In recognition of the services rendered to the State by tin's great family, Prince Nicholas Sergeyevich Volkonsky had been granted the privilege of keeping two armed sentinels at Yasnaya Polyana. Day and night they paced back and forth in their shabby uniforms, guns over their left shoulders and shakos askew, between the two little towers of whitewashed brick, topped by buckler-shaped roofs, which flanked the entrance to the estate. Peasants and tradesmen, and even honored guests, were reminded by these soldiers that although the master of the house had withdrawn from the world and was no longer influential at court, all in the government of Tula owed him their respect. His serfs loved and feared him. He gave them advice on cultivating the land and saw that they were decently housed, fed and clothcd; lie shielded them from badgering by the provincial administrative authorities, and organized festivities for them. His severity was proverbial, but his muzhiks were never beaten. At seven o'clock every morning, eight serf-musicians in wide blouses, breeches, white stockings and pumps would assemble in front of their music stands near an ancient elm. A little boy would cry out, "He's awake!" as he went by carrying a pitcher of hot water. Thereupon the orchestra tuned up, and the opening chords of a Haydn symphony rose to the windows of the princely bed-
• The Russian word yasny means "luminous" or "clear" and yasen is an ash tree, so some translate Yasnaya Polyana by "Clear Glade" and others, less poetic but closer to the tnith, bv "Ash Glade."
t One hundred and ninety-six vcrsts. One verst equals 3500 feet, or approximately .66 mile.
chambcr. At the end of their aubade the musicians dispersed, one going off to feed the pigs, another to knit stockings in the servants' hall, a third to spade in the garden.
Visitors to the house, whatever their rank, were made to await the "Grand Levee" in the antechamber. And when the double doors of the dressing room swung open at last, there was not one among the assembly who did not feel something akin to fear at the sight of the little, withered old man tottering stiffly toward him out of the depths of the ages, in a powdered wig above heavy black brows that shaded an expression of sparkling youth. lie speedily dispatched the importunate callers and set off for a walk or drive around his estate, of which he was very proud. The grounds were extensive, overgrown and untidy, with avenues of venerable lime trees, giant lilacs, disheveled ciders, clumps of hazel and birch and dark families of larch. There were four ponds stockcd with carp, a deep stream—the Voronka—an orchard and a hamlet of a dozen isbas. The master's house, built of wood and embellished by a peristyle of columns and a neo-classical pediment, was always freshly painted white. It was flanked by two pavilions. The view from the top of the hill looked out on a calm, rolling landscape crossed by the old Kiev highway, from which the monotonous creak of carts and the cries of drivers on their way to Tula could be heard during the warm season.
Prince Volkonsky loved nature, books, music and rare flowers, which he grew in his greenhouses, and he loathed hunting. He held superstition and inactivity to be the roots of all evil. lie combatted the former by reading the French Encyclopedists, and he warded off the latter by writing his memoirs—which he did standing at a tall desk—by studying mathematics, and by turning snuffboxes—foot on the pedal, hand guiding the gouge and eyes sparkling with glee—in a cloud of pale sawdust and curly shavings.
But most of his time was devoted to the education of his daughter and only child Marya, offspring of his marriage to Princess Katerina Dmitricvna Trubetskoy. The princess died in 1792 when Marya was just two years old.t The prince remained a widower and grew to dote upon this lackluster, ungainly and docile child. However, as he had a horror of emotional effusions he maintained a lofty reserve in her presence. Above all, he wanted her to have a well-furnished mind; in addition to French, which all people of good society preferred to Russian, he accordingly had her learn English, German and Italian. She had taste, played the piano prettily and was interested in the history of art. Lastly,
t Princess Marya Nikolaycvna Volkonsky was bom on November 10, 1790.
her father himself taught her algebra and geometry, with such zest and intensity that she grew faint as he leaned over her, exuding a sour smell of pommadcd decrepitude, and assailed her with questions and reprimands. Well, if he could not make a mathematician of her, at least he could hope to fashion her in his own image, give her self-control and a clear and logical mind and prepare her to sail unruffled through life's stormy seas. From her association with this caustic and domineering old man, Marya learned to hide her feelings; but at heart she remained an emotional girl with a penchant for daydreaming. She cared for the poor, read French novels and thought it natural to devote her existence to the worship of her father. The idea of marriage did not even cross her mind: the prince would never consent to let her go! Besides, she was not pretty. She had her father's heavy brows, and flushed scarlet whenever anything annoyed her. Nobody was interested in her. It was as though the steely glare of Nicholas Sergeyevich Volkonsky repulsed all the young men for twenty miles around. Only one had found favor in his eyes: a son of Prince Sergey Fyodorovich Golitsin and that same Varenka Engelhardt, Potemkin's niece and mistress, whom he had refused to marry in his youth. The two men had become friends late in life and, to consolidate their mutual esteem, resolved to many their children, without consulting them. As a first step family portraits were exchanged, painted by serfs on the two estates. Marya, to whom nobody had ever paid court, was ecstatic at the thought of this mysterious suitor whom she had hardly ever glimpsed, but whose father, begirt with the ribbon of the Order of St. Andrew, and mother, opulent, red-haired and covered with jewels, already presided in effigy over the drawing room at Yasnaya Polyana. When her excitement had reached fever pitch, a dreadful blow felclass="underline" her fiancЈ died of typhoid fever. For her, this was a sign from God: she was not to think of any man other than her father. She swallowed her tears as she had been taught, but looked wistfully back to this nascent love, whose purity and melancholy were so reminiscent of the romantic reading of her childhood. Now, imprisoned in her remote province, she knew she was destined to die an old maid and tried not to let the fact make her too unhappy. After all, life at Yasnaya Polyana was very pleasant. Her father had given her two young companions to entertain her. She preferred Mile. Louise Ildnissienne,® a mischievous, lively young Frenchwoman but, "I manage very well with both of them," she wrote. "I play music, giggle and frolic about with one, and talk of noble feel-
• Mile. Bouricnne, in War and Peace.
ings and deplore frivolity with the other; and both of them are terribly fond of me."2