Oblomov and Stolz.

Oblomov is depicted in the novel as a lazy, apathetic, unwilling to do anything, reflective character. For the hero, leaving the “comfort zone” is not equivalent to a step forward, but to a life catastrophe. Even when Stolz takes him to guests and social events for a while, it’s hard for Ilya Ilyich even physically - it’s not convenient for him to walk all day in boots. Oblomov sees the essence of his life in a distant, almost unattainable future, similar to his childhood in Oblomovka, where everything was quiet, calm, filled with rituals and inaction. The native village for Ilya Ilyich, on a philosophical scale, becomes a symbol of everything primordially Russian, which every subtle nature with a Russian mentality dreams of.

The complete opposite of Oblomov is Stolz. Andrei Ivanovich is an active, purposeful, constantly moving forward person. If for Oblomov it is scary to go beyond the boundaries of his little world, then for Stolz it is scary to stay at one point without developing further. At first glance, against the background of Ilya Ilyich, Andrei Ivanovich evokes sympathy, as a person who knows what he wants and what he strives for. However, this is not so - it is not for nothing that many researchers compare Stolz with an automated mechanism that works for the sake of work. He does not see the ultimate goal of his life and why he lives, and therefore returns to Oblomov as the bearer of principles and fundamental truths, which he lacks.

Oblomov and Stolz in the novel are not just characters opposed to each other, they organically complement each other - that is why their friendship continues from the very beginning. early years. Goncharov showed that it is fundamentally wrong to choose one of the paths - the old one or the new one. A person who walks only one thing deprives himself of a full life, living it as if half - half asleep like Oblomov or in a frantic race like Stolz. The essence of the novel "Oblomov" is the author's goal to convey to the reader the importance of harmonizing the wisdom of the ancestors in oneself with the speed and variability of the modern world.

The life and death of Oblomov. Epilogue of the novel. In the third and last time Stolz visits his friend. Under the caring eye of Pshenitsyna, Oblomov almost realized his ideal: “He dreams that he has reached that promised land, where rivers of honey and milk flow, where they eat unearned bread, go in gold and silver ...”, and Agafya Matveevna turns into a fabulous Miliktrisa Kirbityevna .. The house on the Vyborgskaya side resembles a rural area.

However, the hero never reached his native village. Topic "Oblomov and the men" runs throughout the novel. Even in the first chapters, we learned that in the absence of the master peasants live tight. The headman reports that the peasants are "running away", "asking for quitrent". It is unlikely that they became better under the rule of the Worn One. While Oblomov was drowning in his problems, he missed the opportunity to build a road, build a bridge, as his neighbor, a village landowner, did. It cannot be said that Ilya Ilyich does not think about his peasants at all. But his plans are to ensure that everything remains as it is. And to the advice to open a school for a peasant, Oblomov replies with horror that “he, perhaps, will not plow ...” But time cannot be stopped. In the finale, we learn that "Oblomovka is not in the middle of nowhere anymore<…>the rays of the sun fell on her! The peasants, no matter how difficult it was, did without the master: “... In four years it will be a station on the road<…>, the men will go to work on the embankment, and then roll along the cast iron<…>bread to the pier ... And there ... schools, letters ... "But did Ilya Ilyich manage without Oblomovka? Goncharov proves his favorite thoughts with the logic of narration. And the fact that on the conscience of every landowner lies the concern for the fate of hundreds of people ("Happy Mistake"). And the fact that village life is the most natural and therefore the most harmonious for a Russian person; she herself will direct, teach and tell you what to do better than any “plans” (“Pallada Frigate”).

In the house on Vyborgskaya Oblomov sank down. What was a free dream became a hallucination - "the present and the past merged and mixed." On the first visit, Stolz managed to lift Oblomov off the couch. In the second, he helped a friend in solving practical cases. And now, with horror, he realizes that he is powerless to change anything:<«Вон из этой ямы, из болота, на свет, на простор, где есть здоровая, нормальная жизнь!» - настаивал Штольц…

“Do not remember, do not disturb the past: you will not turn back! Oblomov said. - I have grown to this pit with a sore spot: try to tear it off - there will be death ... I feel everything, I understand everything: I have long been ashamed to live in the world! But I can't go your way with you, even if I wanted to. Maybe the last time was still possible. Now... now it's too late... Even Olga is unable to resurrect him: "Olga! - suddenly escaped from the frightened Oblomov ... - For God's sake, don't let her come here, leave!

As in the first visit, Stolz sums up the sad result:

What's there? Olga asked...

Nothing!..

Is he alive, well?

Why are you back so soon? Why didn't he call me there and bring him? Let me in!

What is going on there? ... Has the “abyss been opened”? Will you tell me? .. What is going on there?

Oblomovism!

