IRKUTSK
"As I walk down to the Angara's banks I am short of adjectives"
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How shall I record all the tumultuous impressions of the first twenty-four hours passed in Irkutsk? After the gloom of the night a brilliant morning broke forth, brilliant as it is only seen on these high plateaux. As I took my first glance round, everything seemed to swim in a blaze of light. The small log houses seemed to have grown into palaces. The palisades presented colours of hundreds of different shades. Monuments and gilded domes seemed to have arisen out of the ground. All the gloomy picture of last night vanished altogether, dispersed by the light of the sun like the melting away of a nightmare. What a magician this celestial body is! Painter, sculptor, and architect, he can construct and raise marvels out of nothing, and make us see and admire where all is only glamour.
As I walk down to the Angara's banks I am short of adjectives. Language fails to describe the pureness of the atmosphere, the variety of the tints of the distant mists, and the whole scenery of the plain with its vibrating mirages. I think it is at the early hours of the morn and at sunset that one can best realize the charm of this strange country, understand the dreamy legends which were born on the soil, realize the soul of its people, and penetrate into its wondrous atmosphere, full of enigmas and mysteries.
Irkutsk is a large and important centre, the seat of the military and civil governors, of the Catholic bishop, of the commander of the forces. There are high schools, many public institutions, and factories. Irkutsk is a famous commercial town, and is one of the most prominent markets for international trade. The high street is an endless row of shops, full of goods made in Germany, and some in America. I do not see much English merchandise; but, as I hear, English commercial interests are only represented in a few of the larger mines and building enterprises. The Siberian national museum deserves special mention. It is a fine stone building, rich in all that relates to the origin, history, and folk-lore of Siberia. A few hours passed in its halls give one a most extensive insight into the conditions of the different races and tribes which have peopled these regions for centuries.
Irkutsk from a social standpoint seems to offer some advantages too. Government employés, officers, and others regard it as a special favour to get an appointment here. There is a great deal of entertainment, and in the centre of the town is a most pretentious building—the Imperial Opera House. Life is expensive, and the population shows a great tendency to luxury, and even more, what one might call waste. Money is spent easily and uselessly, as is generally the case in growing places and recent settlements. In this respect there is a slight resemblance between Irkutsk and a Western American ranch or an Australian mining town; and in the afternoon, when everybody promenades on the wooden pavements, which run like bridges across and along the muddy streets, the inhabitants show exactly the same variety of origin and of social condition as in those towns beyond the seas.
Besides Russian, I hear German spoken. Poles are numerous too, and all the different Baltic provinces have a fair number of representatives. Nearly all the trade is in their hands. Russians are not commercial people as a rule. And there is a large Chinese colony, mostly occupied with the famous overland tea trade via Kiahta. They walk for hours and hours up and down all these endless pathways, and a great many sit, covered with furs, in front of their house doors to see the show. About eight o'clock everything becomes quiet; streets are deserted, doors are closed, shutters fastened, lights extinguished; and there are only the watchmen sauntering slowly from corner to corner, monotonously tapping their wooden rattles to let householders know that they are awake, and to give the robber at the other side of the street time to escape.
It is worth while! I should, after all, recommend travellers to stop for a few days in some of the largest Siberian towns, in spite of the rough hotels and the primitive ways; it gives such a definite idea of their buildings, inhabitants, and mode of living, as could never be procured from books.
VII
TRANS-BAIKALIA
I have arrived at the climax of the journey. We are crossing Lake Baikal. It is the most celebrated passage of the whole overland journey; the scenery is fine: an extensive sheet of water, brilliant like a mirror, surrounded by high mountains and majestic rocks; but I am inclined to repeat what I said before about hilly scenery: lake districts do not appeal to me. A sea in its greatness, and a marsh in its diverse variations of colour, are both perfect in their artistic values, only different in conception. The former imposing, like a picture of Meesdag; the latter, hazy like a Corot, each perfect in its style. But a lake, even the prettiest, does not rise above the effects of a chromo-lithograph. Lake Baikal, viewed from the north, loses its banks, and so has the advantage of appearing as an ocean.