ABSTRACT
On 17 November 1910, just before, according to Virginia Woolf, ‘human character changed’, The Times announced that Tolstoy had died (Woolf 1924: 4). It printed two and a half columns of obituary, describing his literary, philosophical and religious contributions at length, and lamenting the death of, in the words of its St Petersburg correspondent, ‘one who was both artist and prophet, and who, in both these capacities, must be ranked among the most influential writers of his time’ (The Times, 17 Nov 1910: 12). The following day, however, the mourning public were surprised to discover that their grief had been premature: Tolstoy was alive, if not at all well, still bedridden at the railway station in Astapovo where he had fallen ill, surrounded by his family, doctors and a growing crowd of admirers. For the next three days the world’s press provided daily bulletins on the ‘extraordinary scene’ that was developing at the railway station:
A few side-tracked carriages are the only available refuge from the wintry weather. The Tolstoy family reside in a special car which was brought to them from Tula. A crowd of correspondents is quartered in the others. The waiting room is converted into an office. The station-master’s home, a one-storey log-house, has been given up to the sick man and his attendants. A few huts now form the remainder of the place upon which is now concentrated the world’s attention.
