The proposal
Storyboard Text
- Excuse my interrupting you. You say, “my Oxen Meadows”. But are they yours?
- Yes, mine.
- What are you talking about? Oxen Meadows are ours, not yours!
- No, mine, honoured Natalya Stepanovna.
- How? I’m speaking of those Oxen Meadows which are wedged in between your birchwoods and the Burnt Marsh.
- Well, I never knew that before. How do you make that out?
- Yes, yes… they’re ours.
- No, you’re mistaken, honoured Natalya Stepanovna, they’re mine.
- Just think, Ivan Vassilevitch! How long have they been yours?
- How long? As long as I can remember.
- Really, you won’t get me to believe that!
- But you can see from the documents, honoured Natalya Stepanovna. Oxen Meadows, it’s true, were once the subject of dispute, but now everybody knows that they are mine. There’s nothing to argue about. You see my aunt’s grandmother gave the free use of these Meadows in perpetuity to the peasants of your father’s grandfather, in return for which they were to make bricks for her. The peasants belonging to your father’s grandfather had the free use of the Meadows for forty years, and had got into the habit of regarding them as their own, when it happened that…
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