In a sense the tavern is also a theatre or a church. It is a place of life.
"I am glad you've come," said a friend to me. "Keep your ears open; this is the very bottom; everything springs from here. This is the changing-house of the ideas of the common people."
There is no "bar," in the English sense. On the long wooden counter are bottles and glasses, and plates of sausage and ham. But you do not lounge there and gossip over your glass. The Russian public-house is all tables and chairs, like the accommodation for a smoking concert. But such dirty chairs and tables!
You sit down; you are attended by a waiter. There is an army of waiters serving for 30s. a month and no tips. They are in white blouses, white trousers, and white aprons, and they look as if they had strayed into the filthy hall in their night attire. On one wall is a square candle-lantern with
the word traktir printed on it in decayed brown;
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