THE KUR-DONG
Before leaving England letters from Korea had warned me of the
difficulty of travelling in the interior, of getting a trustworthy
servant, and above all, a trustworthy interpreter. Weeks passed
by, and though Bishop Corfe and others exerted themselves on my
behalf, these essential requisites were not forthcoming, for to find
a reliable English-speaking Korean is well-nigh impossible. There
are English-speaking Koreans who have learned English, some in the
Government School, and others in the Methodist Episcopal School, and
many of these I interviewed. The English of all was infirm, and they
were all limp and timid, a set of poor creatures. Some of them seemed
very anxious to go with me, and were partially engaged, and the next
day came, looking uneasy, and balancing themselves on the edge of their
chairs, told me that their mothers said they must not go because there
were tigers, or that three months was too long a journey, or that they
could not go so far from their families, etc. At last a young man came
who really spoke passable English, but on entering the room with a
familiar nod, he threw himself down in an easy-chair, swinging his leg
over the arm! He asked many questions about the journey, said it was
very long to be away from Seoul, and that he should require one horse
for his baggage and another for himself. I remarked that, in order to
get through the difficulties of the journey, it would be necessary
to limit the baggage as much as possible. He said he could not go
with fewer than nine suits of clothes! I remarked that a foreigner
would only take two, and that I should reduce myself to two. “Yes,”
he replied, “but foreigners are so dirty in their habits.” This from
a Korean! So once more I had to settle down, and accept the kindly
hospitality of my friends, trusting that something would “turn up.”
By this delay I came in for the _Kur-dong_,[9] one of the most
remarkable spectacles I ever saw, and it had the added interest of
being seen in its splendor for probably the last time, as circumstances
which have since occurred, and the necessity for economy, must put an
end to much of the scenic display. The occasion was a visit of the King
in state to sacrifice in one of the ancestral temples of his dynasty,
members of which have occupied the Korean throne for five centuries.
Living secluded in his palace, guarded by 1,000 men, his subjects
forbidden to pronounce his name, which indeed is seldom known, in
total ignorance of any other aspect of his kingdom and capital than
that furnished by the two streets through which he passes to offer
sacrifice, the days on which he performs this pious act offer to his
subjects their sole opportunities of gazing on his august countenance.
As the Queen’s procession passed by on the day of the Duke of York’s
marriage, I heard a workingman say, “It’s we as pays, and we likes to
get the valey for our money.” The Korean pays in another and heavier
sense, and as in tens of thousands he crowds in reverential silence the
route of the _Kur-dong_, he is probably glad that the one brilliant
spectacle of the year should be as splendid as possible.
The monotony of Seoul is something remarkable. Brown mountains “picked
out” in black, brown mud walls, brown roofs, brown roadways, whether
mud or dust, while humanity is in black and white. Always the same
bundled-up women clutching their green coats under their eyes, always
the same surge of _yang-bans_ and their familiars swinging along South
Street, the same strings of squealing ponies “spoiling for a fight,”
the same processions of majestic red bulls under towering loads of
brushwood, the same coolies in dirty white, forever carrying burdens,
the same joyless dirty children getting through life on the gutters’
edge, and the same brownish dogs, feebly wrangling over offal. On such
monotony and colorlessness, the _Kur-dong_ bursts like the sun. Alas
for this mean but fascinating capital, that the most recent steps
towards civilization should involve the abolition of its one spectacle!
