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- Druzhinin - Article Oblomov novel Goncharov
As A.V. writes Druzhinin, I.A. Goncharov is a true artist, who has the innate talent of a writer and at the same time a poet, since, despite the realism of his works, they are all filled with deep poetry. It is not for nothing that the words Oblomov and Oblomovism have become common nouns. Thanks to this work, the reader was able to understand many striking features of human society of that time, which, of course, are relevant today.
The author of the novel demonstrates in the person of Oblomov all the ugliness and vices of Russian life. The image of the hero is most clearly revealed in the chapter “Oblomov’s Dream”, where the reader awakens understanding and a feeling of love for the main character. Thanks to the image of Olga Ilyinskaya and her drama in her relationship with Oblomov, the reader will recognize the hero from the other side, as the author of the work wanted.
Oblomov’s bright feeling of love for Olga ennobles the initially unremarkable image of the character. His pure, sincere feelings did not go unnoticed by her. It was Olga, who discovered this love for herself, who got to know the main character closer than anyone else. The very same laziness so characteristic of Oblomov gave this relationship a special purity and childish naivety, and in this case it acted more to benefit the character than to harm.
The revelation of Oblomov's personality through the image of Olga Ilyinskaya is so complete and perfect that other characters in the novel seem, to some extent, unnecessary. In particular, Stolz, opposed to Oblomov, who, apparently, was conceived earlier than Olga, and his share initially had a large role in understanding Oblomov and Oblomovism through the antagonistic relationships of the heroes of the novel.
Everyone loves Oblomov, and only Tarantiev is able to resist the gentle charm of Ilya Ilyich. But he is a scoundrel, a scoundrel, the reader hates him with all his heart. Most of all, Agafya Matveevna adores the main character, but with her love she ultimately destroys him. However, the reader forgives her for her mistakes, because Agafya Pshenitsina’s love was sincere and boundless.
Why does everyone love Oblomov so much? Of course, he is dear to the heroes of the novel, as well as to the reader, precisely as a man of his time, a kind, pure and naive child who is capable of great love, mercy and generosity. He is sympathetic to the reader as an eccentric who, in a time of lies, pride and thirst for money, ended his life without offending a single person, deceiving anyone or inducing anyone to do a bad deed.
You can use this text for a reader's diary
Text of the book “Oblomov”. Roman I. A. Goncharova (article)"
A. V. Druzhinin
"Oblomov."
Roman by I. A. Goncharova Two volumes. St. Petersburg, 1859
The English writer Lewis, not the same Lewis who wrote “The Monk,” which horrified our grandmothers, but Lewis, who wrote the famous biography of Goethe, in one of his works tells an anecdote that is not without entertainment. The hero of the joke was Thomas Carlyle, a contemporary historian and critic, a great lover of German literature and German philosophy. So, the above-mentioned and quite famous Thomas Carlyle, while in Berlin, shortly after Goethe’s death, was present at a dinner with some professor along with a very mixed audience, among which were representatives of the most extreme parties in Prussia. The Pietists sat next to the democrats and the new feudal lords of the new Prussian newspaper, which did not yet exist, with the defenders of German unity. At the end of the table the conversation touched upon the recently deceased poet and became general. As you can imagine, the shadow of Weimar's Jupiter received a fair amount of censure. One guest reproached the author of Faust for the fact that, without using his authority, he did little to serve the cause of piety and morality; another found two famous verses unlawful:
In vain do you try, Germans, to form yourself into one people; It would be better if each of you freely strived to develop as a human being.
There were people who reproached Goethe for his insensitivity to the political aspirations of his contemporaries, there were even eccentrics who condemned his great word: only in one law can true freedom exist.
The conversation was already turning into abuse, but Carlyle remained silent and fidgeted with his napkin in his hands. Finally he looked around him and said in a quiet voice: “Meine Herren, have you ever heard about the man who scolded the sun because it did not want to light his cigars?” The bomb that fell on the table could not have hit the debaters more than this trick. Everyone fell silent, and the mocking Englishman remained the winner.
