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Updated: May 24, 2025
The Persian did not understand, but he gave a smile, and said: "Goot, monsieur . . . goot . . . . ." Half-an-hour later the mayor was slapping the Persian, first on the knee and then on the shoulder, and saying: "Kompreney? Vwee? As lord mayor and municipalais I suggest that you should take a little promenage . . . kompreney? Promenage."
Downstairs near the door leading to the restaurant of the 'Japan, Kutsyn reflected that it would not be amiss to entertain the Persian. He stopped and indicating the tables, said: "By Russian custom it wouldn't be amiss . . . puree, entrekot, champagne and so on, kompreney."
And Kutsyn tried to recall the foreign words he had picked up from the newspapers. "I am the mayor of the town," he muttered. "That is the lord mayor . . . municipalais . . . Vwee? Kompreney?" He wanted to express his social position in words or in gesture, and did not know how.
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