A Gentleman in Moscow

by Amor Towles

Long had he believed that a gentleman should turn to a mirror with a sense of distrust. For rather than being tools of self-discovery, mirrors tended to be tools of self-deceit. How many times had he watched as a young

beauty turned thirty degrees before her mirror to ensure that she saw herself to the best advantage? (As if henceforth all the world would see her solely from that angle!) How often had he seen a grande dame don a hat that was horribly out of fashion, but that seemed au courant to her because her mirror had been framed in the style of the same bygone era? 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.

every member of the previous generation. Our elders planted fields and fought in wars; they advanced the arts and sciences, and generally made sacrifices on our behalf. So by their efforts, however humble, they have earned a measure of our gratitude and respect.”

Here, indeed, was a formidable sentence—one that was on intimate terms with the comma, and that held the period in healthy disregard. For

The Count paused. Considered. Imagined. Admitted. “Never.”

with one eye expressing consternation and the other disbelief.

So, as Marina began stitching the Count’s pants—the laying of locomotive tracks writ small, if you will—he

“It is the business of the times to change,

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.

From bells to cannons and back again, from now until the end of time. Such is the fate of iron ore.

“Yes, yes,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Everybody tells me that too.” “Well, sometimes everybody tells you something because it is true.” “Sometimes,” Nina clarified, “everybody tells you something because they are everybody. But why should one listen to everybody? Did everybody write the Odyssey? Did everybody write the Aeneid?” She shook her head then concluded definitively: “The only difference between everybody and nobody is all the shoes.” Perhaps the Count should have left it

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.

Rather than sitting in orderly rows in a schoolhouse, wouldn’t one be better served by working her way toward an actual horizon, so that she could see what lay beyond it? That’s

Well done, lad.

And as she talked, the Count had to acknowledge once again the virtues of withholding judgment.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind you . . . The Count wasn’t sure he had ever heard it before, exactly. In tone it was delicate and unobtrusive; and yet, it had a definitive suggestion of dismissal—which was apt to put one in a philosophical frame of mind.