At first glance, getting sentenced to house arrest in Soviet-era Russia would seem like one of the more benign punishment options, as the communist regime, while famous for many of its qualities, was not known to be fair or forgiving to those who had fallen out of its good graces. So, on the face of it, Count Alexander Rostov has gotten off relatively easily when his punishment for being born as an aristocrat is chosen to be lifelong confinement in Moscow’s finest hotel, the Metropol, starting on the first day of 1922’s summer.
But this sentence is not as kind as one would imagine on the former nobleman, as he quickly learns that, no matter how big the hotel may be, the walls are quick to close in on you, especially for someone as used to living life not bound by any material considerations. And this impression is only amplified by the fact that the world he once knew is being slowly encroached upon by the new regime and all of its manifestations. By then, the shadows of the civil war had finally lifted from the Russian capital, and the new authorities were ready to finally start shaping society in accordance with their ideals.
And, as the Metropol’s intricate machinery slowly dots itself with its new Soviet cogs (willingly or otherwise), the Count becomes more and more of an outsider to the place he must call home. It is undoubtedly a slow descent to what he himself describes as invisibility, but it is not without its highs. There is his friendship with the young Nina Kulikova, the daughter of a bureaucrat who is fascinated by his tales of princesses and duchesses, as well as his liaison with movie star Anna Urbanova, whose attention he first catches by bringing her rowdy dogs to heel, ostensibly due to his familiarity with hunting dogs as a man of (former) standing.
But even these pleasures are slowly taken away from him. Young Nina, through her schooling, progressively sees her thoughts stray away from her childhood fantasies towards dedicating herself to the service of Mother Russia. Inevitably, the Count, a vestige of everything antithetical to her new beliefs, falls out of her favor. With Anna, it is not a question of fanaticism that stands between the two, as the young starlet is in no way insensitive to the charms of la belle vie. Rather, it is a far more domestic concern: as he is leaving her bed after their first rendez-vous and picking up his clothes from where he had discarded them, he spots Anna’s blouse on the floor. Ever the gentleman, he picks it up and returns it to its hanger as a matter of due course. Unbeknownst to him, that very gesture ends up being taken as a slight against the young diva’s ego.
After that, Alexander’s descent towards irrelevance picks up speed, leaving him standing on the Metropol’s roof four years to the day from his initial sentencing, ready for the final plunge. But that is not to be the end for our protagonist. Fate, under the guise of the hotel’s friendly handyman Abram, beckons him back from the edge. As he is summoned to witness the unexpected return of the bees to their rooftop hives, there is a sense that the wheel of fortune is once again going to take him on an upward trajectory. But that moment is also one where the Count’s aristocratic habits and value finally come to pay dividends. For that very friendship with Abram would not have been there to catch him at his lowest had he chosen to look down on him, rather than treat him as an equal.
Up until that point, it is quite clear that the Count had been well and truly mastered by his circumstances. Out of phase with the new world around him, he struggles to reassert his presence in his changing environment. But, as the narrative jumps forward, we find him adapted to his circumstances. Now the head waiter of the Boyarski, the hotel’s high-class restaurant, he has now become a part of the machinery himself rather than simply an observer. But even that tradition is rooted in his upbringing: Alexander shines as head waiter not because of some newly acquired skills, but rather due to his knowledge of how to entertain guests of social standing, which he acquired as a young man at the family estate.
This interest in high-level service is also due to another change in the surrounding world, as the new Russia opens herself up to foreign dignitaries and ambassadors and must consequently live up to their standards if the new regime is to be given credibility on the global stage. This is most clearly seen when he is sought out by a Party officer who wishes to benefit from Alexander’s education to allow him to better understand the thinking of foreign decision makers to avoid any costly faux pas. As it turns out, for all its hatred of the nobility and what they represented, the new order cannot make do without them.
Even his acquaintances of old find their way back to him. Anna, fallen from grace due to a momentary whim of the new leadership, is reduced to cozying up to up-and-coming directors at the Boyarski’s tables. Rejected, she meets the Count in the hallway, at which point the two rekindle their affair, away from the pretenses of ego and standing. As for Nina, her return to the Count’s life happens indirectly. She finds him in 1938, but she is not there to stay: her husband, a loyal party member, had just been arrested, and she needed someone to care for their young
daughter, Sofia, until she establishes herself again. The request was initially made for just a few weeks – but Nina is never to see her child again.
Alexander’s young charge quickly finds her way to his heart. For all his unpreparedness for parenthood, Sofia’s education and upbringing are a fair reflection of the Count’s love for her, thanks in no part to the vast support system that is the Metropol’s staff and entourage, who are all promptly won over by the young girl. After that, the pieces have truly fallen into place, and Alexander can consider himself to be leading a life worth living.
But the drama is not yet over. Eight years after her arrival, Sofia injures herself running up one of the Metropol’s service staircases and finds herself with a dangerous blow to the head. Despite knowing very well that leaving the hotel would mean certain death, the Count rushes out with her to a nearby clinic, only to be disheartened by the clear incompetence of the staff there. But his escape drags in an unlikely savior in the form of Olep Glebnikov, the very same Party officer who sought Alexander’s company fifteen years ago and once a month ever since. Ostensibly there due to his job of keeping track of “men of interest”, he quickly realizes what is at stake and arranges medical care for Sofia, as well as an exit route back to the hotel sight unseen for her guardian. For Osip, grateful for the help he had received as well as deeply understanding the Count’s motivation as a father himself, does not begrudge his friend this favor.
The final act picks up when Sofia, who had grown to be an accomplished piano player, is offered a chance to play abroad in Paris as part of a performance by Russian artists. Beyond the prestige of the invitation, her guardian is quick to see what this means for the young girl. This excursion away from Russian lands is her best shot at a life lived away from oppression and injustice, the very things that came close to defining Alexander’s life. Once again, there is no hesitation on his part to do what he can, as he cashes in all the favors he had accumulated in the prior thirty-two years to ensure that this performance would not only close on a bow, but also on the beginning of his daughter’s new life.
At this point, we fully expect it to be the moment for self-sacrifice at the altar of parenthood, where the Count lets himself be caught for his crimes to ensure his adopted daughter’s safe passage. But that is where the book’s final trick lies. For our protagonist has no intention of taking the fall. Using every trick in the book (to the point where Sofia’s own escape is part of the plan), he arranges a way out for himself as well, not to meet up with his daughter, but to return to his old home in the countryside, with the novel closing on his meeting with Anna in the town’s inn after his arrival.
And it is in this final sequence that we find the true message of the story. Alexander survives his sentence and finds a fulfilling life within the confines of the Metropol not because he’s managed to somehow change or leave behind his upbringing and aristocratic background due to a change of heart or belief, but because he embraces the second chance at life given to him when he is spared the firing squad at the beginning of the novel. He succeeds in finding a place for himself because of the skills he acquired in his youth as well as the connections he built through his natural kindness and loyalty.
And it is in the fact that he thrives, instead of only surviving, that the Count truly gets one back against the system that sought to crush him. As the changing world around him does its best to crush him and rob him of his individuality, it is his enduring belief in who he is that sees him through in the end, allowing him to outlast many of those who wished to see him gone. And while the Soviet Union is no more, the abnegation of uniqueness and individuality that was the Communist regime’s calling card is a tool often used to this day in the oppression of minorities around the globe. And, while Alexander’s plight is not a common one nowadays, we would be fools not to learn from his story: if we do not master our own circumstances, we are bound to be mastered by them.