Ilya Ilyich, why are you making so much noise?
- You'll wake up your mama. - Mama is here!
- When will Mama be up? - Soon.
And when did she arrive?
Late at night, my dear. You were already asleep.
I'll go and look if she's up.
Why are you so fidgety, my dear?
You haven't seen your mama just one day, and you're eating your heart out.
Why is it light there, and dark here, nurse?
And presently it will be light here as well?
It's because the sun is going to meet the moon,
but cannot see it and frowns.
Ilya Ilyich, why are you standing here?
You'll wake up your mama.
Mama is back!
Mama is here!
SEVERAL DAYS FROM THE LIFE OF I.I. OBLOMOV
Based upon the novel "Oblomov" by I.A. Goncharov
Screenplay by A. ADABASHIAN, N. MIKHALKOV
Directed by Nikita MIKHALKOV
Director of Photography Pavel LEBESHEV
Production Designers:
Alexander ADABASHIAN Alexander SAMULEKIN
Music by E. ARTEMYEV Sound by B. BOBROVSKY
English Subtitles by Tatiana Kameneva
Starring
Ilya Ilyich Oblomov Oleg TABAKOV
Andrei Ivanovich Stolz Yuri BOGATYRYOV
Zakhar Andrei POPOV
Olga Yelena SOLOVEY
Alexeyev Avangard LEONTYEV
Narrated by A. ROMASHIN
Ilya Ilyich Oblomov was lying in bed in his flat in Petersburg,
in Gorokhovaya Street,
in one of the big houses that had almost as many inhabitants
as a whole country town.
Lying down was not for Ilya Ilyich
either a necessity as it is for a sick man,
or an occasional need as it is for a tired person,
or a pleasure as it is for a sluggard:
It was his normal state.
Oblomov, a gentleman by birth and a collegiate secretary by rank,
came to live in Petersburg twelve years ago.
He was young then, he was still full of plans,
expecting a great deal both from fate and from himself.
But days and years passed by, he gave up Government service,
the soft down on his chin turned into stiff bristles,
his waist broadened, his hair had begun to come out,
he turned thirty,
and he had not advanced a step in any direction,
and was still standing at the same point as ten years before.
Zakhar!
Where are you off to?
You were not saying anything.
You see I'm worried, so you must wait.
- Find the letter. - Which letter?
You took it from the postman. A dirty letter.
How should I know where you put it?
You never know anything.
Look in the waste-paper basket. Or perhaps it has fallen behind the sofa.
The back of the sofa has not been mended yet.
Why don't you send for the carpenter? It was you who broke it.
- It broke of itself. - I see.
- Have you found it? - Here are some letters.
No, that's not it.
Very well, go. I will look for it myself when I get up.
You do keep the place tidy!
The dust, the dirt! My goodness!
You don't do anything!
There, everything is swept and tidied as for a wedding.
What more do you want?
- And what's this, by the table? - Well, I might take this away.
Only this! And what about the dust, the cobwebs?
Sometimes I see a bedbug on the wall, too.
- I have fleas as well. - It's disgusting!
It's no good your laughing, Zakhar,
you had better set to work and clean the place.
Is my water ready?
Ages ago. Why don't you get up?
The landlord said again that we must move. They want the flat.
Don't you dare to mention the flat to me. I have forbidden you already.
You had better go to the butcher.
No, he won't give us any more credit.
- How much do we owe him? - Eighty six rubles.
Have you gone off your head?
We haven't paid him for three months.
Are you a cow to have munched so much?
You might write to the landlord, sir,
perhaps he would not disturb you then.
All right, go to the butcher, and I'll think about it and write a letter.
I'm going.
Ilya Ilyich was much perturbed.
After his father and mother died, he became the owner of 350 serfs
whom he inherited in one of the faraway provinces.
And now he received a disagreeable letter from the bailiff of his estate.
Everyone knows what kind of disagreeable news a bailiff can write:
Bad harvest, debts, smaller income...
Some years ago,
Ilya Ilyich began drawing a plan of administering his estate.
He would really like to make some improvements,
only he wanted this to happen somehow of itself.
And now the landlord asks him to move. He wants his flat.
Oblomov had difficulty in deciding what he was to think of:
Of the bailiff's letter, or of moving to new lodgings, or of money...
Zakhar!
- Have you written the letter? - Have you been to the butcher?
The shop is closed, the butcher's gone. I'll go again later.
Well, all right.
A visitor already...
Ah, it's you, Alexeyev?
I won't shake hands: You come straight from the cold.
Why, Ilya Ilyich, it isn't cold! It's thaw.
I hadn't meant to call on you today, but I met Ovchinin.
I have come to fetch you.
Let us go to Ovchinin's.
Matvey Andreyevich Alyanov, Kazimir Albertovich Phailo,
Vassily Sevostyanovich Kolymyagin
are there already.
What are they doing there, and what do they want with me?
Ovchinin invites you to dinner.
To dinner? Sit down, we'll think about it.
Do get up! It's time to dress.
- I haven't washed yet. - Well, wash then.
Well?
- What? - You're still lying down.
- Need I get up? - You wanted to go.
I didn't want to. And I haven't told you about my affairs yet.
What affairs?
Why do you suppose I haven't got up all this time?
I've been lying here thinking how I can get out of trouble.
- What is it? - Two misfortunes!
My landlord has played me a trick. "Make haste and move," he says.
Make haste! Moving is a fearful nuisance.
Such a lot to see to - things get broken and lost.
And some people, you know, like moving.
Zakhar!
But this about the flat isn't the worst!
See what my bailiff writes me.
- Zakhar! - I've been here for a long time.
- Where's my letter? - Where am I to find it?
I haven't swallowed it. Why, there it is!
There, there, you can go! I've had enough of you.
Listen.
"Dear Sir..." Well, it's not important.
I told you you came from the cold.
"There has been no rain for 5 weeks. Old men don't remember such a drought.
On St. John's Eve three peasants ran away.
There will be none of our linen at the fair this year..."
Oh, my goodness!
"Our peasants haven't paid up their arrears.
This year we will send you, our father and benefactor,
some two thousand less than last year."
You've got a sneezing fit.
No date. It must've been lying about at the bailiff's since last year.
He talks of St. John's Eve and drought. He thought of sending it rather late!
How do you like it?
Some two thousand less...
How much will that leave?
What did I receive last year?
