﻿Vol. 
  XLI, 
  No. 
  6 
  

  

  WASHINGTON 
  

  

  June, 
  1922 
  

  

  ATB 
  

  

  AL 
  

  

  AGAZfl 
  

  

  COPYRIGHT. 
  1 
  922. 
  BY 
  NATIONAL 
  GEOGRAPHIC 
  SOCIETY. 
  WASHINGTON. 
  D 
  C. 
  

  

  THE 
  FAR 
  EASTERN 
  REPUBLIC 
  

  

  By 
  Junius 
  B. 
  Wood 
  * 
  

  

  Author 
  of 
  "Yap 
  and 
  Other 
  Pacific 
  Islands 
  under 
  Japanese 
  Mandate" 
  in 
  the 
  

   National 
  Geographic 
  Magazine 
  

  

  With 
  Illustrations 
  from 
  Photographs 
  by 
  the 
  Author 
  

  

  THE 
  barakholka 
  may 
  not 
  be 
  the 
  

   center 
  of 
  life 
  in 
  Siberia, 
  but 
  it 
  

   summarizes 
  conditions 
  in 
  that 
  vast 
  

   country 
  today. 
  Formerly, 
  even 
  to 
  be 
  

   seen 
  in 
  the 
  barakholka 
  meant 
  to 
  lose 
  social 
  

   standing. 
  Today 
  the 
  fallen 
  aristocracy 
  

   are 
  rubbing 
  elbows 
  with 
  the 
  proletariat 
  

   in 
  that 
  second-hand 
  market, 
  selling 
  their 
  

   heirlooms, 
  finery, 
  and 
  the 
  articles 
  which 
  

   are 
  considered 
  necessities 
  in 
  the 
  humblest 
  

   of 
  American 
  homes. 
  

  

  The 
  nation 
  and 
  the 
  people, 
  with 
  mil- 
  

   lions 
  of 
  fertile 
  acres 
  lying 
  fallow, 
  with 
  un- 
  

   told 
  wealth 
  in 
  gold, 
  semi-precious 
  stones, 
  

   coal, 
  and 
  iron 
  waiting 
  to 
  be 
  dug, 
  with 
  

   thousands 
  of 
  miles 
  of 
  navigable 
  rivers 
  

   and 
  railroads, 
  and 
  empires 
  of 
  uncut 
  tim- 
  

   ber, 
  see 
  their 
  resources 
  paralyzed 
  by 
  

   war's 
  aftermath. 
  It 
  is 
  a 
  country 
  on 
  its 
  

   uppers 
  in 
  the 
  effort 
  to 
  start 
  a 
  new 
  demo- 
  

   cratic 
  government. 
  

  

  Russian 
  psychology 
  is 
  mystifying 
  to 
  the 
  

   nervous, 
  aggressive 
  American. 
  Into 
  the 
  

   moment 
  which 
  he 
  is 
  living 
  the 
  Slav 
  con- 
  

   centrates 
  all 
  the 
  energy 
  and 
  determination 
  

   of 
  life 
  or 
  death. 
  Of 
  the 
  future 
  he 
  seems 
  

   content 
  to 
  dream 
  and 
  to 
  scheme, 
  and 
  with 
  

   Oriental 
  fatalism 
  leave 
  the 
  slow 
  course 
  of 
  

   nature 
  to 
  work 
  out 
  the 
  events. 
  

  

  Tragedy 
  hangs 
  heavy 
  over 
  the 
  unend- 
  

   ing 
  Siberian 
  plains 
  and 
  hills 
  — 
  green 
  and 
  

   restful 
  as 
  a 
  lotus 
  bed 
  in 
  summer, 
  white 
  

   and 
  with 
  the 
  bitter 
  chill 
  of 
  death 
  under 
  

   the 
  eternal 
  sighing 
  pines 
  in 
  winter 
  — 
  but 
  

   there 
  is 
  laughter, 
  love, 
  and 
  music 
  through 
  

   it 
  all. 
  

  

  The 
  larder 
  may 
  have 
  been 
  bare 
  for 
  days 
  

   and 
  the 
  finery 
  of 
  past 
  years 
  soiled 
  and 
  

   ragged, 
  with 
  no 
  hopes 
  for 
  the 
  future, 
  but 
  

   there 
  is 
  always 
  a 
  smile 
  and 
  time 
  to 
  gossip 
  

   while 
  patiently 
  waiting 
  for 
  fate 
  to 
  decide. 
  

   The 
  dance 
  is 
  just 
  as 
  gay, 
  even 
  though 
  

   death 
  may 
  be 
  waiting 
  before 
  the 
  next 
  

   early 
  sunrise. 
  

  

  the: 
  longing 
  for 
  a 
  silk 
  shirt 
  

  

  On 
  my 
  first 
  sunny 
  morning 
  in 
  Chita, 
  

   capital 
  of 
  the 
  Far 
  Eastern 
  Republic, 
  my 
  

   interpreter 
  carefully 
  flooded 
  the 
  two 
  

   glasses 
  with 
  tea 
  until 
  they 
  slopped 
  over, 
  

   in 
  approved 
  Russian 
  style, 
  and 
  announced 
  

   that 
  he 
  needed 
  a 
  silk 
  shirt. 
  A 
  steaming 
  

   samovar 
  always 
  generates 
  an 
  atmosphere 
  

   of 
  contentment 
  and 
  prosperity. 
  His 
  

   financial 
  rating 
  at 
  the 
  moment 
  consisted 
  

   of 
  ten 
  silver 
  roubles, 
  equivalent 
  to 
  $1.58, 
  

   slipped 
  into 
  his 
  pocket 
  just 
  before 
  the 
  

   bedraggled 
  hotel 
  maid, 
  routed 
  out 
  of 
  bed 
  

   at 
  the 
  unprecedented 
  hour 
  of 
  9 
  a. 
  m., 
  ap- 
  

   peared 
  with 
  the 
  melodious 
  hot-water 
  con- 
  

   trivance. 
  

  

  Interpreting 
  was 
  his 
  first 
  steady 
  job 
  in 
  

   the 
  year, 
  during 
  which 
  all 
  the 
  family 
  pos- 
  

   sessions, 
  down 
  to 
  the 
  table 
  silverware, 
  had 
  

   been 
  sold 
  to 
  pay 
  the 
  rent 
  and 
  feed 
  the 
  

   "keeds," 
  as 
  he 
  fondly 
  called 
  them. 
  

  

  The 
  job 
  was 
  almost 
  finished 
  and 
  none 
  

   other 
  in 
  sight; 
  but 
  in 
  Russia 
  the 
  acute 
  

   mental 
  worries 
  from 
  cash 
  in 
  a 
  trousers 
  

   pocket 
  outweigh 
  all 
  premonitions 
  of 
  fu- 
  

   ture 
  needs. 
  He 
  must 
  have 
  that 
  shirt 
  — 
  

   real 
  Russian 
  style, 
  with 
  a 
  heavy 
  silk 
  cord 
  

  

  