By six in the morning of the looked-for day we were on our way from
the English Legation to a position near the Great Bell, all the male
population of the alleys taking the same direction, along with children
in colors, and some of the poorer class of women with gay handkerchiefs
folded Roman fashion on their hair. For the first time I saw the grand
proportions of the road called by foreigners South Street. The double
rows of booths had been removed the night before, and along the side
of the street, at intervals of 20 yards, torches 10 feet high were let
into the ground to light the King on his return from sacrificing. It is
only by its imposing width that this great street lends itself to such
a display, for the houses are low and mean, and on one side at least
are only superior hovels. In place of the booths the subjects were
massed twelve deep, the regularity of the front row being preserved
by a number of _yamen_ runners, who brought down their wooden paddles
with an unmerciful whack on any one breaking the line. The singular
monotony of baggy white coats and black crinoline hats was relieved by
boy bridegrooms in yellow hats and rose-pink coats, by the green silk
coats of women, and the green, pink, heliotrope and Turkey red dresses
of children. The crowd had a quietly pleased but very limp look. There
was no jollity or excitement, no flags or popular demonstrations, and
scarcely a hum from a concourse which must have numbered at least
150,000, half the city, together with numbers from the country who had
walked three and four days to see the spectacle. Squalid and mean is
ordinary Korean life, and the King is a myth for most of the year. No
wonder that the people turn out to see as splendid a spectacle as the
world has to show, its splendor centring round their usually secluded
sovereign. It is to the glory of a dynasty which has occupied the
Korean throne for five centuries as well as in honor of the present
occupant.
The hour of leaving the palace had been announced as 6 A.M., but
though it was 7.30 before the boom of a heavy gun announced that the
procession was in motion, the interest never flagged the whole time.
Hundreds of coolies sprinkled red earth for the width of a foot along
the middle of the streets, for hypothetically the King must not pass
over soil which has been trodden by the feet of his subjects. Squadrons
of cavalry, with coolies leading their shabby ponies, took up positions
along the route, and in a great mass in front of us. The troopers sat
on the ground smoking, till a very _distrait_ bugle-call sent them to
their saddles. The ponies bit, kicked, and squealed, and the grotesque
and often ineffectual attempts of the men to mount them provoked the
laughter of the crowd, as one trooper after another, with one foot in
the stirrup and the other on the ground, hopped round at the pleasure
of his steed. After all, with the help of their coolies, were mounted,
whacks secretly administered by men in the crowd nearly unhorsed many
of them, but they clung with both hands to their saddle bows and
eventually formed into a ragged line.
Among the very curious sights were poles carried at measured distances
supporting rectangular frames resembling small umbrella stands, filled
with feathered arrows, and messengers dashing along as if they had been
shot and were escaping from another shaft, for from the backs of their
collars protruded arrows which had apparently entered obliquely. Either
on the back or breast or both of the superb dresses of officials were
satin squares embroidered in unique designs, representing birds and
beasts, storks indicating civil, and tigers military, rank, while the
number of birds or animals on the lozenge denoted the wearer’s exact
position.
Though there were long stretches of silence, scarcely broken by the hum
of a multitude, there were noisy interludes, novel in their nature,
produced by men, sometimes fifteen in a row, who carried poles with a
number of steel rings loosely strung upon them, which they tossed into
the air and allowed to fall against each other with a metallic clink,
loud and strident. Likewise the trains of servants in attendance on
mandarins emitted peculiar cries, sounding _G_ in unison, then raising
their note and singing _C_ three times, afterwards, with a falling
cadence, singing _G_ again.
But of the noises which passed for music, the most curious as to method
was that made by the drummers, who marched irregularly in open order
in lines extending across the broad roadway. These carried bowl-shaped
kettledrums slung horizontally, and bass drum sticks mainly hidden
by their voluminous sleeves. In time with the marching, the right
hand stick rose above the drummer’s head, then the left stick in like
manner, but both fell again nearly to the drum without emitting a
sound! The next act of the performance consisted in lifting both sticks
above the head together and again bringing them down silently. Finally
the sticks were crossed, and during two marching steps rose feebly, and
as feebly fell on the ends of the drum, producing a muffled sound, and
this programme was repeated during the duration of the march.