I didn't tell you then, did I?
I must ask Stolz.
I wish he would make haste and come.
He writes he's coming, but goodness knows where he is.
I wonder if I ought to write to the Governor?
Who is your Governor?
Yes, write to the Governor.
The drought, the heat...
Really, you should write to the Governor.
Nurse!
Ilyusha, where are you? Where are you hiding?
Ilyusha!
Good morning, papa.
Be careful stepping on the porch.
And don't make any noise.
Mama is still sleeping. She's tired after her journey.
Ilyusha, where are you going?
Oh, Ilya Ilyich, what are you doing, you naughty boy!
The porch should be mended.
Yes, indeed, just see how rickety it is.
Why, it rocked when it was first made.
Well, it hasn't fallen down, though it has stood for 16 years.
Luka made it splendidly.
Yes, he made it good.
He was a carpenter, now!
He's dead, the Kingdom of heaven be his!
Carpenters are not what they were.
They can't make it so well now.
Was it Luka who made it?
No, it was not Luka.
Yes, it was Luka. Sure, Luka.
Luka, Luka!
You should not wake up your mama.
She wasn't home all day, and she spent the night traveling.
Let go of me, nurse. Stop holding me.
You're not going to catch me!
Won't you write?
I would sharpen a pen for you.
Ah, it's you? Sorry, I seem to have fallen asleep.
It's nothing.
Alexeyev was always an obedient and ready listener
who shared with equal willingness Oblomov's silence,
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't you try to eat it yourself, 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 what you have said, you venomous man?
- What have I said? - Other people move.
Other people are no worse. That's what you'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 know that 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 like stings.
"It's all Zakhar's fault," he whispered.
He recalled the scene with Zakhar
and his face burned with shame.
"What if someone had overheard it?" He thought, turning cold at the idea.
"Thank God Zakhar won't be able to repeat it, and no one'd believe him."
Ilya Ilyich!
He does sleep! He might be a navvy!
Get up! It's half-past four.
What do you want?
You told me to wake you. Come on, Ilya Ilyich...
You have done your duty and now begone!
The rest is my own business.
I won't go. Get up, Ilya Ilyich!
Do not disturb me.
I would be glad to leave you in peace, but I can't.
You would be angry with me afterwards.
I know myself.
You know how to sleep. There he lies like a log!
What was the good of a man like that being born?
Get up, I tell you!
You think I'm asleep? I am not, I hear everything.
Oh dear, why do you lie there like a block?
It sickens me to look at you. See him, good people!
Get up!
Ilya Ilyich, see what's happening around you!
I will wake up when I feel like it.
Get up!
I'll teach you to disturb your master when he wants to rest!
Give me some kvass!
- Ilya! - Andrei!
Stolz is here!
How do you do!
I drove the trap myself from Verkhlyovka to Vavilovo.
Be quiet, or you'll wake up the nurse and she'll make me sit in the shade.
They're all sleeping now after dinner.
Let's go and look how they sleep.
All right, but be quiet.
Look what I can do.
I can do it too.
And why didn't they mend the porch?
How do I know?
- Let's go and spin around. - All right.
Stolz stayed at Oblomov's.
Stolz's life was filled with business calls, social visits, society.
And in spite of Oblomov's protesting, complaining and arguing,
he gave in to his friend and followed him everywhere.
"You must start a new life. Now or never," Stolz said to him.
Stolz was the same age as Oblomov; he, too, was over thirty.
He retired from Government service, went in for business
and succeeded in it due to his diligence and intelligence.
He often told Oblomov
that man's normal destiny
was to bring the cup of life down not having wasted a single drop,
and that an evenly burning fire was better than a violent conflagration,
however poetical the latter might be.
He at once applied the right method in every emergency,
as a housekeeper chooses from the bunch hanging at her waist
the right key for every door.
Zakhar, give him his clothes!
So...
We'll have breakfast now,
then... we'll make a business call, after that go to dinner.
I invited the gold-mine owner I've been telling you about.
After that we're invited for tea at his villa.
I must introduce you to Olga Ilyinskaya.
She has a wonderful voice. And how she sings!
She's a charming child.
Though I have a weakness for her.
- Do you have weaknesses too? - I do.
Who can it be so early?
Help your master to get dressed. I'll open up myself.
- Ah, it's you, Alexei... - Ivan Alexeyevich.
Sorry. What can I do for you?
I apologize. I thought Zakhar would open the door.
I have an invitation to pass to Ilya Ilyich.
Ilya Ilyich is not here.
He left last night on some business.
He's planning to go abroad, then to Oblomovka.
Thank God! He's been waiting for you so eagerly.
When Andrei Ivanovich Stolz comes, he said,
all my troubles would be settled.
And why are we whispering? Is anybody in the house?
Zakhar is sleeping.
Excuse me, I have to get to my office.
- Goodbye, Alexei... - I'm Ivan Alexeyevich.
Wait, what have you got there?
It's veal.
Did you see it?
Have pity on the master, he can't eat your food.
Go and bring what I've told you to, and the machine.
Why aren't we having breakfast? Andrei, who was it at the door?
A man brought me some business papers.
Ilya, can you feel that smell?
If health could have smell,
I'm sure that's how it would smell.
Zakhar!
Take it.
I was taught this in Europe.
They don't understand it there either, though what could be simpler?
Animals are healthier than we are, so eat what they do and be healthy.
Zakhar, just smell it!
All right, go to your room.
Get rid of your fat, of the bodily heaviness,
and then your mind will no longer be sleepy.
I suffer from it myself.
I know and understand it all. You said about my mind sleeping.
I know it, but I have neither strength nor will to get out of that sleep.
I may perhaps follow you, but alone I shall not manage.
Sorry, but haven't you forgotten you are to submit an application tomorrow?
Get ready, we're leaving in five minutes.
What about tea?
- Andrei, what about tea? - Tea is bad for your health.
He sells shares, not even having them, for three quarters of their price
in order to sell them, after the rates drop, for five eighths.
Five eighths of what?
There's a share's price, and there's a rate. Three quarters, for instance.
- Three quarters of what? - Haven't you understood a thing?
Your Excellency, Mr. Stolz to see you.
Show him in.
- What a pleasure! - How do you do, Pavel Petrovich.
So glad to see you, my dear! How are our affairs going?
May I introduce to you my friend Oblomov.
Pleasure to meet you. Andrei told me about the project...
