A Gentleman in Moscow

by Amor Towles

Vyshinsky: And your occupation? Rostov: It is not the business of gentlemen to have occupations. Vyshinsky: Very well then. How do you spend your time? Rostov: Dining, discussing. Reading, reflecting. The usual rigmarole.

Rostov: I have lived under the impression that a man’s purpose is known only to God. Ignatov: Indeed. How convenient that must have been for you.

“A king fortifies himself with a castle,” observed the Count, “a gentleman with a desk.”

Arriving late, thought the Count with a sigh. What a delicacy of youth.

Taking a seat at the foot of the bed, the Countess expressed a measure of sympathy: “There is nothing pleasant to be said about losing,” she began, “and the Obolensky boy is a pill. But, Sasha, my dear, why on earth would you give him the satisfaction?”

It is part of the human experience that we are constantly gripping a good fellow by the shoulders and wishing him well, taking comfort from the notion that we will hear word of him soon enough.

For eventually, we come to hold our dearest possessions more closely than we hold our friends.

But, of course, a thing is just a thing.

if a man does not master his circumstances then he is bound to be mastered by them.

But imagining what might happen if one’s circumstances were different was the only sure route to madness.

“I am sorry to say, Konstantin, that my days of poetry are behind me.” “If your days of poetry are behind you, Count Rostov, then it is we who are sorry.”

For rather than being tools of self-discovery, mirrors tended to be tools of self-deceit.

The Count took pride in wearing a well-tailored jacket; but he took greater pride in knowing that a gentleman’s presence was best announced by his bearing, his remarks, and his manners. Not by the cut of his coat.

When the Count took his seat with a newspaper in hand—the international symbol of dining alone—the chap didn’t bother to clear the second setting; when the Count closed his menu and placed it beside his plate—the international symbol of readiness to order—the chap needed to be beckoned with a wave of the hand; and when the Count ordered the okroshka and filet of sole, the chap asked if he might like a glass of Sauterne. A perfect suggestion, no doubt, if only the Count had ordered foie gras!

Apparently, for all their powers of invention, the Russian masters could not come up with a better plot device than two central characters resolving a matter of conscience by means of pistols at thirty-two paces.”

For pomp is a tenacious force.

“If only I were there and she were here,” she sighed. And there, thought the Count, was a suitable plaint for all mankind.

Could one possibly accuse him of nostalgia or idleness, of wasting his time simply because he had read the story two or three times before?

“It is the business of the times to change, Mr. Halecki. And it is the business of gentlemen to change with them.”

For the times do, in fact, change. They change relentlessly. Inevitably. Inventively. And as they change, they set into bright relief not only outmoded honorifics and hunting horns, but silver summoners and mother-of-pearl opera glasses and all manner of carefully crafted things that have outlived their usefulness.

And though the Count’s days of romancing were behind him, it goes against the nature of even the well-meaning gentleman to recommend that lovely young ladies leave his company on the basis of hypotheses.

And while the Count was known in all the salons of the capital as one who could be counted on for his wit, intelligence, and charm, Mikhail was known hardly anywhere as one who preferred to read in his room rather than fritter away the evening on frivolous conversations.

But Fate would not have the reputation it has if it simply did what it seemed it would do.

It was at Idlehour in 1910 that Mishka first witnessed the Rostovs’ long-standing tradition—of gathering on the tenth anniversary of a family member’s death to raise a glass of Châteauneuf-du-Pape.

In the Age of Bronze, when a canny few discovered the science of metallurgy, how long did it take for them to fashion coins, crowns, and swords? That unholy trinity to which the common man was enslaved for the next one thousand years.”

There would be songs that emptied your glass and called you to your feet.

And at the center of every table—whether it was hosted by the high or the humble—was a serving of caviar, for it is the genius of this particular delicacy that it may be enjoyed by the ounce or the pound.

“But when we return to Moscow in January, I shall be starting school.” “You don’t seem very excited by the prospect.” “I fear it will be dreadfully dull,” she admitted, “and positively overrun with children.”

“The only difference between everybody and nobody is all the shoes.”

For centuries champagne has been used to launch marriages and ships. Most assume this is because the drink is so intrinsically celebratory; but, in fact, it is used at the onset of these dangerous enterprises because it so capably boosts one’s resolve.

It is the mark of a fine chess player to tip over his own king when he sees that defeat is inevitable, no matter how many moves remain in the game.

“It is a sad but unavoidable fact of life,” he began, “that as we age our social circles grow smaller. Whether from increased habit or diminished vigor, we suddenly find ourselves in the company of just a few familiar faces. So I view it as an incredible stroke of good fortune at this stage in my life to have found such a fine new friend.”

Young love, thought the Count with a smile. There is nothing novaya about it.

the wise man celebrates what he can.

the virtues of withholding judgment.

For that matter, what can a first impression tell us about anyone?

By their very nature, human beings are so capricious, so complex, so delightfully contradictory, that they deserve not only our consideration, but our reconsideration—and our unwavering determination to withhold our opinion until we have engaged with them in every possible setting at every possible hour.

Now, when a man has been underestimated by a friend, he has some cause for taking offense—since it is our friends who should overestimate our capacities.

The Countess was of a mind that dinner should provide one with respite from life’s trials and tribulations. Thus, she could not countenance discussions of religion, politics, or personal sorrows at her table.

But as the Countess Rostova liked to remark: If patience wasn’t so easily tested, then it would hardly be a virtue. . . .

Yes, a bottle of wine was the ultimate distillation of time and place; a poetic expression of individuality itself.

we must all eventually adopt a fundamental framework, some reasonably coherent system of causes and effects that will help us make sense not simply of momentous events, but of all the little actions and interactions that constitute our daily lives—be they deliberate or spontaneous, inevitable or unforeseen.

For one last time, the Count looked out upon that city that was and wasn’t his.

That sense of loss is exactly what we must anticipate, prepare for, and cherish to the last of our days; for it is only our heartbreak that finally refutes all that is ephemeral in love.

Nina Kulikova always was and would be a serious soul in search of serious ideas to be serious about.

And even if she is single-minded to a fault, you must trust that life will find her in time. For eventually, it finds us all.”

“No. There are many reasons for ordering a particular bottle of wine. And memories of home are among the best.”

Like the American correspondents, jazz seemed a naturally gregarious force—one that was a little unruly and prone to say the first thing that popped into its head, but generally of good humor and friendly intent.

mirabile dictu,

And when he set the four knives in motion, Emile leaned back in his chair and with a tear in his eye watched as his trusted blade tumbled effortlessly through space, feeling that this moment, this hour, this universe could not be improved upon.