“Then go and call upon the Mezdrovs, where the talk centres upon one topic, and one topic alone--the arts. Of nothing else will you hear but the Venetian School. Beethoven, Bach, Leonardo da Vinci, and so forth.” “All of them boring subjects!” said Oblomov with a yawn. “What a lot of pedants the Mezdrovs must be! Do you never get tired of running about from house to house?” “Tired? Why should I? Every morning I like to go out and learn the news, thank God, my official duties never require my actual presence, save twice a week, when they consist of lunching with and doing the civil to the General. * After that I proceed to call upon any people upon whom I have not called for a long while. Next there will be some new actress--whether at the Russian theatre or at the French. Besides, always there is the Opera, to which I am a subscriber. Furthermore, I am in love, and Mischa is about to enjoy a month’s leave from his regiment, and the summer is on the point of beginning, and Mischa and I intend to retire to his country house for a change of air. We shall have plenty of sport there, since he possesses excellent neighbours and they give _bals champêtres_. Also I shall be able to escort Lydia for walks through the woods, and to row her about in a boat, and to pluck flowers for her benefit. At the present moment I must leave you. Good-bye!” * In this case the term “General” denotes a civil grade corresponding to the military rank of the same title. Rising, he endeavoured to look at himself in a dust-coated mirror; after which he departed--though returning once more to show his friend the newest thing in Parisian gloves and an Easter card which Prince Tiumenev had recently sent him. “What a life!” thought Oblomov, with a shrug of his shoulders. “What good can a man get out of it? It is merely a squandering and a wasting of his all. Of course, an _occasional_ look into a theatre is not a bad thing, nor is being in love--for Lydia is a delightful girl, and pursuits like plucking flowers with her and rowing her about in a boat even I should enjoy; but to have to be in ten different places every day, as Volkov has----!” He turned over on his back and congratulated himself that _he_ at least cherished no vain social aspirations. ’Twas better to lie where he was and to preserve both his nerves and his human dignity.... Another ring at the doorbell interrupted his reflections. This time the visitor turned out to be a gentleman in a dark frock-coat with crested buttons whose most prominent features were a clean-shaven chin, a pair of black whiskers around a haggard (but quiet and sensible) face, and a thoughtful smile. “Good day, Sudbinski!” cried Oblomov cheerfully.