Soldiers in rusty black belted frocks, wide trousers, bandaged into
padded socks, and straw shoes, stacked arms in a side street. Closed
black and colored chairs went past at a trot. Palace attendants in
hundreds in brown glazed cotton sleeved cloaks, blue under robes tied
below the knee with bunches of red ribbon, and stiff black hats, with
heavy fan-shaped plumes of peacock’s feathers, rode ragged ponies on
gay saddles of great height, without bridles, the animals being led by
coolies. High officials passed in numbers in chairs or on pony back,
each with from twenty to thirty gay attendants running beside him,
and a row of bannermen extending across the broad street behind him,
each man with a silk banner bearing the cognomen of his lord. These
officials were superbly dressed, and made a splendid show. They wore
black, high-crowned hats, with long crimson tassels behind, and heavy,
black ostrich plumes falling over the brim in front, mazarine blue silk
robes, split up to the waist behind, with orange silk under robes and
most voluminous crimson trousers, loosely tied above the ankles with
knots of sky blue ribbon, while streamers of ribbon fell from throats
and girdles, and the hats were secured by throat lashes of large amber
beads. Each carried over his shoulder a yellow silk banneret with his
style in Chinese characters in crimson upon it, and in the same hand
his baton of office, with a profusion of streamers of rich ribbons
depending from it. The sleeves were orange in the upper part and
crimson in the lower, and very full.
The overfed and self-willed ponies, chiefly roan and gray, are very
handsome, and showily caparisoned, the heads covered with blue, red,
and yellow balls, and surmounted with great crimson silk pompous,
the bridles a couple of crimson silk scarves, the saddles a sort
of leather-covered padded pack saddle 12 inches above the animal’s
back, with wide, deep flaps of bright green silver-bossed leather
hanging down on either side, the cruppers folded white silk, and the
breastplate shields of gold embroidery. The gorgeous rider, lifted by
his servants upon this elevation, stands erect in his stirrups with
his feet not halfway down his pony’s sides, his left hand clutching
rather than holding an arch placed for this purpose at the bow of the
saddle. These officials made no attempt to hold their own bridles,
their ponies were led by servants, retainers supported them by the feet
on either side, and as their mounts showed their resentment of the pace
and circumstances by twistings and strugglings with their grooms, the
faces of the riders expressed “a fearful joy,” if “joy” it was.
Waves of color and Korean grandeur rolled by, official processions,
palace attendants, bannermen, with large silk banners trailing on
the stiff breeze, each flagstaff crested with a tuft of pheasant’s
feathers, the King’s chief cook, with an enormous retinue, more palace
servants, smoking long pipes, drummers, fifers, couriers at a gallop,
with arrows stuck into the necks of their coats, holding on to their
saddles and rope bridles, mixed up with dishevelled ponies with ragged
pack saddles, carrying cushions, lacquer boxes, eatables, cooking
utensils, and smoking apparatus, led caparisoned ponies, bowmen,
soldiers straggling loosely, armed with matchlock guns, till several
thousand persons had passed. Yet this was not the procession, though it
might well have served for one.
At 7.30, while this “march past” was still going on, a gun was fired,
and the great bell, which was very close to us, boomed heavily, and a
fanfaronade of trumpets and the shrill scream of fifes announced that
Li Hsi had at last left the palace. The cavalry opposite us prepared
to receive His Majesty by _turning tail_, a manœuvre not accomplished
without much squealing and fighting. There was a general stir among
the spectators, men with arrows in their coats galloped frantically,
there was an onslaught on the “Derby dog,” and an attack by men, armed
with the long wooden paddles which are used for beating criminals, on
inoffensive portions of the crowd.
It is said that there were 5,000 servants and officials connected with
the palace, and there were nominally 6,000 soldiers in Seoul, and
the greater part of these took part in the many splendid processions
which went to form the Royal procession. It would be impossible for
a stranger to give in detail the component parts of such a show,
the like of which has no existence elsewhere on earth, passing for
more than an hour in the bright sunshine, in detachments, in compact
masses, at a stately walk or a rapid run, in the full splendor of a
barbaric mediævalism, or to say what dignitaries flashed by in the
kaleidoscopic blaze of color.
