grow. No one has ever lived on this land, as long as man can remember. And that means that we take only the fifty hectares which are rented out for half the crop. The land isn’t fertilized, only rye is planted on it, and each hectare gives thirty, at the most forty measurements, which means that at a price of fifty kopeck per measurement a hectare gives an income of ten roubles a year, and thus, from all the land, 500 roubles annually. And that is all. This money is not withheld, you can believe me, Mr. Stakhowsky.”
I shook my head. The landlady of a large estate had a monthly income of a little over 200 roubles. While an average official received 125 roubles. Nadezhda Yanovsky had a place to live in and food to eat, nevertheless hers was an undisguised need, a need without a ray of hope. I, a learned man and a journalist, the author of four books, received 400 roubles monthly. And I didn’t have to put it all into this hole – the castle, to make presents to the servants, to keep the park in relative order. I was Croesus in comparison with her.
I felt sorry for her, this child, on whose shoulders such an overwhelming load had fallen.
“You are rather poor,” Dubatowk said sadly. “As a matter of fact, after all the necessary expenses, you have only kopecks left on hand.”
At this he glanced in my direction very expressively and meaningfully, but my face, I dare say, expressed nothing. Indeed, how could it concern me in any way?
The papers were handed over to the new owner. Dubatowk promised to give his personal orders to Bierman, then he kissed Yanovsky on her forehead, and left the room. The rest of us also returned to the dancing hall where the guests had by now had time enough to tire of dancing.
Dubatowk again called forth an outburst of merriment and excitement.
There was some kind of a local dance that I did not know, and therefore Varona immediately carried off Nadzeya. Then she disappeared somewhere. I was watching the dancing, when suddenly I felt someone looking at me. Not far from me stood a thin but evidently strong young man with a frank face, modestly dressed, although the accentuated stress laid on its tidiness was quite apparent.
I had not seen him appear, but I liked him at first sight. I even liked the soft ascetism of his large mouth and clever brown hazel eyes. I smiled at him and he, as if that was what he had been waiting for, stepping lightly, walked over in my direction with an outstretched hand.
“I beg your pardon for this informality, Andrey Svetsilovich. It’s been an old wish of mine to make your acquaintance. I’m a former student of the Kiev University. I was expelled for my participation in student disturbances.”
I, too, introduced myself. He smiled a broad Belarusian smile, such a kind and frank smile that his face immediately became beautiful.
“You know, I’ve read your collections. Don’t consider it a compliment. I’m in general not fond of that, but after reading them I felt inexplicably drawn to you. You are doing something useful and necessary, and you understand your tasks. I judge that from your prefaces.”
A conversation between us got under way and we walked over to a window in a far corner of the room. I asked him how he happened to be in Marsh Firs. He began to laugh:
“I’m a distant relative of Nadzeya Yanovsky. A very distant one. As a matter of fact, we two, she and I, are the only ones left now, and I am from a female line of the family. It seems that some drop of blood of the former Deinowsky princes still flows in the veins of Haraburda, but his kinship, as well as that of the Hryckieviches, not a single expert in heraldry could prove. It is simply a family tradition. In any case Nadzeya is the only real Yanovsky.”
His face softened, became thoughtful.
“And anyway, this is all foolishness. All these heraldic entanglements, the small princes, the entailed estates of magnates. Were it up to me I would empty my veins of all this magnate
I shook my head. The landlady of a large estate had a monthly income of a little over 200 roubles. While an average official received 125 roubles. Nadezhda Yanovsky had a place to live in and food to eat, nevertheless hers was an undisguised need, a need without a ray of hope. I, a learned man and a journalist, the author of four books, received 400 roubles monthly. And I didn’t have to put it all into this hole – the castle, to make presents to the servants, to keep the park in relative order. I was Croesus in comparison with her.
I felt sorry for her, this child, on whose shoulders such an overwhelming load had fallen.
“You are rather poor,” Dubatowk said sadly. “As a matter of fact, after all the necessary expenses, you have only kopecks left on hand.”
At this he glanced in my direction very expressively and meaningfully, but my face, I dare say, expressed nothing. Indeed, how could it concern me in any way?
The papers were handed over to the new owner. Dubatowk promised to give his personal orders to Bierman, then he kissed Yanovsky on her forehead, and left the room. The rest of us also returned to the dancing hall where the guests had by now had time enough to tire of dancing.
Dubatowk again called forth an outburst of merriment and excitement.
There was some kind of a local dance that I did not know, and therefore Varona immediately carried off Nadzeya. Then she disappeared somewhere. I was watching the dancing, when suddenly I felt someone looking at me. Not far from me stood a thin but evidently strong young man with a frank face, modestly dressed, although the accentuated stress laid on its tidiness was quite apparent.
I had not seen him appear, but I liked him at first sight. I even liked the soft ascetism of his large mouth and clever brown hazel eyes. I smiled at him and he, as if that was what he had been waiting for, stepping lightly, walked over in my direction with an outstretched hand.
“I beg your pardon for this informality, Andrey Svetsilovich. It’s been an old wish of mine to make your acquaintance. I’m a former student of the Kiev University. I was expelled for my participation in student disturbances.”
I, too, introduced myself. He smiled a broad Belarusian smile, such a kind and frank smile that his face immediately became beautiful.
“You know, I’ve read your collections. Don’t consider it a compliment. I’m in general not fond of that, but after reading them I felt inexplicably drawn to you. You are doing something useful and necessary, and you understand your tasks. I judge that from your prefaces.”
A conversation between us got under way and we walked over to a window in a far corner of the room. I asked him how he happened to be in Marsh Firs. He began to laugh:
“I’m a distant relative of Nadzeya Yanovsky. A very distant one. As a matter of fact, we two, she and I, are the only ones left now, and I am from a female line of the family. It seems that some drop of blood of the former Deinowsky princes still flows in the veins of Haraburda, but his kinship, as well as that of the Hryckieviches, not a single expert in heraldry could prove. It is simply a family tradition. In any case Nadzeya is the only real Yanovsky.”
His face softened, became thoughtful.
“And anyway, this is all foolishness. All these heraldic entanglements, the small princes, the entailed estates of magnates. Were it up to me I would empty my veins of all this magnate
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