The anecdote we have now told is extremely good, and Carlyle's joke was significant as a contradiction to the extremes of other interlocutors, although, in our opinion, the wise admirer of Goethe was a little carried away in his expressions. It is not entirely clever to compare such important aspects of life as national aspirations, religious needs, the thirst for political development with a trashy German cigar. The everyday, urgent needs of society are as legitimate as possible, although it does not at all follow from this that the great poet should be their direct and immediate representative. The sphere of the great poet is different - and that is why no one has the right to remove him from this sphere. Prusak Stein as a minister was incomparably superior to the minister and privy councilor von Goethe, and any political parallel between these two people is impossible. But who among the most prejudiced people does not admit that the poet Goethe, in the most practical sense of the word, turned out to be more beneficial for humanity than the beneficent and noble Stein. Millions of people in their inner world were enlightened, developed and directed towards good by Goethe's poetry, millions of people were lent to this poetry, this true word of our century
, the most useful and sweet hours of your life. Millions of individual moral chaos rallied into a coherent world through the magical teachings of the poet-philosopher, and his immense influence on the minds of his contemporaries over the years will be reflected in the entire life of Germany, whether it be a united or fragmented Germany. As a result of all that has just been said, Carlyle’s outburst is completely justified, despite its rudeness. A great poet is always a great educator, and poetry is the sun of our inner world, which, apparently, does not do any good deeds, does not give a penny to anyone, and yet lives the entire universe with its light.
The greatness and significance of true poetry (even if not world-wide, even if not great) is nowhere expressed so clearly, so palpably, as in the literature of peoples who are still young or just awakening from long mental inactivity. In societies that have matured, have experienced a lot and have been enlightened in many ways by the experience of many years, the thirst for the poetic word is restrained within boundaries, which can only be broken by the influence of a true genius or a powerful herald of new truths. In these societies, even strong talents grow old, are forgotten by posterity and become the property of only bibliophiles; The reason for this is very clear - neither stars nor moon can be seen where the sun shines. But in young societies we see quite the opposite: there poets are long-lived, there talent is given all its due, and quite often more than its due. Look, for example, at the endless, uninterrupted popularity in America of Longfellow, a poet of not very great analysis, Washington Irving, a truly poetic writer, but by no means a genius, Messrs. Sitsfield and Melville, barely known to the European reader. The American not only respects these people, but adores them; he naively compares them with the first geniuses of England, Germany and Italy. And the citizen of the United States is right, and the entire young society into which he was born is absolutely right in its immense thirst for every new word in the matter of native poetry. The people we have named are not geniuses, everything written by them is nothing compared to one of Shakespeare’s dramas, but they meet the needs of their homeland, they bring their own, albeit not strong, light into the darkness of the inner world of their fellow citizens, they interpret poetry and poetry to their listeners. the truth of life that embraces them, and this is their best glory, this is their permanent diploma for longevity!
Isn’t that what we see here in Russia? In our unstructured literature, scattered across magazines, imitative and infected with many vices, not a single work marked with the stamp of real poetry will be lost or has ever been lost.