I haven't seen you for ages, I don't know anything.
Your Excellency, everything has been signed.
Very good for you.
I didn't expect anything else from you.
Since we start this serious business, I thought
that we should need Venetian glass.
But where can we get it?
I understand, everything is set forth here.
I understand that it's set forth, but the glass is very expensive.
Should you approach...
No need to approach Geller. The one who can do it is...
"Go," Nadezhda told me, "and settle down again in Europe."
Ilya Ilyich, everything is ready!
- What is Andrei Ivanovich doing? - Sleeping. No light in his room.
Go and look. But be careful.
Close the door.
Take it. Give me a spoon.
Stop it. Why do you always do it?
- I'll bring you the pie. - Go ahead.
So, it's never?
- Never, Ilya. - What do you mean, never?
Listen, who are you deceiving?
Not me, only yourself.
Remember how happy you were when you felt that lightness?
When you got rid of your heartburn and sties?
You grew thinner after only a few days of not eating junk.
Do you want to look like an old worn-out coat again?
Then don't ask for any sympathy.
Order yourself a leg of lamb to be served in bed tomorrow,
or even better, roast pork!
Stay in bed day after day, sleep, drink.
Ilya, will it do you any good to eat a lot now
and go to bed with a belly like that?
And tomorrow you'll be cursing yourself for this weakness.
And just think of what you're going to eat!
What have you got there?
Soup. With meat.
All right. But just a little, and for the last time.
Now or never!
He's gone.
Ah, the hell with you! Zakhar, give me a plate and a spoon.
And bring the pie. What is it with?
With mushrooms.
Mushrooms from Oblomovka!
How could be intimate these two men,
whose whole existence, every characteristic,
was a flagrant protest against the other's way of living?
It seems to be an established truth that extreme opposition
is not a bar to affection.
Besides, they were tied by childhood and school - two very strong ties.
There was much affectionate, solid Russian kindness
lavished upon the German boy in Oblomov's family,
then the fact that Stolz had always played the part of the stronger,
and, most of all, that there was in Ilya Ilyich's nature
something essentially good, pure, and lofty,
which was in profound sympathy with everything noble,
with everything that responded to the call of his simple, guileless,
and trustful heart.
Ilya, that's a real Russian steam bath, no comparison to those in Petersburg.
What a smell! I remember it since childhood.
My father used to take me in the trap with him...
gave me the reins, and told me to drive to the factory...
then to the fields, to the town, to see some special clay...
Andrei, please go to this dinner today without me.
You see, I have to...
You would get so much jolted during the day that you couldn't walk.
And the bathhouse is already heated,
you climb the upper shelf, it smells of wood.
Really, I have to stay home for a couple of days.
To finish up my plan.
And I don't feel well, I'm afraid of getting another sty.
Feeling like getting back to your sofa? No, I won't let you.
Now or never! Remember?
Come here, Ilya!
That's where health is! You'll fear no styes after that.
- Ilya! - Leave me alone.
You think I'm joking?
Now or never!
Let go! Let go of me!
Let go!
Ilya, what's the matter with you?
I don't like that.
Now I'm going to have a pain in my shoulder.
Come on, Ilya.
I said, I don't like it. And you do it to spite me.
Heaven forbid!
I can't do it, and you're making me to. I'm tired.
- Tired of what? - Of everything!
The balls, the visits, the meetings, the tea parties, the conversations.
The everlasting running to and fro, the gossip, the backbiting.
I don't like this life.
- What kind of life do you like? - Different from this.
What, precisely, do you dislike about this one?
Not one of them has calm, clear eyes.
One man is wretched because he has to go to the office every day,
another one is sighing because this happiness has been denied him.
That's their ideal, their aim in life.
So you don't want to go to the office
and sit in waiting-rooms?
No, and I don't want your social life either.
To admire the symmetrical way the guests are seated,
how quiet and thoughtful they are at the card-tables.
A splendid example for a mind that wants something to stir it!
Don't you see that all their life they're asleep as they sit there?
Am I more to blame for lying in bed and not poisoning my head with knaves?
They meet together, invite one another to meals,
but there is no hospitality, no kindness, no mutual liking.
What kind of life is that? What shall I learn there?
And what can anyone learn from you, Ilya?
- From me? - Yes, from you!
I'm not going to teach anyone anything.
And I don't put anyone to test,
like that yellow-faced gentleman, your gold-mine owner.
He kept asking me whether I had read the speech of some deputy
and stared at me open-eyed when I told him I didn't read the newspapers.
Afterwards he pestered me why, did I think,
had the French Ambassador left Rome?
Mehmet Ali has sent a ship, troops have been sent to the East...
This yellow-faced gentleman, as you chose to call him,
has graduated from two universities.
And in the time when your bailiff managed to ruin Oblomovka...
this gentleman had acquired ten such Oblomovkas.
And he will get twenty more
due to his diligence, brains and zeal.
At 5 a.m. He's already on his feet,
every day he does hygienic gymnastics,
he doesn't drink wine.
He speaks six foreign languages.
He knows everything and everybody.
His life is subordinated to an aim, to work,
with not one superfluous act, movement or word.
And, look, he's healthy and rich,
and at 60 he looks younger than you.
What for? At 60 a man should look his sixty, and not 35.
Yes, but at 35 one shouldn't look 50 as you do.
Suppose your gold-mine owner lives another hundred years
and acquires another hundred of Oblomovkas. But what for?
Everybody only thinks of what is good or bad for their health,
to what doctors to go, to what watering-places to travel.
Everyone thinks of how to live.
But what for? No one wants to think about it.
What is your life? Does anyone need you?
It's easy to lie on the sofa all day
and judge those who do something.
But wouldn't it be better to look at yourself?
Maybe it's not society's fault that it doesn't suit you,
but yours, that it doesn't need you?
- It's such a shame, Andrei. - What?
Sometimes I'm so ashamed that I want to cry.
I often lie, turning over from side to side
and asking myself why I am like that?
And I don't know the answer.
I woke up one morning...
There was a tree outside my window.
It probably had been there five hundred years or more,
and still had a thousand years to live.
So many leaves had opened, withered and fell off in that time...
and so many had still to open and fall off.
And yet, each leaf, while growing,
lives one life with the tree, with its roots and branches.
It probably feels them, it's needed by them.
It means that part of that leaf will be preserved for years to come...
as it was there in the preceding years...
