something,» not in the least expecting that he would sell the house, and that he afterward
took the blame for it on himself. Is that not the reason why he was always so unwilling to
talk about it? In 1871, when I was five years old, the zala¹ and study were built on the house.
The walls of the zala were hung with old portraits of ancestors. They were rather alarming,
and I was afraid of them at first; but we got used to them after a time, and I grew fond of one
of them, of my great−grandfather, Ilyá Andréyevitch Tolstoy, because I was told that I was
like him. Beside him hung the portrait of another great−grandfather, Prince Nikolái
Sergéyevitch Volkónsky, my grandmother's father, with thick, black eyebrows, a gray wig,
and a red kaftan.² This Volkónsky built all the buildings of Yásnaya Polyána. He was a
model squire, intelligent and proud, and enjoyed the great respect of all the neighborhood.
On the ground floor, under the drawing−room, next to the entrance−hall, my father built his
study. He had a semi−circular niche made in the wall, and stood a marble bust of his favorite
dead brother Nikolái in it. This bust was made abroad from a death−mask, and my father
told us that it was very like, because it was done by a good sculptor, according to his own
directions. He had a kind and rather plaintive face. The hair was brushed smooth like a
child's, with the parting on one side. He had no beard or mustache, and his head was white
and very, very clean. My father's study was divided in two by a partition of big bookshelves,
containing a multitude of all sorts of books. In order to support them, the shelves were
connected by big wooden beams, and between them was a thin birch−wood door, behind
which stood my father's writing−table and his old−fashioned semicircular arm−chair. There
are portraits of Dickens and Schopenhauer and Fet³ as a young man on the walls, too, and
the well−known group of writers of the Sovreménnik circle in 1856, with Turgénieff,
Ostróvsky, Gontcharóf, Grigoróvitch, Druzhínin, and my father, quite young still, without a
beard, and in uniform. My father used to come out of his bedroom of a morning – it was in a
corner on the top floor – in his dressing−gown, with his beard uncombed and tumbled
together, and go down to dress. Soon after he would issue from his study fresh and vigorous,
in a gray smock−frock, and would go up into the zala for breakfast. That was our déjeuner.
When there was nobody staying in the house, he would not stop long in the drawing−room,
but would take his tumbler of tea and carry it off to his study with him. But if there were
friends and guests
¹The zala is the chief room of a house, corresponding to the English drawing−room, but
on a grand scale. The gostinaya – literally guest−room, usually translated as drawing−room
– is a place for more intimate receptions. At Yásnaya Polyána meals were taken in the zala,
but this is not the general Russian custom, houses being provided also with a stolóvaya, or
dining− room. ²Kaftan, a long coat of various cuts, including military and naval frock−coat,
and the long gown worn by coachmen. ³Afanásyi Shénshin, the poet, who adopted his
mother's name, Fet, for a time, owing to official difficulties about his birth−certificate. An
intimate friend of Tolstoy's. The «Sovreménnik,» or «Contemporary Review,» edited by the
poet Mekrasof, was the rallying−place for the «men of the forties,» the new school of
realists. Ostróvsky is the dramatist; Gontcharóf the novelist, author of «Oblómof»;
Grigoróvitch wrote tales about peasant life, and was the discoverer of Tchékhof's talent as a
serious writer.
Reminiscences of Tolstoy
7