With us, with all our frivolity, even with the temporary fashion of tracing the genealogy of art from yesterday, everything truly poetic - and, therefore, wise - does not age and seems to have been written only yesterday. Pushkin, Gogol and Koltsov, this poetic triad, which embraces the poetry of the most diverse phenomena of Russian society, not only have not faded for our time, but live and act with all the power of a never-dying fact. Suppose for one minute (a difficult assumption!) that our thinking people suddenly forgot everything that the three poets we have just named taught them, and it’s scary to imagine what kind of darkness will be inseparable from such oblivion! It cannot be otherwise: it is not without reason that modern society values poets and the words spoken by true poets, our educators. A strong poet is a constant educator of his region, an educator all the more precious because he will never teach anything bad, will never give us the truth, which is incomplete and over time may become untrue. In times of anxious practical activity, in the clash of scientific and political theories, in eras of doubt or denial, the importance and greatness of true poets increase in spite of all seeming obstacles. Society, in the full sense of the word, directs “its eyes full of expectations” to them, and directs them not at all because it expects answers to its doubts or directions for its practical activity from poets. Society does not at all harbor such unfulfillable fantasies and will never give the poet the role of some kind of legislator in the sphere of its everyday interests. But it will give him faith and power in the affairs of his inner world and is not mistaken in his trust. After every truly artistic creation, it feels that it has received a lesson, the sweetest of lessons, a lesson at the same time lasting and fair. Society knows, albeit vaguely, that the fruits of such a lesson will not be lost or decay, but will become its eternal and truly hereditary property. This is the reason why coldness towards the cause of poetry is an abnormal thing in a developed member of young society, and pathetic idiosyncrasy, a moral illness, is the most disappointing sign. When a man, apparently intelligent, says publicly that he does not care about the creations of art and that all he cares about in society is rank and wealth, he is either sadly mistaken, or he is covering up his own idiosyncrasy with cunning phrases. Didn’t one of the greatest German thinkers tell us: “Art recreates man and, by educating the individual units that make up society, represents the sure lever of all social improvements. It illuminates the path to knowledge and prosperity, it enlightens the inner world of selected individuals and, acting on them, benefits the whole world, which moves forward only with the ideas and efforts of a few selected individuals.”
What is true about the first poets of Russia is just as true about their followers. Not a single true talent has ever gone unnoticed. Every person who has ever written one honest and poetic page knows very well that this page is alive in the memory of every developed contemporary. This greed for the poetic word, this passionate meeting of worthy creations of art is not new to us for a long time, although it has never been written about them. The younger our society strives for enlightenment, the more ardent it is in its attitude towards talent. These days, all reading Russia, with all its business aspirations, thirsts for true creations of art, like a field thirsts for life-giving moisture on a hot day. Like a cornfield, it absorbs every dewdrop, every drop of refreshing rain, no matter how short the rain may be. Society vaguely, very vaguely understands that the inner world of man, the world on which all true poets and artists act, is the basis of everything in this world and that until our own inner world is softened and illuminated by enlightenment, all our striving forward will not be a movement of progress, but the suffering movements of a sick person, tossing and turning in his bed to no avail. In this way, the mass of Russian thinking people instinctively guess the truth that Goethe and Schiller served so beneficially and so diligently during the period of their friendship and joint activity: “Bildet, ihr könnt es, dafür freier zu Menschen euch aus!”[2] If you please and then say that “in our time of movement, fine literature should take a back seat!”
The best refutation of the now cited and still insufficiently ridiculed paradox is the real year 1859 and the literary affairs of the present year. At first, several wonderful works appeared in our magazines, of course, not Shakespearean or even Pushkin, but honest and poetic works.