The same goes for us, whoever we are...
Since we live, there must be some sense in it.
This thought made me very happy,
I even cried.
But if you ask me why, I won't be able to explain it.
Afterwards I flipped through an old botany text-book
and found out from it that trees don't live that long.
I felt ashamed at not remembering anything I had been taught.
My head is like some kind of archive
of past deeds, figures, epochs, religions.
Nothing is connected.
Like a library consisting throughout of stray volumes only.
I don't remember botany but somehow I didn't forget
that in 306 B.C. Seleucus I
won a victory over some Chandragupta.
You're a very lucky man, Ilya.
Others finish three universities and still seek more knowledge.
Not you, such torments are unknown to you.
You're sighing over the fact that you haven't forgotten everything.
Stolz was only half German, on his father's side.
His mother was Russian, from an impoverished noble family.
He belonged to the Orthodox Church,
Russian was his native tongue.
From eight years he had been sitting over a map with his father,
checking the badly written accounts presented by peasants and artisans,
and the father paid him a salary, just as to an artisan,
in regular German style: Ten rubles a month,
for which he made him sign in a book.
Andrei's mother was suffering.
She was not pleased with this workmanlike, practical education.
But being a shy person, she did not argue with her husband.
Ivan Bogdanovich Stolz could not conceive of any path in life
other than his own.
When he had finished his course of studies, his father had sent him away.
And so he did the same - after his son finished studies, he sent him away.
Such was the custom in Germany.
Andrei's mother was dead then and there was no one to cry over it.
On the day of his departure, only a group of neighbors had assembled
to gaze at the steward taking leave of his son.
Ivan Bogdanovich gave his son 150 paper rubles.
Two bags were tied to the saddle.
One contained an oilskin cape and thick hob-nailed boots -
things he had taken at his father's insistence.
The other had in it an elegant dress-coat, a dozen fine shirts
and shoes ordered in Moscow in remembrance of his mother's teaching.
It will cost you forty rubles to go to Moscow,
and seventy-five to go from there to Petersburg. You will have enough money left.
You have had a good education - all the roads are open before you.
You can go into Government service, or in for business, or be a writer.
I don't know which you will choose.
All right.
And if you are not clever enough,
call on Reinhold, he will teach you.
He is my friend, we came together from Saxony.
He has a house of four stories in Petersburg. I'll give you his address.
Don't trouble.
I'll go to him when I, too, have a house of four stories.
Well, that's all.
That's all!
Just think of it, the puppy hasn't shed a tear!
The old infidel is a nice one too.
He chucked him out like a kitten.
Stop, Andrei!
The saddle-strap is loose, you might tighten it.
I'll do it when I get to Shamshovka. I want to be there before dark.
God's speed!
Andrei, darling boy!
Wait, my poor little orphan.
There is no one to bless you.
Let me, at least, give you a blessing.
Andrei, our darling, our beauty!
I talk to her oftener and more readily than to others.
There's no affectation about her, no coquetry, no calculation.
- Who are you talking about? - Olga Ilyinskaya.
You'll see for yourself. Olga is a wonderful creature.
I admire her disinterestedly, as a lovely child.
I swear it.
Her parents died early. She lives with her aunt.
And how she sings, Ilya!
I want you to be nice to Olga and her aunt.
I'll leave you in the Ilyinsky's care while I'm in England.
They will prevent you from staying at home and sleeping.
Stop laughing.
We'll meet in Paris in one month. Is your passport ready?
Has been ready long ago.
Here we are.
Hello!
Ilya, where are you? Come here, meet my friends.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is my friend, Ilya Ilyich Oblomov.
Olga. Very nice to meet you.
Oh, it's nothing.
Take it away, please.
Oh, my God!
What is it, Katya?
Oh God... what a shame!
Ilya, what's the matter? Wait, where are you going?
It's perfect agony. Why should they laugh at me?
What are you talking about? Wait.
Olga Sergeyevna doesn't dare to look at anyone else in that way.
I'm quieter than the others and so she...
Where's my hat? Where's my hat?
I didn't know what to do with myself, I'd rather sink through the ground.
Oh, forget it. It's no big deal that you broke a sauce dish.
I broke it because I didn't know what to do with my hands.
Everyone looked at me and smiled. Even a smart man could get lost.
Come on, stop it...
By the way, how do they know I dozed off at the opera the other day?
If you brought me there for them to laugh at me, that's evil.
- You don't understand jokes. - Some jokes.
If it were only the baron and her aunt, but Olga Sergeyevna, too.
She's a young lady,
and you tell her that I put on my shirt inside out,
that I had odd stockings on!
I warn you, Andrei.
I'm going to get angry with you.
I'll tell Olga that you passionately love music and ask her to sing.
Why do you slander me? I don't love music passionately.
Why do you hasten to disillusion her on your account? Let's go.
I don't wish to listen to her. What if she sings badly?
I can't lie, I'm bad at paying compliments. It would be awkward.
As with the sauce dish yesterday?
It is wicked.
No, it is not wicked.
It is a slight revenge for you not wishing to listen to me.
You don't want me to sing, do you?
He wants you to.
And you?
This is what comes of lying at home in a dressing-gown...
Andrei!
Well, Andrei Ivanovich, I will sing for you.
Ladies and gentlemen, Olga Sergeyevna is going to sing for us.
All following week they hardly parted.
Olga felt at ease with them as with no one else.
She had known Stolz for a long time, she called him her friend,
she liked him because he amused her, but she was a little afraid of him.
In his eyes, she was simply a charming child.
How easily all three of them had made friends,
how simply Olga and Oblomov had come to know each other...
Oblomov was simpler and kinder than Stolz;
though he did not amuse her as well, he forgave her mockery so easily.
Stolz was going abroad and left Oblomov in her charge.
They had a plan of breaking Oblomov's habit of sleeping after dinner,
of her telling him to read the books Stolz had left,
to write letters to the country, to get ready to go abroad.
In short, Stolz would not recognize him.
Everything seemed to be perfect.
It's time to say goodbye.
- Ilya, where are you going? - I'll be right back.
Olga Sergeyevna, do not forsake Ilya, return him to life.
Andrei Ivanovich, I've already thought about everything.
I'll make him read the papers and tell me the news.
He will finish his plan of estate management.
And what praise would be lavished on a doctor who saved an invalid!
