Letter in hand, he went to Dr. Makovitsky's room and found the physician, Sasha and Varvara Feokritova seated around a table with a map spread out in front of them.
"If we go, we have to know where we're going," said the doctor.
Tolstoy joined in the discussion of alternative routes: Novocherkassk and then Bulgaria, Turkey ... If they could not get a passport to cross the frontier, they could always settle in the Caucasus, in a Tolstoy colony. Tolstoy had brought only thirty-two nibles with him, but Sasha had two hundred. As the discussion was growing heated, the old man lost his patience:
"That's enough! We must not make plans! We'll see tomorrow!"
He had always had a superstitious fear of long-term planning. He liked to live from day to day, like the simple folk and animals whose innocence brings them closer to God. Suddenly, he said he was hungry. The young women had brought eggs and dried mushrooms; they quickly warmed some barley soup 011 a spirit lamp. He ate hungrily, then his eyes dimmed and he heaved a sigh:
"My soul is heavy."
He soon went to bed. But he was too restless to sleep. More and more, he felt hunted by his family. The whole pack, with Sonya in the lead, was about to encircle him. He must leave immediately. Go south, settle somewhere in the Caucasus, as Makovitsky and Sasha advised. The mountain air would be ideal for the girl, who had a delicate throat, lie, too, had a fondness for the region, it reminded him of his youth. He went back to his letter-writing; one to Sergey and Tanya, thanking them for being so understanding, another to Chertkov requesting him
to keep a close watch on events at Yasnaya Polyana and to notify him by telegram in case of emergency.
At four in the morning he awoke Dr. Makovitsky, Sasha and Varvara Feokritova and called for horses and a carriage: he wanted to leave for the station at once. The next train stopped at Kozelsk at seven forty. While Sasha was packing, he scribbled a note to his sister and niece:
"Dear Mashcnka, dear Lizenka, do not be surprised and do not be angry with me for going off like this without a proper good-bye. I cannot tell you both, and especially you, my dear Mashcnka, how grateful I am for your love and your share in my tribulations. . . . We are leaving without warning, because I'm afraid that Sofya Andreyevna may find me here."
Shamardino was nine miles from Kozelsk. The old man and his singular physician set out in the lead. Crowded into the ramshackle trap, Tolstoy moaned at every jolt. His calvary lasted over two hours. The girls joined him at the Kozelsk station with the baggage, and all four took the train for Rostov-on-the-Don. According to the plan of flight, Novochcrkassk was the first stop, where they would stay with a nephew of the author, Dcniscnko. But Novochcrkassk was over six hundred miles away, which meant, at the pace at which the train was crawling along, a trip of thirty hours. Trusting to his patient's robust constitution, Dr. Makovitsky apparently did not consider the idea insane, and Sasha excitedly felt as though she were living a novel. To cover their tracks, she decided to buy tickets that had to be renewed at every major station. Tolstoy, at the end of his tether, lay down on the bench. His head wobbled with every lurch of the train. He could not relax. He wanted to read the morning papers. At the next station, they were bought for him. The news of his departure was splashed across even- front page. He was dismayed.
"They know everything already," he sighed.
Sasha covered him with a blanket, urged him to sleep and went out of the compartment into the main section of the car. There, passengers were reading the papers and commenting on the news. Two young men dressed with provincial elegance—looking extremely pleased with themselves, cigarettes dangling from their lips—were talking louder than the rest. Sasha heard:
"The old boy's played her a pretty trick! It must not have made Sofya Andreyevna very happy to see him skip out like that in the middle of the night."
"And after she spent her whole life taking care of him. Probably her nursing wasn't the right kind!"8
They burst out laughing. But the news soon got around that Leo
Tolstoy was on the train and they fell into an embarrassed silence. Others grew bolder. A crowd formed in the passageway. Curious faces were continually pushing open the door to gawk at the patriarch asleep on his bench. Sasha had to call a conductor to send them away. When her father awoke, she gave him some of the barley soup she had warmed up on her spirit lamp. He emptied the bowl with pleasure and went back to sleep. Toward four in the afternoon, he complained that he was not feeling well. He was shivering and his teeth chattered. Recalled to his sense of duty, Dr. Makovitsky insisted that he take his temperature: 100.1.
The train was traveling slowly, with a crashing and squealing of metal; the floor creaked, the window-panes vibrated; a smell of hot soot filled the compartment; Sasha uneasily watched her father's colorless face. At Gorbachevo, two suspicious-looking strangers climbed aboard and posted themselves in the corridor. An employee of the railways confessed, in answer to the girl's questions, that they were plainclothes policemen. Meanwhile, his fever was mounting, lie was moaning weakly. "I cannot describe our distress," Sasha later wrote. "For the first time, I felt that we had no house, no home. We were in a smoke- filled second-class railroad car with strangers all around us, and not a single corner in which to lay a sick old man."9 Even Makovitsky was losing his blithe confidence.
"Courage, Sasha, everything is fine," Tolstoy whispered, squeezing his daughter's hand.
But he himself was plainly worried. The train had just left Dunkov; the fugitives decided to get off at the next stop. At six thirty-five, the lights of a tiny unknown station swam out of the night: Astapovo. Dr. Makovitsky jumped onto the platform and returned a moment later with the station master. As there was no hotel in the hamlet, this co-operative man, whose name was Ozolin, offered the travelers a room in his cottage, set in its little garden across the tracks, facing the station. It was a common little house, all on one floor, with a tin roof and walls painted red. The doctor and stationmaster helped Tolstoy out of the car, and he went to sit in the ladies' waiting room while his bed was being made.
When everything was ready, they came back for him. Supported by Sasha and Makovitsky, he walked unsteadily, his head wobbling. As he passed, the people fell back and took off their hats. He returned their salute. The stationmaster had cleared his living room and installed a small iron bed for the sick man. As he lay down, his mind was beginning to wander; he thought he was at Yasnaya Polyana and could not understand why things were not in their usual places.
"Do as you always do," he said. "Put the night table and chair by the bed ... A candle, matches, my notebook, my lamp . . . Everything as at home. . . ."
He lost consciousness, had mild convulsions, then grew quiet and dropped off to sleep. The next day his temperature had dropped and he wanted to continue the journey. lie even dictated a telegram to Sasha, for Chertkov: "111 yesterday. Passengers saw me leave train in weak condition. Fear publicity. Going on. Make arrangements. Give news." But he soon admitted that he was too weak to get up. Sasha urged him to be patient, and asked whether he wanted her to notify the family if his illness were to last for some time. Terrified at the thought of being besieged by his narrow-minded, money-grabbing sons, he begged her to do nothing of the sort. However, he humbly requested:
"I would like to sec Chertkov."
She immediately wired the disciple:
"Left train yesterday at Astapovo. High fever. Lost consciousness. ITiis morning temperature normal. Chills. Impossible to leave. Expressed desire to sec you."