In all of Europe, where no one has ever relegated works of art to the background, these works would have had an honorable, quiet success, very enviable, but not striking or noisy. In our country, as a result of the paradox just mentioned, they should have immediately faded into the background and entertained the leisure time of young ladies or idle people, but that’s what happened. The success of the “Noble Nest” turned out to be such that we will not remember for many years. Turgenev's short novel was read into a frenzy; it penetrated everywhere and became so popular that not reading The Noble Nest was unacceptable. They had been waiting for him for several months and rushed at him like a long-awaited treasure. But let’s say “The Noble Nest” appeared in the month of January, the month of news, gossip, and so on, the novel was published in its entirety, under all the most favorable conditions for its evaluation. But here is “Oblomov” by Mr. Goncharov. It is difficult to count all the odds stacked against this artistic creation. It was printed monthly, so it was interrupted three or four times. The first part, always so important, especially important when printing a novel in fragmented form, was weaker than all the other parts. In this first part, the author sinned with something that, apparently, the reader never forgives - poverty of action; everyone read the first part, noticed its weak side, and meanwhile, the continuation of the novel, so rich in life and so masterfully constructed, was still lying in the printing house! People who knew the whole novel, admiring it to the depths of their souls, trembled for Mr. Goncharov for long days; what the author himself must have felt while the fate of the book, which he had carried in his heart for more than ten years, was being decided. But the fears were in vain. The thirst for light and poetry took its toll in the young reading world. Despite all the obstacles, Oblomov victoriously captured all the passions, all the attention, all the thoughts of the readers. In some paroxysms of pleasure, all literate people read Oblomov. Crowds of people, as if waiting for something, noisily rushed to Oblomov. Without any exaggeration, we can say that at the present moment in all of Russia there is not a single, smallest, most provincial city where Oblomov is not read, Oblomov is not praised, and Oblomov is not argued about. Almost at the same time as Mr. Goncharov’s novel, “Adam Bede,” a novel by Elliott, appeared in England, a man also highly talented, energetic and destined for a great role in literature, and above all a completely new man. "Adam Bead" was a huge success, but compare this calm, mainstream success with the delights produced by "Oblomov", and you will not regret the share of Russian writers. Even in the material benefits of success, Mr. Goncharov was almost ahead of the happy Englishman. If all this means “relegating art to the background”, then God grant that Russian art and Russian poets remain in such a favorable background for a longer time!
Let us try, to the best of our ability, to explain to some extent the reason for the extraordinary success of Oblomov. Our work will not be very hard work - the novel is so well known to everyone that analyzing it and introducing the reader to its content is completely useless. We are also not able to say much about the characteristics of Mr. Goncharov, as a writer with high poetic significance - our view of him was already expressed by us four years ago, in Sovremennik, regarding our author’s book “Russians in Japan.” The review we are mentioning at one time aroused the sympathy of connoisseurs of Russian literature and is still not outdated, at least we, and quite recently, have encountered more than one passage from it in later reviews of Goncharov’s works.
In the writer who gave our literature “An Ordinary History” and “Oblomov”, we have always seen and now see one of the strongest modern Russian artists - with such a judgment, no doubt, every person who can clearly read Russian will agree. There can’t be much debate about the specifics of Goncharov’s talent either. The author of “Oblomov,” together with other first-class representatives of his native art, is a pure and independent artist, an artist by vocation and in the entirety of what he has done. He is a realist, but his realism is constantly warmed by deep poetry; in his observation and manner of creativity, he is worthy of being a representative of the most natural school, while his literary education and the influence of the poetry of Pushkin, the most beloved of his teachers, forever alienate Mr. Goncharov from the very possibility of a fruitless
and dry naturalness. In our review, which was mentioned above, we drew a detailed parallel between Goncharov’s talent and the talents of first-class painters of the Flemish school; the parallel, as it seems to us now, provides the right key to understanding the merits, advantages and even shortcomings of our author. Like the Flemings, Mr. Goncharov is national, persistent in the once accepted task and poetic in the smallest details of creation. Like them, he holds tightly to the reality around him, firmly believing that there is no object in the world that could not be elevated to a poetic representation by the power of labor and talent. As a Fleming artist, Mr. Goncharov does not get confused in systems and does not rush into areas alien to him. Like Dow, Van der Neer and Ostad, he knows that he does not need to go far for creative objects. Simple and even seemingly stingy with fiction, like the three great people we have just named, Mr. Goncharov, like them, does not reveal all his depth to a superficial observer. But, like them, he appears deeper and deeper with every attentive glance, like them, he puts before our eyes the whole life of a given sphere, a given era and a given society - in order to, like them, forever remain in the history of art and illuminate with bright light the moments of reality captured by him.