The treatment of that illness which I call Oblomovism
demands a lot of patience and kindness.
I'm leaving Ilya in your charge only for a month.
In a month I expect him in Paris.
Ilya Ilyich, what is it?
You won't be able to get it in Paris.
This is the Oblomov pie, with mushrooms. I had it baked for you.
It's hot!
Take the pie.
Andrei Ivanovich, it's time to go, or you won't make it before dark.
- Goodbye, Olga Sergeyevna. - Goodbye, Andrei Ivanovich.
So long, Zakhar.
Go!
Stolz went to England, making Oblomov promise to come straight to Paris.
Before his departure, he had to send off the plan of new structures,
move out of his flat and read books and newspapers.
No more eating pies without me!
Ilya, I'll be waiting for you in Paris!
But a month, a month and a half, then two months passed
and Oblomov did not go.
Oblomov hired a villa next to the Ilyinskys' and settled there.
Now he gets up at seven, reads, carries books about.
He looks neither bored nor tired nor sleepy.
There is color in his face, a light in his eyes,
something like courage, or self-confidence.
He is with Olga from morning till night.
He reads to her, sends her flowers, goes with her for walks.
They often remain tete-a-tete.
Sometimes Olga's aunt is with them,
as well as her old friend, Baron von Langwagen.
Malicious people hinted at something more than a friendship between them,
but, outwardly, not a trace of any special sympathy could be detected.
The aunt considered Oblomov's appearance in the house as...
or rather, she did not consider it at all.
He was over thirty: He was not likely to talk foolishly to Olga.
The baron looked at it differently, but he kept his opinion to himself.
Have you had a letter from Andrei Ivanovich?
Yes, I have. He urged me to come to Paris. Now he says to come to Rome.
- And what are you going to do? - I'll go as soon as I'm ready.
He's been waiting for you for a long time.
When you write to him, send our regards.
Ilya Ilyich, I am waiting.
Excuse me, please.
Good morning.
How is your reading going on?
I've done everything I had promised.
What I did not remember myself I have copied from the books.
The Renaissance.
What an intolerable nut bush grows here.
The landscape would have gained so much had this bush not been here.
Sorry for interrupting you. Go on, it's very interesting.
The Renaissance era in Italy is divided into three periods:
Trecento, Quattrocento, Cinquecento.
The Trecento period is exemplified by works of Giotto, Uccello.
Later on, some traits of different schools became prominent:
Milanese, Mantuan, Veronese.
Monsieur Oblomov!
Monsieur Oblomov, you dropped a leaf.
Thank you.
You didn't listen, that's why I stopped.
There appear...
I keep thinking about this nut bush.
If an artist painted this landscape, he wouldn't have included the bush.
- I think it looks fine here. - Baron, we have to go.
- But I haven't read it to the end. - Do it without me.
We expect you for dinner.
Read about painting.
And do come in for dinner, as usual.
I'll be waiting for you here at two.
Wait for me, please. Why are you in such a hurry?
This awful bush.
And I think it's just the place for it.
Stop arguing, Baron.
Sanya, look what the master is doing.
Ah, Andrei, Andrei! Switzerland!
Don't you see me?
Alexeyev, I didn't notice you. How do you do, my dear?
I've been waiting for you two hours here. Were you taking a walk?
Yes, I was.
Alexeyev, I'm so busy nowadays!
Andrei is angry with me, he urges me to come to Switzerland.
But how can I go? It's impossible!
How adorable she is! Even Andrei doesn't suspect it.
How profoundly natural, how strong she is,
there's so much sensitivity and understanding in her!
Who are you talking about?
Even when she speaks sarcastically of something,
there's such a sparkling grace in her, such a lively mind!
Are you talking of Miss Ilyinskaya?
You are right.
- Do you know Olga? - No, but you talk so ardently.
Oh God, she is miraculous!
What can one say!
Alexeyev, why don't you come to live at my place for a while?
You have no country house, and it's so hot in the city now.
Zakhar, prepare a room for Ivan Alexeyevich!
Ilya Ilyich, I would better listen to you.
Olga told Oblomov to meet her at the gazebo,
but she was being late.
He couldn't wait to show her the landscape without the bush,
which so much annoyed her.
He waited and she did not appear.
The happiness that overfilled him was slowly going away.
Nature was busy around him.
The bustle of unseen life was stirring all about him,
and yet nature seemed to be lying in majestic repose.
But everything in the grass was moving, creeping, hurrying.
Ants were racing in all directions, so busily jostling each other,
running about, hastening.
Here was a bumble-bee buzzing about a flower and crawling into its bell.
A bird in the thicket had been repeating one and the same note,
perhaps calling to its mate.
A strong scent came from the grass,
and the clamour that rose from it was unceasing.
"What a lot there is going on here," Oblomov thought,
listening to the gentle noise of nature.
"And from the outside it all seems so still and peaceful!"
The days in summer are so long.
In winter at that time it is altogether dark.
At Christmas-tide it is already dark at five o'clock.
Was it at Christmas-time that Maria Petrovna insisted on tobogganing?
Yes, at Christmas-time. I think, at Christmas-time.
That was when Luka Savich bruised his head.
Come, Luka Savich, tell us however did you do it?
There's nothing to tell. Alexei Naumovich has invented it all.
And look at your forehead! There's a scar on it still!
What are you laughing at? Vaska gave me an old toboggan.
It came to pieces under me, and so I...
He's fallen asleep, my baby. Let's go now.
Let's go, darling, I'll put you in bed.
There you go, my darling. Come on.
Let's go, my sweetie, I'm going to tuck you in.
- Let me do it, ma'am. - No, don't.
- Let me, ma'am. - I'll do it myself.
My dear boy, my darling.
Let's go, my treasure, I'll put you in bed.
There you go, my darling, let me tuck you in.
Put your hand here, that's it.
Don't go away.
I won't, I'm with you.
- Will winter come? - It will.
I'm not sleeping.
Oblomov, seeing his mother, who had been dead for years,
even in his sleep, felt a tremor of joy and ardent love for her,
and two warm tears oozed slowly from under his eyelashes
and rested on his cheeks.
Ilya Ilyich!
Can't you stay awake for at least five minutes?
Olga, I'm sorry, I...
I don't think I was sleeping, I seemed to see everything around me.
Oblomov wanted to tell Olga what he had seen, but suddenly he yawned.
