Count Tolstoy is Missing
By: Richard J. Goodrich
Tags: Russia, History, Books, Literature, Tolstoy

Tolstoy’s disappearance fit well with his growing eccentricity and his ascetic inclinations. Although a wealthy man, supported by his international literary success, Tolstoy spent his final years simplifying his life. He lived in a peasant’s hut on his estate, refusing the comforts of his mansion. He embraced rustic simplicity, wearing the rough clothing of Russian peasants while he farmed his lands with antiquated equipment. In every way, he tried to emulate the downtrodden and dispossessed of his country.

Tolstoy’s concern for the peasantry may have been responsible for his desire to abandon family and comfortable surroundings in his final days. Some newspapers reported that he had fallen out with his second oldest son, Ilya, who had been selected to administer the count’s property. Ilya had immediately attempted to increase the profitability of the estate, pressuring the peasants to pay higher rents for the land they farmed. This distressed the author, and, after falling out with his son and wife, he chose to spend his final moments far from home and hearth.

Tolstoy at home, 1897. Library of Congress, Public Domain.

It was later learned that he and his personal physician, Doctor Makovetsky, had departed on October 10, taking seats in the third class compartment of a train bound for the Tula District, south of Moscow. Tolstoy’s daughter, Alexandra, conspired in the pair’s escape. Tolstoy took the equivalent of $17 in rubles with him; Alexandra ensured that the doctor carried a much more substantial bankroll.

Tolstoy hoped to spend a week visiting his sister, Maria, who was a nun in the ancient convent at Shamardino. On his way to her convent, the author stopped at the monastery of Optina. In 1901, after the publication of his final book, Resurrection, the Russian Orthodox church had expelled Tolstoy from the ranks of the faithful. Uncertain of his reception, the elderly author announced his arrival at Optina by saying, “I am the excommunicated and anathematized Leo Tolstoy. Is there any objection to my stay here?”

The monastery’s abbot replied, “It is both a duty and a pleasure to offer you shelter.”

Tolstoy and an elderly monk spent a day in spiritual conversation. A day later, the author and his physician continued to Shamardino. Tolstoy’s intention of an extended stay was foiled when the author was recognized and news of his presence leaked to the world.

Joined by his daughter, Alexandra, Tolstoy and Doctor Makovetsky attempted again to throw the world off their tracks. Tolstoy announced that he was heading for the house he kept in Moscow. He then surreptitiously inserted himself into the third class compartment of a train heading south toward the Caucasus.

Jammed among the peasants in an overheated carriage, Tolstoy spiked a fever. Makovetsky, monitoring the author’s condition, decided that it would be suicidal to continue. He forced the author and Alexandra to disembark at Astapova, an obscure station on the train line. It would be stretching the facts to call Astapova a town: it only possessed a handful of peasant huts. There was no hospital, so Tolstoy was lodged in the railroad station master’s home.

The media immediately descended on the tiny, backwater town. Newspaper reporters, magazine writers, and a handful of cameramen intent on filming the author’s dying moments, poured off arriving trains and ringed the tiny house where the author lay. Alexandra, acting as official spokeswoman for her father, assured the media that Tolstoy was in no immediate danger: he was suffering from a relapse of bronchitis, a high fever, and an inflammation of the lower lobe of his left lung. Doctor Makovetsky was convinced that he would quickly recover. There was no need for the world’s press to keep a vigil like expectant jackals.

Please leave, she begged the paparazzi.

They paid no attention to her request.

Tolstoy’s wife, Sofia, arrived in Astapova. It was not a pleasant reunions. An argument between the couple, reported the newspapers, had prompted Tolstoy’s desire to flee. Sofia, long-tried by her husband’s fascination with poverty and the simply life of the peasantry, had snapped when he had announced his intention to renounce the copyrights on his literary works. The royalties produced by his copyrights represented a major source of the family’s income. Sofia despaired when Tolstoy suggested that he no longer wished to profit from his writing. They had argued, and, in response, Tolstoy had abandoned his wife and family.

In Astapova, Sofia begged her husband to return to their estate, where he could receive the finest care and convalesce in comfort. She offered to charter a special train to carry him back to Yasnaya Polyana. Tolstoy refused. His condition wavered between hopeless and hopeful. On November 17, the Russian newspapers reported that he had died; hours later they printed retractions: Tolstoy was alive and his fever had returned to normal. Unfortunately, by the time the premature death notice was corrected, newspapers around the world had already printed Tolstoy’s obituary.

The newsmen continued their uncomfortable vigil in Astapova. According to the New York Times, The correspondents “have not been able to obtain indoor sleeping quarters or a place to eat. The only telegraph facilities are furnished by the operator of the flag station, and they are completely inadequate.” Several railroad carriages were parked on a siding next to the station, offering the only shelter from the cold winter snow. The newsmen packed inside the cold train cars, waiting for something to happen.

The reports issuing from this harried band of correspondents were not optimistic. Tolstoy’s fever had declined, but his heart appeared to be failing. The doctors, while unready to concede defeat, grew pessimistic.