Quotations from an introduction to *The Death of Ivan Ilyich* by Leo Tolstoy, 1 of 3
Ronald Blythe
1922- English

The German physician and literary critic A. L. Vischer has investigated the parallel relationship that exists between a man’s total personality and his relationship to death. “Simple, uncomplicated souls,” he writes, “who do not attach such great importance to their own life, are able to accept their illness, because they accept their fate: life and heart have done their work, time for them to go. By contrast, successful and self-assured people are usually at a complete loss when faced with the reality of physical collapse.”
—Ronald Blythe, an introduction to The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy

...the thought that he must die harassed him almost to the point of insanity. The very rationality of death became for him the most irrational thing of all.... He felt he could not live if there was death.
—Ronald Blythe, an introduction to The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy

“Take the saving lie from the average man and you take his happiness away,” said Ibsen. The biggest saving lie is to accept a friend’s death and not one’s own.
—Ronald Blythe, an introduction to The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy

Tolstoy was highly experienced in death, and from childhood onward his diaries, letters, and books reveal how much it intrigued him. His death “notes” range from the detailed studies he made of slaughter on the battlefield to an execution in Paris, from the animallike acceptance of death by the muzhiks on his estates to the greatly varying reactions he had to the many deaths in his own family.
—Ronald Blythe, an introduction to The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy

With all but two exceptions, those surrounding Ivan Ilyich at his end feel sorry for him, “but not very.” Sorrow is a formality and he himself knows it. Nearly everything in his life has been a formality—his outlook, his marriage, his work, and his hopes—and he is hurt but not surprised by the conventional reaction to his tragedy.
—Ronald Blythe, an introduction to The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy

There is the appalling possibility that the “I” upon whom this whole world of intimate impressions depends will soon have to face its absolute annihilation. The sun will rise as before, and the winds will blow as before. People will talk of the weather in the same tone. The postman will knock as did just now and the letters will fall on the mat. But he won’t be there. He, our pivot and the center of everything, will be nowhere at all.
—John Cowper Powys, in an introduction by Ronald Blythe to The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy

Quotations from an introduction to *The Death of Ivan Ilyich* by Leo Tolstoy, 2 of 3
Ronald Blythe
1922- English

Maeterlinck was amazed by the crudeness of Western man’s thought when it came to the subject of his own death. The fatuity and shallowness of man’s philosophy appalled him. “We deliver death into the dim hands of instinct,” he writes in La Morte, “and we grant it not one hour of our intelligence. Is it surprising that the idea of death, which should be the most perfect and the most luminous, remains the flimsiest of our ideas and the only one that is backward? How should we know the one power we never look in the face? To fathom its abysses we wait until the most enfeebled, the most disordered moments of life arrive.”
—Ronald Blythe, an introduction to The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy

How should I fear death? When I am, death is not; and when death is, I am not.
—Epicurus, in an introduction by Ronald Blythe to The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy

Present trends are to make us conscious of death as a mass social tragedy which, by means of compassion, economics, improved medicine, and the like, can be conquered. Multiple death in wars, famines, epidemics, accidents—even as a statistic issued by the anti-smoke and drink lobbies—is shown as not incurable, and talk of this death sends no shiver down the individual spine.
—Ronald Blythe, an introduction to The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy

Ivan Ilyich’s gray tragedy is that of a man who debased life and who tried to fight off death.
—Ronald Blythe, an introduction to The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy

What did you do with this divine asset, Life? demands Tolstoy. You made no attempt to live it outside the meanest terms. You played safe according to the most selfish rules. You took care to see that everything you did was done with “clean hands, in clean shirts, and with French phrases.” You never put a foot wrong and so you never stepped out of your rut. Your life has been “most simple and commonplace—and most horrifying.” The bleak indictment continues with Ivan Ilyich’s opportunism, marriage of convenience, vanity, and limitation, and then, with astonishment, the reader finds himself beginning to like this conventional man and to be sorry when he starts to lose out to death.
—Ronald Blythe, an introduction to The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy

...we are sympathizing with ourselves and all the little hopes and aspirations we have; aspirations which are so despicable or laughable when put into our dossier or official record but which are so precious to us.
—Ronald Blythe, an introduction to The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy

Quotations from an introduction to *The Death of Ivan Ilyich* by Leo Tolstoy, 3 of 3
Ronald Blythe
1922- English

It was an experiment that was eventually to lead him to excommunication as well as to the meaning of death, pain, and the conflict between loving life and having to accept that it was temporal.
—Ronald Blythe, an introduction to The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy

Below him lies a spinning darkness. Agony is created by those above accepting the situation, by even being rational about it. A nonidentifying process has moved across their usual view of him like a filter, and already, with the breath still in him, he is outside their comprehension. One of Tolstoy’s themes is about the inability of the dying to communicate and of the sick to remain inside the old circles of relationships. The very first hint that Ivan Ilyich is poorly begins the pushing-out business, as wife, children, and colleagues prepare to live in a world that will no longer contain him. Self-interest reigns. Gain runs parallel with loss. It is a busy period for everyone and there really isn’t much time for being sad. Afterward, when he has slipped from the ledge and out of sight, empty words are politely muttered in the empty space he has left. There is coarse honesty when the dead man’s friend takes the opportunity to set up a game of whist while viewing the corpse. The widow acts out the grief she is supposed to feel and receives the condolences of those who are not sorry. It is finished—a life that proved to have no meaning for anyone except he who possessed it and who parted with it with fear and incredulity.

Ivan Ilyich is the climax of Tolstoy’s death writing. It also acted as the purgative to his own extreme death fears which reached their crescendo during a visit he made to the town of Arzamas. The incident is crucial to Tolstoy’s obsessional fascination with death in all its variety. Shortly after the publication of War and Peace, when his body had never felt more vigorous or his mind more active, with praise and success ringing in his ears, and when his life should have been bursting with a sense of well-being, he fell into a deep despair that took the form of being irreconcilably opposed to the inevitability of his own death.
—Ronald Blythe, an introduction to The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy

The trip began happily enough, then the frightfulness started to return, dogging his footsteps, catching up with him just when Sergey’s cheerfulness and goodness promised protection. Saying nothing to the boy, Tolstoy took a room at the inn at Arzamas, and there the classic existentialist nightmare overwhelmed him. The room was death and he was in it. “I was particularly disturbed by the fact that it was square,” he wrote. It was full of torment and the torment was irrevocable. What was in the room with him had to be—this was the delirium of it. There was no escape, no way out—or in, if it came to that. He was. Death was.
—Ronald Blythe, an introduction to The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Leo Tolstoy