My doctor tells me to go travelling,
but I can't. I told Andrei so.
Sometimes I feel as though I am a small part of a big whole,
as a leaf on a branch.
Then I'm calm and happy,
as though I can hear how the sap runs down the trunk,
how the tree begins to sway, and I sway with it, and I'm not afraid.
I feel its roots, deep and strong.
And if I break away from it, I would be swept by the wind.
Where shall I fall down? What will become of me?
What is it?
Sometimes you look at me like my nurse.
- Olga Sergeyevna. - And what if I die?
- What an idea! - What if I catch cold?
You will come here and not find me. You will come to us,
and Katya, in tears, will whisper: "She is ill, she is dying."
The doctor will shake his head. What will become of you then?
I shall go mad or shoot myself. And you will recover.
Oh dear, what children we are!
Olga Sergeyevna!
I meant to tell you... No, it's nothing.
Yes, you have something on your mind. Tell me!
I can't, it's not necessary.
I'm asking you. Did you fall out of love with me?
No, it isn't that... Do you love Andrei?
Of course, he is my friend. That's not what you wanted to say.
Olga, you don't know all the dangers. It's a terrible path.
I don't mind.
We oughtn't to meet alone.
Oh, go away, go away.
Go away.
Ilya Ilyich!
I will never follow that path,
because on that path people always end by parting
and I don't want to part from you.
I love you.
- Well, I looked! - And what?
It's great!
Mishka, there's a trunk at the door, bring it here.
Don't touch the big trunk, take the small one.
You've probably come to say goodbye. It's very nice of you.
Are you leaving?
I am, as you may see. Have a good time here.
I wish you every success in your academic endeavours.
- It was a pleasure to... - Oh, please, don't start it.
Thank you for your hospitality. Do not think ill of me.
It was a pleasure having you here.
I'm sorry it turned out this way.
Believe me, I'm really sorry.
I do believe you're sorry.
Oh, yes...
- But why are you... - What?
We won't see each other for a long time now.
Yes, we won't. God be with you.
And where's Olga?
She's in the park. Though, I don't know.
She didn't tell you anything? How strange.
No, she didn't.
The baron proposed to Olga.
She refused him, and that's why he left.
I thought she went to you and told you everything.
Katya!
I'm coming, ma'am.
He proposed...
How can it be? He, proposing to Olga?
Wait!
Stop! Wait!
I'm telling you to stop!
A despicable creature! How could he think of it, an old man...
Well, all right. How dared he!
How dared he to imagine that she could belong to him?
What happened?
The baron, that old philanderer,
that bald womanizer proposed to Olga!
Oh God! And what did she say?
She refused him, of course.
But how could he insult her by thinking
that he could lead Olga to the altar...
could hold her fingers in his senile hand!
So he thought about her as of his own!
How dared he?!
- Ilya Ilyich. - Begone!
You know, Alexeyev, she makes everything around her come alive,
she is young, and everything around her must be young and beautiful.
- Get out! - Yes, sir.
Ilya Ilyich, don't be so agitated.
After all, she has refused the baron.
And you said the other day that she loves you.
Why are you so upset?
Oh, my God, she loves me. She loves me, Alexeyev.
She said so herself.
Thank God for that.
Get up, Alexeyev. Now I understand everything.
I said that she loved me, but I was mistaken and she was mistaken too.
Olga can not love me. It's a mistake.
How awful it is if it's true.
Yes, it's true, however bitter it may feel.
Am I any better than the baron? Why don't you say something?
I haven't met him.
No one could love a man like me, must not love a man like me.
If I could strike her by a cleverness of mind or a beauty of appearance.
But I'm only an Oblomov, nothing more.
Stolz!
Stolz, now, is different.
He has intelligence, character, he knows how to rule others.
She loves him, she told me so herself.
She said she loved him as a friend, but we know that this is a lie.
There is no such thing as friendship between man and woman.
And if it's not Andrei, then another man like Andrei, but not Oblomov.
She was ready for love and I came into her life accidentally.
As soon as the right man comes along she will recognize her mistake.
Good God, what am I doing?
If I'm seeing this and taking what doesn't belong to me, I'm a thief!
That's it. I must wake up Zakhar and run away from here
before I fall down the abyss, carrying her along after me.
- And what will happen to her? - Who?
Olga Sergeyevna. When you're gone.
She will get up in the morning and send for you.
They'll tell her you're gone. What will she think?
Yes, you're right. I must explain.
I will write her a letter.
Aren't you afraid, Ilya Ilyich? I'll sit here quietly.
No, you had better go. Thank you.
- I need to be alone. - Very well.
You'll be surprised to receive this letter instead of me.
Read it and you will see that I could not have acted differently.
We fell in love with each other so unexpectedly
as if we suddenly fell ill, that's why I had not come to myself sooner.
Only last night I understood where I was falling and I decided to stop.
I have told you that I love you and you answered that you love me.
Don't you hear how discordant it sounds?
Then you will hear it later, when I am in the abyss.
Think carefully of what I am: Is it possible for you to love me?
Do you love me? "I love you," you said yesterday.
"No!" I answer firmly.
Your "I love you" is merely an unconscious need of love.
I ought to have sternly said to you at the beginning:
"The man before you is not the one you have been dreaming of.
Wait, he will appear and then you will be vexed with your mistake.
And this vexation will hurt me."
That is what I ought to have said
had nature given me a keener mind, and had I been more sincere.
I say this, taking leave of you, as if you're setting out on a long journey.
Goodbye, my angel, make haste and fly away
as a bird flies from a branch on which it had settled by mistake,
and do it as gaily and lightly,
flying from the branch on which you had settled by chance.
- Olga... - Go away! Why are you here?
You were right.
Anything might happen.
A man will appear, whom I will be able to love.
But it will not be you. No, not you.
- Why? - No. No.
I wrote this letter because your happiness is very dear to me.
You have envied me my peaceful happiness and hastened to disturb it.
But I'm sacrificing myself to it! Why do you suppose I'm doing it?
For the same reason that you have now hidden in the bushes
to see if I would cry and how I would do it.
Had you honestly wished what you have written,
you would have gone already without seeing me and torturing me.
What an idea!
Oblomov was struck by this suggestion.
He suddenly saw that she was right.
It was not me you were sparing, it's your ego, your pride.
Yesterday you wanted me to say I loved you, today you wanted my tears.
Your love demands constant sacrifices from me.
