From a historical figure to a contemporary figure. From the simplicity of a mediæval choice such as Seraphim's to the difficulty of the choice that confronts a modern.
Nothing in Tolstoy's life is so interesting to me as the circumstances of his death, his flight from home to the monastery, his perishing on a wayside station like some aged pilgrim broken down on the way to Jerusalem. The story is such a beautiful, pathetic, touching one that the station of Astapovo may well be an object of pilgrimage for people who can feel in themselves the poignancies of life, and who are interested in the destinies of mankind.
Not a place for sightseers, however! A dreary journey at the rate of eighteen miles an hour and at the end of it all this little station on a by-line. In the waiting-room are peasants in rags, in sheepskins, in old blouses, peasants sleeping on forms; bundles
on the floor, heaps of bundles, tied-up sacks, ancient
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