DE Weekly: Tolstoy, Master and Man, & Sacrifice
Below is an archived email originally sent on July 7, 2025.
Tolstoy, Master and Man, & Sacrifice
It is often told by people who have had near-death experiences that, in the moment when you think you are going to die, you reflect on your entire life, with everything truly important rising to the top of mind.
I imagine it’s the same for those on their deathbed; in their final moments on this earth, some (hopefully peaceful) reflection and contemplation of one’s life would come to mind.
If you were on your deathbed, what would you think about? What do you think would seem truly important to you in those moments? Staring death in the face, is there anyone or anything you would sacrifice yourself for?
In Leo Tolstoy’s 1895 short story Master and Man, such themes are explained in beautiful detail.
The story follows a single night’s journey of Vasíli Andréevich Brekhunóv, an innkeeper and Second Guild Merchant, and Nikíta, one of his laborers.
Vasíli is tying his horse Mukhórty to his sledge to set off for a neighboring town where he has a business deal to attend to. He is convinced to bring his laborer Nikíta with him for the ride.
As they depart, a snow storm begins. There are two paths to get to the town they are headed toward: a further path that offers safer travels, and a nearer path which is fraught and more dangerous. They choose the nearer path.
After a while, they end up in a town; it’s the wrong town, however. Although they are offered a place to stay the night, they refuse, and set on their way again.
“The storm, far from ceasing, seemed to have grown yet stronger” (18). As the storm intensifies, Vasíli and Nikíta notice that there are no more waymarkers on their path, and figure their horse Mukhórty must have lost the road.
“‘Well, if we’ve lost the road we must find it,’ said Nikíta curtly” (20).
After another little while, they happen upon the same town, having made a big circle with their sled. Vasíli runs into a friend of his, and he and Nikíta stop for tea and vodka inside their home.
After a short respite, and again after refusing another place to stay the night, they have one of the sons inside the house take them out to the road and point them in the right direction, setting them on their way again.
Vasíli and Nikíta have made their choice, and now approach the point of no return. They get lost over and over again; as the storm worsens, they lose the road and come upon a ravine. Exhausted, Mukhórty refuses to pull the sledge any longer.
At a loss for how to get to safety, “Vasíli Andréevich remained silent, as though now leaving everything to Nikita” (34). In a position of pure powerlessness, Master leaves his fate to Man. Master trusts Man with his life.
Rather than pushing on in any direction, Nikíta decides to try and sleep through the night protected by the sledge from the harsh storm. Vasíli follows suit, but can’t sleep: “He lay and thought: thought ever of the one thing that constituted the sole aim, meaning, pleasure, and pride of his life––of how much money he had made and might still make” (39).
Vasíli is not comforted by the thought of his material possessions for long, though. “He wanted to get up, to do something to master the gathering fear that was rising in him and against which he felt himself powerless” (44).
Vasíli gets up and hops on Mukhórty’s back, abandoning Nikíta and searching for refuge again. When Nikíta sees Vasíli leaving, he accepts the possibility of death, “The thought that he might, and very probably would, die that night occurred to him, but did not seem particularly unpleasant or dreadful” (46).
Nikíta’s thoughts when faced with death––the thoughts of a peasant––are much more reflective and sincere than the thoughts of his master, who could think only of wealth and pleasure.
Nikíta reflects on his life’s sins, his family, and what he is leaving behind. “He did not know whether he was dying or falling asleep, but felt equally prepared for the one as for the other” (48).
Eventually, Mukhórty leads Vasíli right back where he started: the sledge, where Nikíta is now slowly freezing to death.
In a swift change of heart, Vasíli won’t let this happen. He covers him with his two coats, and throws himself on top of him to transfer his body heat. Upon doing this, Vasíli becomes joyous. He no longer feels any horror.
After some time, he slips into a sort of sleep, one he cannot get up from. When he does wake up, he is not the same person at all as when he fell asleep.
“He was surprised but not at all disturbed by this. He understood that this was death, and was not at all disturbed by that either . . . his life was not in himself but in Nikita” (55).
“‘Nikita is alive, so I too am alive!’ [Vasíli] said to himself triumphantly” (56).
The last thing Vasíli does in his life––his final act––is to save Nikíta’s life by keeping him warm through the night. The last thing he remembers in this world is everything he used to think of before he knew “the real thing,” that is, the true meaning of life.
As for Nikíta, he awakes, is rescued, and recovers. He goes on to live a long life and dies peacefully in old age.
What grand message, if any one in particular, was Tolstoy trying to convey with Master and Man?
Tolstoy is a master of symbolism, and it’s ubiquitous throughout this story. We should expect no less from the same author of War and Peace and Anna Karenina.
Over the course of the protagonists’ journey, we see them choose the wrong path, lose their way, and refuse help.
We see Master at a loss, Man stepping up to save him, and Master eventually sacrificing himself for Man.
The most poignant symbolism is in the story’s ending: Vasíli undergoes a sort of revelation as he dies sacrificing himself, learning that only in living for others (rather than for himself, to which he was accustomed) can he find true peace.
What is the meaning of life, we ask?
The existentialists surmised it is in our actions, in what we do. How we choose to live, for ourselves and for others, is what comprises the totality of our lives at their end.
Tolstoy has communicated a similar message in this story.
When we’re at the end of our lives facing death reflecting on what we did in life, what will come to mind? Will we find the same peace Vasíli did at the very end?
“‘Storms with mist the sky conceal, Snowy circles wheeling wild. Now like savage beast ‘twill howl, And now ‘tis wailing like a child’” (29).
Thanks for reading.
Sincerely,
Brandon J. Seltenrich
P.S.––
Master and Man is another one I highly recommend you read. It’s short (just sixty pages) and is a great introduction to Tolstoy. It’s also a great example of existentialist-adjacent literature.
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