“Now or never.” Somehow to Oblomov the words seemed a sort of threat. He approached his dusty writing-table, and took up a pen. Of ink there was none, nor yet a single scrap of writing-paper. Mechanically and at random he traced some letters in the dust with his finger. There resulted the word _Oblomovstchina_. * He obliterated it with a quick movement of his sleeve. Often in his dreams had he seen the word written in letters of fire on the ceiling, even as once Belshazzar saw characters traced on the wall of his banqueting-room. “Now or never.” Oblomov listened to this last despairing call of his reason and his energy, and, weighing; in the balance what little volition still remained to him, considered to what end he could best devote that sorry fragment. Which was he to do? To go forward or to stand still? To go forward would mean divesting, not only his shoulders, but also his intellect, his soul, of his dressing-gown; it would mean sweeping away, not only from his chamber walls, but also from his eyes, the dust and the cobwebs. Yet how was he to take the first step necessary? Where was he to begin? He remembered Schtoltz’s words: “Go to Oblomovka, and there learn what sowing and grinding mean, and why the peasant is poor or rich. Walk the fields, attend the local elections, visit the mills, and linger by the river wharves.” * The disease of Oblomovka. See later. Yes, that was what Schtoltz had said. But it would mean going forward, and going forward unceasingly. In that case farewell to they poetic ideal of life! Such a course would connote work in a smithery rather than life: it would entail a continual round of heat and of clatter. What would be the good of it? Would it not be better to stand still? To stand still would merely mean occasionally putting on a shirt inside out, dinners with Tarantiev, thinking as little as possible of anything, leaving “A Voyage to Africa” unread to the end, and attaining a peaceful old age in the fiat of which Tarantiev had spoken. “Now or never.” “To be or not to be.” Oblomov rose from his chair, but, failing at once to insert his foot into a slipper, sat down again. Two weeks later Schtoltz departed for England, after exacting from Oblomov a pledge to join him later in Paris. Oblomov even went to the length of procuring a passport, ordering an expensive travelling coat, and purchasing a cap. The furniture of the flat was to be removed to the quarters of Tarantiev’s crony in the Veaborg Quarter, and stored in the three rooms until its owner’s return.