And if Ilya Ilyich found people who are willing to endure this life around them, then nature itself, it seems, opposed, measuring out a short period of such an existence. That is why the attempts of the same Agafya Matveevna to restrict her husband produce a tragicomic impression. "How many times have you gone? - she asked Vanyusha ... - Don't lie, look at me ... Remember Sunday, I won't let you visit<…>". And Oblomov, willy-nilly, counted eight more times, then he already came into the room ... "; “It would be nice to have a pie!” - “I forgot, right I forgot! And I wanted it since the evening, but my memory seemed to be knocked off!” - Agafya Matveevna cheated. It doesn't make sense. For she cannot offer him any other goal in life than food and sleep.

Goncharov devotes relatively little space to the description of the illness and death of his hero. I. Annensky summarizes the reader's impressions, saying that “we read 600 pages about him, we do not know a person in Russian literature so fully, so vividly depicted. Meanwhile, his death affects us less than the death of a tree in Tolstoy's…” Why? Critics of the "Silver Age" are unanimous, because the worst thing has already happened to Oblomov. Spiritual death overtakes physical death. “He died because he ended ...” (I. Annensky). "Vulgarity" finally "triumphed over purity of heart, love, ideals." (D. Merezhkovsky).

Goncharov says goodbye to his hero with an excited lyrical requiem: “What happened to Oblomov? Where is he? Where? - In the nearest cemetery, under a modest urn, his body rests<…>. Lilac branches, planted by a friendly hand, doze over the grave, and the wormwood smells serenely. It seems that the angel of silence itself guards his sleep.

It would seem that there is an undeniable contradiction here. A lofty eulogy for a fallen hero! But life cannot be considered useless when someone remembers you. Bright sadness filled the life of Agafya Matveevna with the highest meaning: “She realized that<…>God put a soul into her life and took it out again; that the sun shone in it and faded forever ... Forever, really; but on the other hand, her life was forever comprehended: now she knew why she lived and that she did not live in vain.

In the finale, we meet Zakhar in the guise of a beggar on the church porch. The orphaned valet prefers to ask for Christ's sake than to serve the "obnoxious" mistress. The following dialogue takes place between Stolz and his familiar writer about the late Oblomov:

And he was no more stupid than others, the soul is pure and clear, like glass; noble, gentle, and - gone!

From what? What reason?

Reason... what a reason! Oblomovism! Stolz said.

Oblomovism! - the writer repeated with bewilderment. - What it is?

Now I'll tell you ... And you write it down: maybe it will be useful to someone. "And he told him what is written here."

Thus, the composition of the novel is strictly circular, it is impossible to isolate the beginning and end in it. Everything that we read from the first pages, it turns out, can be interpreted as a story about Oblomov, his friend. At the same time, Stoltz could tell the story of a recently ended life. Thus, the circle of human life has been passed twice: in reality and in the memories of friends.

Goncharov, the harmony singer, could not complete his book with one minor note. In the epilogue, a new little hero appears, who, perhaps, will be able to harmoniously combine the best features of a father and an educator. “Don't forget my Andrey! - were the last words of Oblomov, spoken in a faded voice ... "" No, I will not forget your Andrey<…>, - promises Stolz. - But I will take your Andrey where you could not go<…>and with him we will carry out our youthful dreams.”

Let's do a little experiment. Open the last page of the Oblomov edition - any one that you hold in your hands. Turning it over, you will almost certainly find an article by Nikolai Alexandrovich Dobrolyubov “What is Oblomovism?” This work must be known, if only because it is one of the examples of Russian critical thought of the nineteenth century. However, the first sign of a free person and a free country is the possibility of choice. Dobrolyubov's article is more interesting to consider next to the article with which it appeared almost simultaneously and with which it is in many respects polemical. This is a review by Alexander Vasilyevich Druzhinin “Oblomov”. Roman I.A. Goncharova.

Critics are unanimous in admiring the image of Olga. But if Dobrolyubov sees in her a new heroine, the main fighter against Oblomovism, Druzhinin sees in her the embodiment of eternal femininity: “It is impossible not to be carried away by this bright, pure creature, who has so intelligently developed in herself all the best, true principles of a woman ...”

Disagreements between them begin with Oblomov's assessment. Dobrolyubov argues with the author of the novel himself, proving that Oblomov is a lazy, spoiled, worthless creature: “He (Oblomov) will not bow to the idol of evil! Why is that? Because he is too lazy to get up on the couch. But drag him, put him on his knees before this idol: he will not be able to get up. Dirt will not stick to him! Yes, as long as there is one. So still nothing; and how Tarantiev, the Worn out, will come. Ivan Matveich - brr! what disgusting nastiness begins near Oblomov.

