That morning, as he continued to feel better, her father asked her to write down a few thoughts on God that had come to him during his delirium. When lie spoke, his voice was hoarse and gasping: "God is that infinite whole of which man is conscious of being a finite part. Man is his manifestation in matter, space and time."
Then, worried by the thought that Tanya and Sergey might be angry with him for not having told them of his illness, he dictated a letter for them:
"I hope and trust that you will not hold it against mc if I do not ask you to come now. To call for you and not for Maman would cause her great sorrow, and your brothers as well. You will both understand that Chertkov, whom I have asked to come, has a very special position in relation to mc. lie has devoted his life to the cause I myself have served for the past forty years. That causc is dear to me, but it is my strongest belief, right or wrong, that it is essential to all men, including the two of you. . . . Farewell, try to calm your mother, for whom I feel the most sincere consideration and love."
His hand shook as he signed the sheet of paper Sasha held out to him. He murmured, "Give them that letter after my death," and began to cry.
Then he saw Ozolin, thanked him for his hospitality and talked to him about his family. The obliging man had vacated the two best rooms in his house to lodge Tolstoy and his "suite"; relegated to one tiny bedroom, the stationmastcr's three children were laughing and singing with their high voices. "I listened to that gay, innocent singing," Sasha said, "and it only added to my grief, for the contrast between those glad, heedless melodies and the anguish in our hearts was so sharp."
For a while, Tolstoy was entertained by the tumble and chatter of the children at play; he was about to say he felt quite well when he- began to shiver again. Excruciating pains shot through his head. Ilis fever rose and his cars began to hum. At four o'clock, his temperature was 103.5. Dr. Makovitsky, assisted by the station doctor, examined him with his stethoscope and dctcctcd a characteristic wheeze in the left lung. The patient was coughing and spitting bloodstained mucus. No doubt about it: he was in the first stages of pneumonia. Realizing the gravity of the situation, Sasha overrode her father's recommendations and telegraphed Sergey to bring Dr. Nikitin to Astapovo posthaste. The night of November 1-2 was agitated. Tolstoy's heartbeat was erratic, he had difficulty in breathing, he was tormented by an unquenchable thirst. In the morning he took his own temperature, looked at the thermometer and said:
"'lhat's bad. It's going up."
While Sasha was nursing her father at Astapovo, a doctor and nurse, sent for by Sergey, were looking after the distraught Sonya, who refused to cat. "These strangers only make things harder for me," she wrote in her diary, "and all my children want is to avoid responsibility." However, on November 1 she saw a priest, confessed, took communion and ate, "for fear of being too weak to go to I-co Nikolayevich should he fall ill." That morning she received his letter from Shamar- dino. Unjust, unfair, but even so, it was his writing, it was a little of himself. Overjoyed by this first sign of life after four days of total silence, she replied: "Do not fear that I shall come hurrying in search of you; I am so weak I can scarcely move; and besides, I do not want to use any form of coercion; do what you feel is best. Your departure was a terrible lesson to me—such a lesson that, if I do not die as a result of it, and you come back to me, I shall make every effort on earth to ensure your felicity. But I have a strange presentiment that we arc never to meet again. . . . Lyovochka, awaken the love that is in you, and you will sec how much love you will find in me. ... I embrace you, my dear, my old friend, who loved me once. . . . Well, God keep you, take care of yourself."
The next morning she got up at dawn and wrote a second letter to
her husband, trying, in the intensity of her love, to justify herself for all the trouble she had caused him:
"If I watched through the balcony door while you played solitaire in the evening, or followed you when you went riding, or tried to find you when you were out walking, or ran into the big hall when you came in or were dining alone there, it was not because I didn't trust you, but because of a feeling toward you that had grown to be madly passionate of late. . . . Every day I meant to tell you that I wanted you to see Chertkov again, but something restrained me from giving you any sort of pennission for the second time. And you bccame more and more gloomy and morose; you completely ignored me, you held out your cup to somebody else and asked them to pour your tea or strawberry water; you avoided talking to me. . . ."
Continuing her defense, she arrived at the circumstances that had motivated Lyovoehka's departure in the night of October 27-28. At this point the most far-fetched falsehoods flowed naturally out of her pen:
"As far as your diary is concerned, I had a stupid habit of feeling in the dark as I went by to see that it was still on the desk; but I never made any noise; that awful night ... I glanccd into your study on my way downstairs with some letters and, according to my stupid habit, I touched the notebook with my hand. I did not rum- triage around, I did not search for anything, I did not read anything; and at that very moment I felt that I was doing something wrong and silly. Besides, you would have left anyway, I was sure you would and I was dreadfully afraid of it. . . . Don't be afraid, I won't come to you without your permission; I must get back my strength; don't be afraid of mc: I would rather die than see the horror 011 your face at the sight of me."
She had hardly finished this letter when a telegram was brought to the house from someone named Orlov, a correspondent for The Russian Word, who, without consulting anyone, had taken it upon himself to alert the family: "I.eo Nikolayevich ill at Astapovo. Temperature 104."
After the first moment of stunned shock, Sonya determined to start at once, with Tanya, Ilya, Michael, Andrey, the doctor-psychiatrist and the nurse at her heels. In spite of her anxiety she supervised preparations with extraordinary clear-headedness, forgetting nothing that might be useful or agreeable to her husband. When the travelers reached Tula station, the only train of the day for Astapovo had just left. With majestic authority, the countess ordered a locomotive fired up, and formed a special train.10
At ten on the morning of November 2, Tolstoy, fighting for breath and burning with fever, joyfully greeted Chertkov, who had been alerted by telegram and had traveled all night with Scrgcyenko to join him. The disciple took the master's thin, wrinkled hand and kissed it reverently. They wept as they gazed at each other. Girding himself, Tolstoy inquired after Sonya, the children, his friends, and asked Chertkov to read out the letter he had written to the newspapers explaining Tolstoy's departure.
"Perfect!" he murmured when Chertkov had finished.
At eleven his temperature was over 103. His heart was showing signs of weakness, so Dr. Makovitsky gave him some champagne to drink. Everyone put on slippers before going into the room, to make less noise. Early in the afternoon Ozolin, the stationmaster, mshed into the room in alarm and whispered to Sasha that a telegram had just come from his colleague at Shchekino: a special train bearing the countess and her family had left Tula and would reach Astapovo around nine that evening.
After a moment of panic, the accompliccs pulled themselves together and sat down for a council of wrar. It was decided that a meeting betweeen Tolstoy and his wife could have the worst possible conse- qucnccs and that Dr. Makovitsky should exert all his professional authority to dissuade the countess and her children from approaching the patient. Sasha was particularly fanatical in her determination to keep her mother out: "I decided not to let her in unless my father asked for her," she wrote afterward, "and to pay no attention to the opinion of the doctors or the family." Now she even regretted having sent for Sergey and Dr. Nikitin. Just in case, she sent her brother a telegram countermanding the first one: "Father asks you not to come, l.cttcr follows. No immediate danger. Will inform you otherwise." But it was too late. Sergey reached Astapovo at eight that evening.