Despite some imperfections in execution, which we will talk about below, despite the visible disagreement between the first part of the novel and all the subsequent ones, the face of Ilya Ilyich Oblomov, together with the world around him, confirms everything we have just said about the talent of Mr. Goncharov. Oblomov and Oblomovism: it was not for nothing that these words spread throughout Russia and became words forever rooted in our speech. They explained to us a whole range of phenomena of our contemporary society; they presented us with a whole world of ideas, images and details, which until recently were not fully conscious to us, which appeared to us as if in a fog. Through the power of his labor, a man with deep poetic talent did for a certain part of our modern life what the Flemings related to him did with many aspects of their native reality. Oblomov was studied and recognized by a whole people, mostly rich in Oblomovism - and not only did they recognize him, but they loved him with all their hearts, because it is impossible to know Oblomov and not love him deeply. In vain, and to this day, many gentle ladies look at Ilya Ilyich as a creature worthy of ridicule, in vain many people with overly practical aspirations intensify to despise Oblomov and even call him a snail: this whole strict trial of the hero shows one superficial and fleeting pickiness. Oblomov is kind to all of us and deserves boundless love - this is a fact, and it is impossible to argue against him. Its creator himself is infinitely devoted to Oblomov, and this is the whole reason for the depth of his creation. To blame Oblomov for his Oblomov-like qualities doesn’t it mean the same as being angry about why the kind and plump faces of the Flemish burgomasters in Flemish paintings are not decorated with the black eyes of Neapolitan fishermen or Romans from Transtevere? Throwing thunder at the society that gives birth to the Oblomovs, in our opinion, is the same as being angry about the lack of snowy mountains in Ruisdael’s paintings. Don’t we see with striking clarity that in this matter all the poet’s strength is generated by his firm, unwavering attitude towards reality, in addition to all embellishments and sentimentality. Holding tightly to reality and developing it to a depth never yet explored by anyone, the creator of “Oblomov” achieved everything that is true, poetic and eternal in his creation. Let's say more, through his Flemish, relentless work, he gave us that love for his hero that we have talked about and will continue to talk about. If Mr. Goncharov had not descended so deeply into the depths of Oblomovism, the same Oblomovism, in its incomplete development, might have seemed to us sad, poor, pitiful, worthy of empty laughter. Now you can laugh at Oblomovism, but this laughter is full of pure love and honest tears - you can regret its victims, but such regret will be poetic and bright, not humiliating for anyone, but for many a high and wise regret.
Mr. Goncharov's new novel, as anyone who has read it in Otechestvennye Zapiski knows, falls into two uneven sections. Under the first part of it, if we are not mistaken, the year 1849 is signed, under the remaining three – 1857 and 58. So, almost ten years separate the initial, laborious and not yet fully understood idea from its mature implementation. Between Oblomov, who mercilessly torments his Zakhar, and Oblomov, who is in love with Olga, there may be a whole abyss that no one can destroy. As much as Ilya Ilyich, lying on the sofa between Alekseev and Tarantiev, seems to us moldy and almost disgusting, so the same Ilya Ilyich, himself destroying the love of the woman he has chosen and crying over the ruins of his happiness, is deep, touching and sympathetic in his sad comedy. Our author was unable to smooth out the lines that lie between these two heroes. All his efforts in this part were in vain - like all artists by nature, our author is powerless wherever work is required:
that is, smoothing, attracting, explaining, in a word, what is easily given to ordinary talents. Having worked and worked hard on an impossible task, Mr. Goncharov finally became convinced that he could not smooth out the features we had indicated, nor bridge the gap that lay between the two Oblomovs. On this abyss lay one planche de salut[3], one transitional board: Oblomov’s inimitable Dream. All efforts to add anything to it were in vain; the abyss remained the same abyss. Convinced of this, the author of the novel waved his hand and signed under the first part of the novel the all-explaining figure of 1949. With this he expressed his position and openly submitted himself as an artist to the public. The success of Oblomov was his answer - the reader forgave private imperfections for the pleasures brought to him by the whole creation. We, too, will not be overly demanding, but rather take advantage of the splitting of the novel into two parts in order to trace through both the curious process of creativity given to us regarding Oblomov himself and the Oblomovism that surrounds him.