If it's not fed, it will melt, wither!
Ilya Ilyich!
Oh, dear me!
Ilya Ilyich!
Ilya Ilyich, what are you doing here?
Olga! I must tell you!
What you said is true, but I didn't realize it.
I was writing that letter...
and enjoyed myself.
Yes, I felt almost cheerful.
My heart was full, my mind active, I was living.
I thought I was suffering, but really I enjoyed it.
I enjoyed my situation, my misery, my cigar.
Oh, Olga, forgive me, for God's sake!
I wanted us to part, at least I thought so.
But I won't bear our parting...
No, I won't.
I'm afraid.
Don't be afraid, it's just a thunderstorm.
I'm afraid of you too. There's a flutter at my heart.
Do you see someone flitting in the darkness, my friend?
There is no one here.
Cover up my eyes with something.
Cover them close.
It's my nerves. How your fingers are trembling.
Olga, you've got a fever. Let us go home.
No, no, I'm better.
Olga... have pity on me... Olga...
My knees are trembling. I'll get ill.
Dimitry, close the doors. A thunderstorm is coming.
Yes, ma'am.
Olga, go to bed. It's late.
I'll go in a minute.
- Katya! - Yes, ma'am?
Close the windows. A thunderstorm is coming.
Yes, ma'am.
Ilya Ilyich!
What's the matter? Why aren't you at home?
Zakhar and I ran throughout the park. Such a horrible thunderstorm!
Here, I brought you a plaid. Let's put it over you.
Cover yourself and let's go close together.
I took a big umbrella for us.
Thank you. You go, but I need to stay here.
Good heaven, why?
I've stolen a cup.
- May I sit with you? - No, you had better go.
Go.
Alexeyev...
If I get married and leave for Oblomovka for good...
why don't you go with us?
May I sit with you?
No, go, go.
You're awake, my little one.
- Are your eyes clear? - Yes.
- And nothing hurts? - No.
Let us pray. Repeat after me.
O Lord Almighty, be merciful, O Lord,
stretch forth thine all-honorable hand on your servant
and guard me, O Lord...
Katya! Hello!
Ilya Ilyich! What are you doing here?
Katya, tell me, is the young lady asleep?
Good Lord, it's only half past five.
All right. Katya, do you want a copper?
- What are you saying, Ilya Ilyich? - Here, take it.
Miss!
What are you doing here, insane man?
Have you been sitting in the rain all night?
And you, Olga, have you slept?
So you grudge me my sleep?
No, I seemed to have been talking to you all night.
My darling.
It was raining at night.
It was so damp in the garden, with streams running down the paths.
I hid in the gazebo. And now the sun has dried everything.
Although there's still some water.
Why do you have my cup? It's my aunt's present.
It's only six o'clock, isn't it? Go to bed at once.
Ilya Ilyich, what is it? Didn't you sleep all night?
I'm going to bed now.
Is it any good?
A real gentleman, a clever and handsome man,
wandering heaven knows where all night like a bandit,
not sleeping at home, getting soaked in the rain.
Stop it, Zakhar. Wake me up at two o'clock.
If a servant comes from the Ilyinskys',
say your master will be waiting for the young lady at three in the park.
And don't muddle it.
Why? All right.
I tell you, don't muddle everything.
Zakhar!
So, you are awake.
- What time is it? - Five o'clock.
Why haven't you woken me up? I told you to!
Is it so easy to wake you up? You were away from home all night.
Then you sleep like a navvy, and scold me after that.
You are my undoing! The young lady was waiting for me in the park!
She wasn't.
Her maid was here to say they had visitors
and the young lady couldn't come at three.
- What visitors? - How do I know?
She said nothing else?
They wanted their cup back, it was a present, they said.
I checked it, it was not one of ours, so I gave it back.
All right, begone!
Will you sleep again? Well, it's better than to sit in that dampness.
What dampness? Where?
The young lady and her guests are having tea.
They asked you to come at four to that... whatever is it called?
- The park? - Yes.
Why didn't you tell me before, murderer?
You didn't ask. Anyway, it's past five already.
Give me my clothes!
Andre plays "The Morning Call" beautifully.
Sir!
Look, our neighbours have brought us a kitten.
You asked for one yesterday. Shall we take it?
- Zakhar! - Yes, sir?
I may be moving to town.
- We haven't a flat. - Why, to the Vyborg side.
What's the good of moving from one summer villa to another?
What's the attraction there?
It's uncomfortable here.
Moving again? We've hardly recovered as it is.
You had better say what are we to do with your new suitcases
which Andrei Ivanovich told you to buy last winter?
We might as well sell them.
Have you gone off your head? I'm going abroad in a few days.
Well, I am going. What do you see so strange in that?
I am going and that's the end of it.
My passport is all ready.
It's been ready since last winter.
The next day, Katya came twice
with an invitation for dinner in honour of the guests.
In the evening they were going to see the fireworks,
prepared by Pierre and Michel.
But Oblomov did not go,
sending instead Zakhar to say that he had caught a chill,
had to drink a hot decoction and stay at home.
Tell me something.
We have talked over everything, there is nothing to tell.
Come, how can that be? You had been to town.
Perhaps there is some news? I suppose you read?
Yes, I do sometimes.
Or other people read and talk and I listen.
The other day Alexei Spiridonovich's son read aloud.
What did he read?
About the English, that they'd brought rifles and gunpowder somewhere.
Alexei Spiridonovich said there was going to be a war.
Where did they bring it to?
It was to Spain or to India, I don't remember.
Only the ambassador was very much displeased.
What ambassador?
That I have forgotten!
What other news is there in politics?
The earth is cooling down: One day it will freeze altogether.
That isn't politics, is it?
He first mentioned politics,
and then read straight on and didn't say when he had come to the end of it.
I know that was literature.
Ilya Ilyich, the Ilyinskys' maid is asking for you.
I told you to say I am ill.
She asks for you anyway, she says it's important.
I told her there can be nothing important with our master.
Go and say I'll be out in a minute.
How do you do? My young lady is here, she has sent me to ask.
Olga Sergeyevna is here? Is it true?
Yes.
Make haste.
I have news for you.
Olga, people might see us.
I ran away from my guests to tell you something.
Your friend is coming tomorrow. We received a letter from him today.
How is your throat?
So you haven't been ill? You have deceived me!
My throat is better now...
