To Tolstoy’s grave
Published in The Catholic Herald, February 9th, 2025
TheWhere would you go?
To the grass-covered grave, a lovely bump in the ground, where Tolstoy is buried in the woods of his old family estate at Yasnaya Polyanna. We would drink toasts of vodka, read, recite, layer flowers and sit around discussing his influence on the world, including his letters to the young Gandhi
Would you make any special stops?
It is a dream pilgrimage, so no maps have yet been spread or train timetables consulted, but we might also aspire to follow his footsteps in 1881 when he went on his own pilgrimage to consult the starets, peasant mystics, in their hermitages scattered around the Orthodox monastery of Ostine-Postyn. If this is too difficult we would follow his last journey, running away from the discord of his home to die at Astapovo railway station.
Whom would you take?
A vital part of this pilgrimage would be the presence of A N Wilson, who has written a biography of Tolstoy and my wife Rose Baring, who speaks and reads Russian. I have never been to the grave of Tolstoy, but they both have, and speak so lovingly about this place, which is why I now want to go.
You can transplant your favourite pub, bar or restaurant onto the route. What is it?
This is difficult, I have dozens and dozens of favourite bars and restaurants scattered all over the world but right at the moment, the memory of last Friday's lunch is the winner. I have been advised to do more ‘listening’ by my daughters so took one of them off to an outside table at a tiny, family run restaurant overlooking an old canal that threads its way through North London, no reservations, no hurry, with a throng of beggars, joggers, prams and byclists all adding to the animated backdrop of coots, moorhens, swans and old canal boats. In a week it closes down over the four winter months.
Camp under the stars or find a church hall to sleep in?
Always look up to the stars, even if you need to lie in a gutter. I am also empowered by my father, who was trained (from age ten) in the Royal Navy, and was of that last generation trained as a traditional navigator, so he had a fabulous, intimate knowledge of the stars. He also encouraged us at an early age to go on night walks, so that we would feel at home in the dark.
Which books would you take with you?
I have just read Tolstoy’s Confessions, which is a fascinating but melancholic ramble through faith, philosophy and religion. I think the pilgrimage would need to engage with this book, plus his Criticism of Dogmatic Theology, The Four Gospels Harmonised and What I Believe.
What spiritual text would you ponder as you walked?
A N Wilson is a walking library of recondite knowledge and spiritual quests, so we would listen as we walked. But as a backup, I would travel with the Gospel of St Thomas, and Tarif Khalidi’s The Muslim Jesus, Sayings and Stories in Islamic Literature, so our very discordant group (my wife is a psychotherapist trained in the Freudian tradition) could make notes and draw parallels.
What’s your go-to prayer?
I watched my father die, as my mother (Scots Protestant by birth, but in all practical matters a pagan) held him in her arms whilst my Roman Catholic sister (in all practical matters a pagan) chanted Hail Mary Full of Grace throughout the night.
What’s the sing-along to keep everyone’s spirits up?
I am almost tone deaf and have always felt isolated by communal singing, so I will leave this entirely up to my companions, who from the experience of a previous holiday in Cornwall, have powerful, tuneful voices and astonishing memories.
You’re allowed one luxury – what is it?
Vodka, fur hats and layers and layers of coats are a necessity in Russia, not a luxury, but a cunningly designed backpack that contains a samovar for the impromptu brewing of tea would be useful.
What would you miss most about ordinary life?
I am very fond of a slow start, and be they ever so luxurious, I have never yet found a hotel that can give you as good a breakfast as you can make at home.