The critic shrewdly guesses the origins of Oblomov's character in his childhood. In Oblomovism, he sees, first of all, social roots: “... He ( Oblomov) from an early age sees in his house that all household chores are performed by lackeys and maids, and papa and mama only order and scold for bad performance. Gives as an example a symbolic episode with pulling on stockings. He considers Oblomov as social type. This is a gentleman, the owner of “three hundred Zakharov”, who “drawing the ideal of his bliss ... did not think to approve its legitimacy and truth, did not ask himself the question: where will these greenhouses and greenhouses come from ... and why on earth will he use them?”

And yet, the psychological analysis of the character and the meaning of the whole novel is not so interesting to critics. He is constantly interrupted by "more general considerations" about Oblomovism. In Goncharov's hero, the critic is primarily an established literary type; the critic traces his genealogy from Onegin, Pechorin, Rudin. In literary science, it is customary to call it a type of superfluous person. Unlike Goncharov, Dobrolyubov focuses on his negative traits: “The common thing for all these people is that they have no business in life that would be a vital necessity for them, a sacred shrine…”

Dobrolyubov presciently guesses that the reason for Oblomov's deep sleep was the absence of a lofty, truly noble goal. I chose the words of Gogol as an epigraph: “Where is the one who, in the native language of the Russian soul, would be able to tell us this almighty word “forward? ..””

Let's now look at Druzhinin's article. Let's be honest: it's a lot harder to read. As soon as we unroll the pages, the names of philosophers and poets, Carlyle and Longfellow, Hamlet and the artists of the Flemish school, will dazzle before our eyes. An intellectual of the highest outlook, a connoisseur of English literature, Druzhinin does not descend to the average level in his critical works, but is looking for an equal reader. By the way, this is how you can check the degree of your own culture - ask yourself which of the mentioned names, paintings, books are familiar to me?

Following Dobrolyubov, he pays a lot of attention to "Snu ..." and sees in it "a step towards understanding Oblomov with his Oblomovism." But, unlike him, focuses on the lyrical content of the chapter. Druzhinin saw poetry even in the "sleepy clerk", and put it in Goncharov's highest merit that he "poeticized the life of his native land." Thus the critic touched lightly national content Oblomovism. Defending his beloved hero, the critic urges: “Take a close look at the novel, and you will see how many people in it are devoted to Ilya Ilyich and even adore him ...” After all, this is no accident!

“Oblomov is a child, not a vile debaucher, he is a sleepyhead, not an immoral egoist or an epicurean...” To emphasize the moral value of the hero, Druzhinin asks: who is ultimately more useful for humanity? A naive child or a zealous official, "signing paper after paper"? And he answers: "A child by nature and by the conditions of his development, Ilya Ilyich ... left behind the purity and simplicity of a child - qualities that are precious in an adult." People "not of this world" are also necessary, because "in the midst of the greatest practical confusion, they often reveal to us the realm of truth and at times put an inexperienced, dreamy eccentric and above ... a whole crowd of businessmen who surround him." The critic is sure that Oblomov - type universal, and exclaims: “It’s not good for that land where there are no good and incapable of evil eccentrics like Oblomov!”

Unlike Dobrolyubov, he does not forget about Agafya Matveevna either. Druzhinin made a subtle observation about the place of Pshenitsyna in the fate of Oblomov: she was involuntarily the "evil genius" of Ilya Ilyich, "but this woman will be forgiven everything because she loved a lot." The critic is captivated by the subtle lyricism of the scenes depicting the woeful experiences of the widow. In contrast to her, the critic shows the selfishness of the Stoltsev couple in relation to Oblomov in scenes where "neither worldly order, nor worldly truth ... were violated."

At the same time, a number of controversial judgments can be found in his review. The critic avoids talking about why Ilya Ilyich is dying. Stolz's despair at the sight of a fallen friend is caused, in his opinion, only by the fact that Oblomov married a commoner.

Like Dobrolyubov, Druzhinin goes beyond the scope of the novel. He discusses the peculiarities of Goncharov's talent, compares it with the Dutch painters. Like the Dutch landscape painters and creators of genre scenes, the details of life under his pen acquire an existential scale and “his creative spirit was reflected in every detail ... like the sun is reflected in a small drop of water ...”

We saw that two critics in their judgments about Oblomov and the novel as a whole argue and deny each other. So which one to trust? I. Annensky answered this question, noting that it was a mistake “to dwell on the question of what type of Oblomov. Negative or positive? This question generally belongs to the school-market ones ... ”And it suggests that“ the most natural way in each type analysis is to start with an analysis of your impressions, deepening them as much as possible. For this "deepening" and need criticism. To convey the reaction of contemporaries, to supplement independent conclusions, and not to replace their own impressions. In fact, Goncharov believed in his reader, and to remarks that his hero was incomprehensible, he retorted: “What is the reader for? Is he some kind of oaf that his imagination will not be able to complete the rest according to the idea given by the author? Are the Pechorins, Onegins ... told to the smallest detail? The task of the author is the dominant element of character, and the rest is up to the reader.