There is no doubt that the poet's first relationship with the powerful type who took possession of all his thoughts was at first far from friendly relations. It was not affection or love that Ilya Ilyich, not yet mature, not yet alive, met in the soul of his artist. The time before 1849 was not a time of poetic independence and impartiality of opinion; With all the independence of Mr. Goncharov, he was still a writer and a son of his time. Oblomov lived in him, occupied his thoughts, but still appeared to his poet in the form of a negative phenomenon, worthy of execution and at times almost hateful. In all the first chapters of the novel, right up to “The Dream,” Mr. Goncharov openly brings before us the hero who had appeared to him before, that Ilya Ilyich, who seemed to him as an ugly phenomenon of ugly Russian life. This Oblomov embrio [4] is sufficiently processed, objective enough to cover two or three volumes, faithful enough to illuminate many dark sides of modern society, but, my God, how far from the present, dear Oblomov’s heart , this greasy, awkward piece of meat, also bearing the name of Oblomov in the first chapters of the novel! What egoism of an ugly bachelor permeates this creature, how it torments everyone around him, how offensively indifferent it is to everything humiliating, how lazyly hostile it is to what only comes out of its narrow sphere. The evil and nasty side of Oblomovism has been exhausted, but where is its subsequently manifested poetry, where is its comic grace, where is its frank awareness of its weaknesses, where is its reconciling side, calming the heart and, so to speak, legitimizing the illegal? In 1849, with the didactic aspirations of literature and with the extremely limited opportunity to express these aspirations, Oblomov embrio could delight the reader and connoisseur. What thunder would critics throw at him, what gloomy talk would be heard about the environment that gives birth to the Oblomovs! G. Goncharov could be an exposer of serious social ills to the general pleasure and even to the slight benefit of people striving to be liberal without being exposed to great danger, and show the fig to society in the hope that this fig will not be noticed by those who do not like those shown cookies. But such success would be too little for our author. Repulsive and unenlightened by poetry, Oblomov did not satisfy the ideal that he had carried in his heart for so long. The voice of poetry told him: go further and look deeper.
"Oblomov's Dream"! - this most magnificent episode, which will remain in our literature for eternity, was the first, powerful step towards understanding Oblomov with his Oblomovism. The novelist, thirsting for an answer to the questions brought into his soul by his own creation, demanded an answer to these questions; for answers he turned to that source to which no person with true talent turns in vain. He finally needed to find out for what reason Oblomov controls his thoughts, why Oblomov is dear to him, because of which he is dissatisfied with the original objectively true, but incomplete Oblomov, who does not express his thoughts. Mr. Goncharov began to ask the final word on his hesitations from the poetry of Russian life, from his childhood memories and, explaining the past life of his hero, with all his freedom he plunged into the sphere that surrounded it. Following Pushkin, his teacher, following the example of Gogol, his senior comrade, he treated real life kindly and was not in vain. “Oblomov’s Dream” not only illuminated, clarified and intelligently poeticized the hero’s entire face, but also connected him with a thousand invisible bonds to the heart of every Russian reader. In this regard, “The Dream,” striking in itself as a separate artistic creation, is even more striking in its significance in the entire novel. Deep in the feeling that inspired it, bright in the meaning contained in it, it at the same time explains and enlightens the typical person in which the interest of the entire work is concentrated. Oblomov without his “Dream” would be an unfinished creation, not dear to each of us, as he is now - his “Dream” explains all our perplexities and, without giving us a single naked interpretation, commands us to understand and love Oblomov. Is it necessary to talk about the miracles of subtle poetry, about the radiant light of truth, with the help of which this rapprochement occurs between the hero and his connoisseurs. There is nothing superfluous here, here you will not find an unclear feature or a word spoken in vain, all the little details of the situation are necessary, all are legal and beautiful. Onisim Suslov, whose porch could only be reached by grasping the grass with one hand and the roof of the hut with the other, is dear to us and necessary in this matter of clarification. A sleepy servant blowing sleepily into kvass in which the drowning flies are stirring vigorously, and a dog recognized as mad just because it rushed to run away from people who had gathered at it with pitchforks and axes, and a nanny falling asleep after a fatty dinner with