At length the thing was no longer to be borne; no longer could he resist the imp’s prompting. One winter’s morning, capless, he leaped from the veranda into the courtyard, and thence through the entrance gates. Thereafter, rolling a snowball hastily in his hands, he darted towards a crowd of boys. The fresh air cut his face, the frost nipped his ears, his mouth and throat felt choked with cold, but in his breast there was a great joy. He rushed forward as fast as his legs could carry him, he shouted and he laughed. In two seconds he was in the thick of the boys. One snowball he threw--it achieved a miss; a second snowball he threw--it achieved the same; and just as he was seizing a third his face became converted into one large clot of snow. He fell, and, being unused to falling, hurt himself; yet still he laughed merrily, though the tears had sprung to his eyes. Behind the knot of youngsters ran two dogs, pulling at their clothes; for, as every one knows, dogs cannot with equanimity see a human being running. Thus the whole gang sped through the village--a noisy, shouting, barking crew. At length the lads were caught, and justice was meted out--to one on the head, to a second on the ears, to a third on the rump. Also, the fathers of the culprits were threatened with retribution. As for the young _barin_, he was hastily thrust into a snatched-up greatcoat, then into his father’s sheepskin, and, lastly, into a couple of quilts; after which he was borne homeward in triumph. The entire household had expected to behold him arrive in a moribund condition; and indescribable was his parents’ delight on seeing him carried in both alive and unharmed..Yes, they gave thanks to God, they dosed the boy with mint and elderberry wine and raspberry syrup, and they kept him three days in bed--although the one thing that would have done him any good would have been to have let him go out again and play in the snow! ***** Entering quietly, Zakhar tried to arouse the sleeper, but failed. Suddenly a loud laugh proceeded from the neighbourhood of the door. Oblomov started up. “Schtoltz! Schtoltz!” he cried rapturously as he threw himself upon the newcomer. PART II I Often Oblomov’s old school friend had endeavoured--though in vain--to wean his comrade from the state of inertia in which he (Oblomov) was plunged. The pair were discussing the same subject in Oblomov’s study. “Once upon a time,” said Schtoltz, “I remember you a slim, lively young fellow. Have you forgotten our joint readings of Rousseau, Schiller, Goethe, and Byron?”