ABSTRACT
Leo tolstoy was seventy-two years old when he crossed the threshold of the new century. Erect in mind, and yet already become a quasi-legendary figure, was the heroical old man as he moved towards the completion of his career. Old age, which in general plays havoc with the image of a hero, gives majesty in this instance. Harshness has been transformed into sublimity, passion transmuted into gentleness, rough intolerance subtilized into sympathetic understanding. One sacred piece of work still awaits completion. It does not bear mainly on life; it concerns his own approaching death. The last endeavours of this mighty sculptor are to be devoted to the shaping of that death in such a fashion that it shall be worthy, shall be exemplary. But in 1908, when his attainment of the age of eighty is to be celebrated by the issue of a complete edition of his works, the declared enemy of property is forced to take action.