a premonition that Ilyusha will go touch the goat and climb the gallery, and a hundred other charming, Mierisian details are necessary here, because they contribute to the integrity and high poetry of the main task. Here Mr. Goncharov’s affinity with the Flemish masters is striking and is reflected in every image. Or, for idle fun, did all the artists we mentioned pile up a lot of small details on their canvases? Or, due to the poverty of their imagination, did they spend the heat of a whole creative hour on some grass, onion, swamp hummock on which the ray of sunset falls, on the lace collar on the camisole of a corpulent burgomaster? If so, then why are they great, why are they poetic, why are the details of their creations fused with the whole impression, and cannot be divorced from the idea of the picture? How did it happen that these true artists, so keen on poetry, who illuminated and poeticized the life of their native land to such an extent, rushed into trifles, sat over the details? Apparently, in the little things and details we mentioned, there was something more hidden than some short-sighted compiler of cunning theories thinks. Apparently, work on details was necessary and important for grasping those highest tasks of art, on which everything is based, from which everything feeds and grows. Apparently, when creating a small detail, it was not for nothing that the artist devoted himself to it with all his soul, and his creative spirit must have been reflected in every detail of a powerful work, just as the sun is reflected in a small drop of water - according to the words of the ode that we learned by heart as children.
So, “Oblomov’s Dream” expanded, legitimized and clarified the multi-significant type of hero, but this was not yet enough to complete the creation. The new and last, decisive step in the creative process was the creation of Olga Ilyinskaya - a creation so happy that we, without hesitation, will call the first thought about it the cornerstone of the entire Oblomov drama, the happiest thought in the entire artistic activity of our author. Even leaving aside all the charm of the performance, all the artistry with which Olga’s face is processed, we will not find sufficient words to express all the beneficial influence of this character on the course of the novel and the development of Oblomov’s type. Several years ago, giving a report on Mr. Turgenev’s “Rudin,” we had the opportunity to notice that types like Rudin are not explained by love; now we have to turn our maxim around and declare that the Oblomovs betray all the charm, all the weakness and all the sad comedy of their nature precisely through love for a woman. Without Olga Ilyinskaya and without her drama with Oblomov, we would not have recognized Ilya Ilyich as we now know him; without Olga’s view of the hero, we still would not have looked at him properly. In the rapprochement of these two main characters of the work, everything is extremely natural, every detail satisfies the most exacting requirements of art - and yet how much psychological depth and wisdom develops before us through it! How this young, proudly brave girl lives and fills all our ideas about Oblomov, how we sympathize with the desire of her whole being for this gentle eccentric, separated from the world around him, how we suffer from her suffering, how we hope with her hopes, even knowing and knowing well their impossibility. G. Goncharov, as a brave connoisseur of the human heart, from the first scenes between Olga and her first chosen one, gave a large share of the intrigue to the comic element. His incomparable, mocking, lively Olga, from the first minutes of rapprochement, sees all the funny features of the hero, without being deceived at all, plays with them, almost enjoys them and is deceived only in her calculations about the solid foundations of Oblomov’s character. All this is amazingly true and at the same time bold, because until now none of the poets has dwelled on the great significance of the tender comic side in love affairs, while this side has always existed, eternally exists and shows itself in most of our hearts. attachments. Many times over the past months we have heard and even read expressions of bewilderment about “how could the smart and sharp-sighted Olga fall in love with a man who is unable to change apartments and sleeps happily after dinner” - and, as far as we can remember, all such expressions belonged to to very young people, very unfamiliar with life. Olga’s spiritual antagonism with Oblomovism, her playful, touching attitude towards the weaknesses of the chosen one is explained by both the facts and the essence of the matter. The facts developed very naturally - the girl, who by nature is not interested in tinsel and empty social youths of her circle, is interested in the eccentric about whom the smart Stolz told her so many stories, curious and funny, unusual and amusing. She gets close to him out of curiosity, he likes him out of nothing to do, perhaps as a result of innocent coquetry, and then stops in amazement at the miracle she has done.
