He would have liked to go to his father at once, but at first he agreed with the others that the old man might be extremely annoyed to see that one of his sons had discovered his hiding place. In the end, he decided to take the risk and pushed open the door. A kerosene- lamp lighted the half-empty room. On a narrow iron bed against the far wall lay a thin shape with a waxen face and white beard; eyes closcd, nostrils pinched, the patient was breathing jerkily. Dr. Makovitsky whispered that Sergey was there. Tolstoy opened his eyes, an expression of animal fear crossed his face and, as his son kissed his hand, he asked:
"How did you find out I was here? How did you find me?"
"As 1 was passing through Gorbachcvo I happened to meet the
conductor of the car you were in," answered Sergey. "lie told me where you had got off."11
This fib calmcd the sick man's fears. He wanted to know what was happening in the family. Sergey told him that he had come from Moscow (which was true), that his mother had not left Yasnaya Polyana (which was false), that a doctor and nurse were taking care of her (which was true) and that she seemed completely reconciled to the situation (which was false). When his son had left the room, Tolstoy said to Sasha:
"I was terribly happy to see him. He . . . he kissed my handl"
He burst into sobs.
A little before midnight the train bringing the rest of the family entered the station. Dr. Makovitsky rushed onto the platform to tell the countess she must not comc into the house. Sasha stood with her forehead pressed anxiously against the window frame; through the black mist punctured by blurred points of light, she made out her mother's stooped figure, leaning on one of her sons. Mute phantoms gesticulated behind the pane for a long time, then the entire group drifted away and melted into the night.
Dr. Makovitsky returned and triumphantly reassured Chertkov, Sonya, Sergeyenko and Varvara Fcokritova, the true Tolstoyans, the qualified guardians of the master's thought and life: duly sermonized, the family had agreed that it would indeed be dangerous to allow the countcss to approach her husband. Sonya herself had accepted the harsh decree. Her special train had been put on a siding and the passengers were preparing to stay in it, for want of any other accommodation. They would remain as long as necessary but would not try to see the sick man.
On the morning of November 3, Dr. Nikitin arrived from Moscow, examined Tolstoy and said his pulse was weak and his bronchia inflamed, but his temperature had gone down to below normal and all hope was not lost. Suddenly reanimated, the old man joked with the doctor, explained his art of living to him and demanded permission to get up as soon as possible and continue his journey. Upon hearing that he would have to stay in bed for two or three weeks, he bccamc gloomy again.
Now and then, Tolstoy's sons came prowling around the forbidden house like pariahs. 'Iliey knocked at the window, Sasha opened the transom and gave them a whispered account of their father's condition. Then they went back to their mother, who was raving with grief in her blue first-class railroad car on the siding. If only the doctors had forbidden ewryone to see her husband! But there was a positive proccs-
sion of outsiders filing in and out of his room: Chertkov, Goldenweiser, Gorbunov the publisher . . . The last two had just arrived and Tolstoy had asked to see them at once. He scolded the pianist for canceling a concert to come to his bedside:
"When the muzhik is plowing his land and his father is dying, he does not leave the field," lie said. "The concert is your land, and so you must plow it."
Then, turning to Gorbunov, who was publishing the Intermediary series:
"We arc united not only by work, but also by love."
"All the work we have done together is filled with love," replied Gorbunov. "May God grant that you and I may continue our fight for the good cause."
"You, yes, but it's over for mc," whispered Tolstoy.
lie went on to speak of the next volumes in the scries, and in particular of the final chapters of his work The Ways of Life. But his voice was growing weak. Gorbunov withdrew to let him rest; instead of resting, however, Tolstoy summoned, in rapid succession, Sasha, Varvara Feok- ritova, Chertkov, Dr. Nikitin. He thought he saw Sonya spying on him behind the glass-paned bedroom door:
"I clearly made out two women's faces watching me from behind the glass."
To pacify him they had to put a blanket over the door. 'Then began a phase of feverish intellectual activity; he had the papers and his letters read to him, and outlined replies to each correspondent. He dictated a letter to Chertkov in English, for his translator Aylmcr Maude, and a telegram to his sons, not knowing they were at Astapovo: "Condition improved, but heart so weak that meeting with Maman would be dangerous."
"You understand," he said to Chertkov, "if she wants to see me I can't refuse, but I know the encounter will 1)C fatal for mc."
Delighted with this definite statement, Sasha transmitted the message to her mother, whom she found furious with the entire world and 'lacking in any feeling of repentance."
"Does he know I tried to drown myself?" the poor woman demanded.
"Yes, he knows." "Well?"
"He said that if you committed suicide it would grieve him greatly, but he would not consider himself responsible because he could not have actcd any differently."
"I had to come running out here in a train that cost five hundred rubles!" exclaimed Sonya.
She poured out a torrent of reproach against her husband, affirming that he was a monster but that she would never leave him again if he got well.
That day she begged Makovitsky to slip the little embroidered pillow Tolstoy was so fond of under his head; she had brought it specially from Yasnaya Polyana. The doctor saw no harm in her request and carried it out, but Tolstoy immediately recognized the pillow and demanded an explanation. At a loss, the doctor told him that it was Tanya Sukhotin who had asked him to give the pillow to her father. Hearing that his eldest daughter had just arrived in Astapovo, the old man was overjoyed and called her to his bedside.
As soon as she came in he questioned her about Sonya. Tanya forced herself to say as naturally as possible that her mother had stayed behind at Yasnaya Polyana. And when he plied her with more questions ("What is she doing? How does she feel? Is she eating at all? Isn't she going to come here?"), she tried to change the subject. Then he burst out, with tears in his eyes:
"Tell me! Tell me! What can be more important than that?"12
Tanya, shaken, murmured something evasive and fled from the room. In spite of her resolute air, her conscience was not at ease.
What made this family tragedy still more odious was the publicity around it. Access to the station was already blocked by journalists. They stopped everyone coming out of the stationmastcr's little red cottage to beg for fresh copy. Sonya, having nothing else to do, was glad to talk to them and, with tragic countenance, related her version of the story. Mr. PathЈ cabled his cameraman, Meyer: "Take station, try to get close-up, station name. Take family, well-known figures, car they are sleeping in. Send all to Tula to be forwarded here." But in Russia it was forbidden to photograph a railroad station without special permission. Protest from the journalists: "We are being prevented from doing our work!" The captain of the local police consulted Moscow. Permission finally arrived, by telegram. The little station camc alive with the clicking of shutters. The rabid picture-hounds snapped the platforms, the crossing gates, the little garden, the snowy, muddy landscape under a sodden sky. Sergeyenko stood guard at the door and allowed no one to enter except the choscn few approved by Chertkov and Sasha. The telephone rang non-stop. The telegraph operators, submerged by the flood of messages, sent a distress call for reinforcements to the capital of the province. In the afternoon of November 3 the doctors issued their first health bulletin: "Inflammation of the lower part of the left lung. Generalized bronchitis." Fearing public demonstrations, the ministry of the interior sent a stream of coded telegrams to local