- Till tomorrow. - Olga, wait!
See you tomorrow!
Andrei, I'm so happy you're here.
Why didn't you come? I was waiting for you.
You never answered my letters.
What have you been doing here?
Get ready, let's go for a ride in a carriage.
But hurry up, Olga is waiting.
What? Is Olga Sergeyevna here? I'll be ready in a minute.
Hello, Zakhar. Help your master to get dressed, quick.
Wait, this is for you. Here, it's neck kerchiefs.
And the powder against bedbugs, it's French.
Go now.
I'm coming!
Ilya, why haven't you written?
I thought you were in the country, so I went straight to the Ilyinskys'.
They say, Oblomov is at his villa, ill.
Ah, you're here too.
Welcome back, Andrei Ivanovich.
Excuse me, I didn't notice you. How are you, Alexei...
- Ivan Alexeyevich. - Sorry. Here, for you.
- That's a seal from England. - Thank you, Andrei Ivanovich.
- Do you have a watch? - No, I don't have a watch.
But I will buy one now.
It's beautiful.
Very good workmanship.
- Andrei, I am ready. - Very good.
Andrei Ivanovich will probably stay with you.
If Andrei Ivanovich stays with you, I can move to town.
This is for you from Mexico.
Ivan Alexeyevich, we'll talk later. Let's go, Andrei.
Hold it, please.
How are you, the deceiver?
Andrei Ivanovich, was he lying down again?
I had only to get busy with my guests and he went back to his sofa.
Why didn't you come? I missed you.
Forgive me, Olga Sergeyevna.
You have grown prettier in the country.
Blue ribbons would suit your face very much.
Next time I will bring them for you.
Isn't it true, Ilya, that Olga Sergeyevna has blossomed?
Do not expect him paying me a compliment.
When we first met, you could hardly talk him into listening to my singing.
You are unfair to me.
I refused until I heard you singing.
You should thank him for not falling asleep to your "Casta diva".
Can it be that only four months have passed?
Yes...
Only four months, and everything seems so distant.
May I sit by you and drive?
Please.
Aren't you afraid?
And sitting in someone else's garden all night?
Or breaking a sauce dish when visiting?
Good heavens, you remember that too?
Can we go faster?
Gee up!
- Olga Sergeyevna, sing for us. - Yes, Olga Sergeyevna, please sing!
All right, but let's do it together.
Why so loud, Andrei Ivanovich?
Here we are.
Nikita, take it.
Olga Sergeyevna, be careful.
It feels so good!
Andrei Ivanovich, may I show what you've brought?
Of course.
Zakhar, Mitka, make haste!
Good heavens, how this child has changed, matured, developed.
Andrei, you know, I...
I know.
- What? - Everything.
What do you mean, everything?
About your studies, your walks,
about the nut bush, and the letter, and the cup...
Oh, my God, how can it be?
Look what Andrei Ivanovich brought from abroad!
Ilya, come here!
Here we go!
Look how Andrei Ivanovich is riding!
Soon the whole world will ride on such machines.
You will need no oats, no horseshoes, no coachmen, nothing.
Andrei Ivanovich, can I do it now?
- Ilya, come on, try it. - Ilya Ilyich, don't be afraid.
I see you're sleeping again. But I won't leave you in peace. Let's go.
- What's the matter, Ilya? - I'm not going to ride.
What are you afraid of? It's so easy. Please.
I'm not going to ride.
It's silly. Everybody asks you to, I'm asking you, too.
I'm not going to ride.
I'll help you. It's such a pleasure and fun.
I'm not going to ride.
Well, Ilya...
Let him be, Olga Sergeyevna, we'll take a ride ourselves.
Ilya Ilyich, look, even I am not afraid.
- Andrei! - Catch up with us!
Ilya Ilyich, catch up with us!
Andrei!
Olga Sergeyevna!
Andrei, wait!
Olga Sergeyevna, wait for me!
Ilya Ilyich, hold me!
Well, it's over?
The next day Ilya Ilyich moved to the Vyborg side.
Olga wrote to him, even visited him once,
but they saw less and less of each other.
Then their relations stopped.
The following year Olga married Stolz.
Oblomov lived permanently now on the Vyborg side,
in the widow Agafya Matveyevna Pshenitsyna's house.
He played with her children, dined, slept,
and dreamed of going to the country.
Stolz visited him, urged him to start a new life,
go abroad, to Oblomovka, but then he gave up.
Soon Agafya Matveyevna became Ilya Ilyich's wife.
They had a son named Andrei in memory of Stolz.
Ilya Ilyich made no distinction between his own son
and Agafya Matveyevna's children by her late husband.
Thinking about his way of living,
Oblomov decided that he had attained his ideal of life,
though it had not the poetic setting and radiance
with which he had once imagined his life in his village.
Seven years later, Oblomov died from a stroke.
Zakhar became a drunkard and a beggar, and kept coming to his master's grave.
Stolz called him to come to his village, but Zakhar wouldn't go.
The Stolzes took little Andryusha to bring up,
adopting him as one of their family.
Agafya Matveyevna was left alone.
After Ilya Ilyich's death, there was nothing more for her to desire.
It was only when she saw Andryusha that she showed signs of life.
But she saw him rarely, only when the Stolzes lived in Petersburg
or rented a villa near the city.
Ivan Alexeyevich, will you please prepare the medicine for me?
It's on the window sill.
Yes, Olga Sergeyevna, I'll bring it.
- Please. - Thank you.
The nurse says Olenka was coughing in the night.
Hadn't we better send for the doctor?
I've given her a warm drink and will keep her indoors for a day.
Play something, Ivan Alexeyevich.
I can't play, Olga Sergeyevna.
I'm sorry, I forgot.
Why haven't you answered your friend Sonechka's letter?
I waited and nearly missed the post.
This is her third letter you have left unanswered.
Yes, I want to make haste and forget her.
- Why? - It's just so.
Andrei Ilyich, the village boys are here,
they say your mama is coming!
Make haste and run to meet her!
Mama is here! Mama!
Mama is here!
Reinhold sends his regards.
I saw him at the bank. He looks fine.
He recovered completely.
He recalled our trip with great pleasure.
He asked about you and the children,
invited us to visit him. I promised him to come this week,
but then I remembered we are to be at the exhibition's opening...
Thou are absolving now the soul of thy servant, O Lord...
Deliver him from the body unto repose...