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Updated: May 24, 2025
Even I, at this period, was tempted to think that it might be nonsense, but it is a view as good as another, after all, and so ignorant are all of us that no one has a right to say that anything is impossible! After drinking the vodka and eating the "Zakuska," we sat down to table and devoured crayfish soup. Every one became lively. Politics of course, were discussed.
He stood near the table with the "Zakuska," and his eyes rested there. I do not now remember many of the Markovitch and Semyonov relations. There was a tall thin young man, rather bald, with a short black moustache; he was nervous and self-assertive, and he had a high, shrill voice. He talked incessantly.
It was just the moment before a big dinner when the assembled guests, expecting the summons to zakuska, * avoid engaging in any long conversation but think it necessary to move about and talk, in order to show that they are not at all impatient for their food.
"I am sure Uncle Joseph will be pleased to have you in the same hotel. Of course, we know no one in Warsaw. Have you friends here?" "Only one," replied Deulin "the waiter who serves the Zakuska counter down-stairs. I knew him when he was an Austrian nobleman, travelling for his health in France. He does not recognize me now." "Will you stay long?"
His bags, I remember, were very splendid, and I saw the eyes of Uncle Ivan grow large as he watched their progress. Then with a sigh he drew a chair up to the table and began eating zakuska, putting salt-fish and radishes and sausage on to his place and eating them with a fork. "Dyadya, Ivan!" Vera said reproachfully. "Not yet we haven't begun. Ivan Andreievitch, what do you think?
In the dining-room, face to face with the gay Count, some of these odd ideas vanished; so that an observer might have named them material rather than personal. They dined with open windows, taking a zakuska in the Russian fashion in lieu of hors d'oeuvre, and nibbling at smoked fish, caviar and other pickled mysteries.
The "Zakuska" were on a side-table near the door herrings and ham and smoked fish and radishes and mushrooms and tongue and caviare and, most unusual of all in those days, a decanter of vodka. No one had begun yet; every one stood about, a little uneasy and awkward, with continuous glances flung at the "Zakuska" table. Of the company Markovitch first caught my eye.
He always arrived in his tarantass just in time for the zakuska the appetising collation that is served shortly before dinner grunted out a few congratulations to the host and hostess and monosyllabic greetings to his acquaintances, ate a copious meal, and immediately afterwards placed himself at a card-table, where he sat in silence as long as he could get any one to play with him.
Petersburg and had eaten zakuska, brightened his eyes with vodka, talked with a number of charming people of the war that was then imminent, listened to gipsy singers until dawn, careered in sledges about the most silent and stately of capitals, and returned with Lionel, discoursing upon autocracy and assassination, Japan, the Russian destiny, and the government of Peter the Great.
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