“Travels in Africa, for instance?” There was quiet demureness in the tone. He reddened at the not wholly unreasonable conjecture that she was aware not only of what he read but of how he read.
“And are you also musical?” she continued, in order to relieve him of his embarrassment. At this moment Schtoltz (who had now returned from abroad) appeared on the scene.
“Ha, Ilya!” he cried. “I have told Olga Sergievna that you adore music, and that to-night she must sing something—‘Casta Diva,’ for example.”
“Why did you speak for me at all?” protested Oblomov. “I am by no means an adorer of music.”
“What?” Schtoltz exclaimed. “Why, the man is offended! I introduce him as a person of taste, and here is he stumbling over himself to destroy his good reputation!”
“I am only declining the rôle of connoisseur,” said Oblomov. “’Tis too difficult and risky a rôle. Sometimes I can listen with pleasure to a cracked barrel-organ, and its tunes stick in my memory; while at other times I leave the Opera before the piece is half over. It all depends upon the mood in which I am. In fact, there are moments when I could close my ears even to Mozart.”
“Then it is clear that you do love music,” said Olga.
“Sing him something,” requested Schtoltz.
“But suppose that Monsieur Oblomov were, at this very moment, to be feeling inclined to close his ears?” she said as she turned to him.
“I suppose I ought to utter some compliment or another,” he replied. “But I cannot do so, and I would not, even if I could.”