The procession of the King was led by the “general of the vanguard,”
superbly dressed, supported by retainers on his led pony, and followed
by crowds of dignitaries, each with his train, soldiers, men carrying
aloft frames of arrows, reaching nearly across the road, and huge flags
of silk brocade surmounted by plumes of pheasant’s feathers, servants
in rows of a hundred in the most delicate shades of blue, green, or
mauve silk gauze over white, halberdiers, grandees, each with a retinue
of bannermen, rows of royal bannermen carrying yellow and blue silk
flags emblazoned, cavalry men in imitation gold helmets and mediæval
armor, and tiger-hunters wearing coarse black felt hats with conical
crowns and dark blue coats, trailing long guns. With scarcely a pause
followed the President of the Foreign Office, high above the crowd on a
monocycle, a black wheel supporting on two uprights a black platform,
carrying a black chair decorated with a leopard skin, the occupant of
which was carried by eight men at a height of 8 feet from the ground.
More soldiers, bannermen, and drummers, and then came the chief of the
eunuchs, grandly dressed, with an immense retinue, and a large number
of his subordinates, most of whom up to that time, by their position
in the palace and their capacity for intrigue, had exercised a very
baneful influence on Korean affairs.
The procession became more quaint and motley still. Palace attendants
appeared in the brilliant garments of the Korean middle ages; cavalry
in antique armor were jumbled up with cavalry in loose cotton frocks
and baggy trousers, supposed to be dressed and armed in European
fashion, but I failed to detect the flattery of imitation. There were
cavalry in black Tyrolese hats with pink ribbon round them, black
cotton sacks loosely girdled by leather belts with brass clasps never
cleaned, white wadded stockings, and hempen shoes. Some had leather
saddles, others rode on pack saddles, with the great pad which should
go underneath on the top; some held on to their saddles, others to
their rope bridles, the ponies of some were led by coolies in dirty
white clothes; the officers were all held on their saddles, many tucked
their old-fashioned swords under their arms, lest carrying them in
regulation fashion should make their animals kick; the feet of some
nearly touched the ground, and those of others hung only halfway down
their ponies’ sides; ponies squealed, neighed, reared, and jibbed, but
somehow or other these singular horsemen managed to form ragged lines.
Then came foot soldiers with rusty muskets and innumerable standards,
generals, court dignitaries, statesmen, some with crimson hats with
heavy black plumes, others with high peaked crinoline hats with
projecting wings, others with lofty mitres covered with tinsel gleaming
like gold, each with a splendid train. Mediæval costumes blazing
with color flashed past, there were more soldiers, and this time
they carried Snider rifles, two Gatling guns were dragged by _yamen_
runners, who frantically spanked all and sundry with their paddles,
drummers beat their drums unmercifully, fifes shrieked, there were more
dignitaries with fairylike retinues in blue and green silk gauze, the
King’s personal attendants in crowds followed in yellow, with bamboo
hats trimmed with rosettes, standard-bearers came next, bearing the
Royal standard, a winged tiger rampant on a yellow ground, more flags
and troops, and then the curious insignia of Korean Royalty, including
a monstrous red silk umbrella, and a singular frame of stones. More
grandees, more soldiers, more musical instruments, and then come the
Royal chairs, the first, which was canopied with red silk, being
empty, the theory being that this was the more likely to receive an
assassin’s blow. A huge trident was carried in front of it. After this,
borne high aloft by forty bearers clothed in red, in a superb chair
of red lacquer, richly tasselled and canopied, and with wings to keep
off the sun, came the King, whose pale, languid face never changed
its expression as he passed with all the dignity and splendor of his
kingdom through the silent crowd.
More grandees, servants, soldiers, standard-bearers, arrow-men,
officials, cavalry, and led horses formed the procession of the Crown
Prince, who was also carried in a red palanquin, and looked paler
and more impassive than his father. The supply of officials seemed
inexhaustible, for behind him came a quarter of a mile of grandees in
splendid costumes, with hats decorated with red velvet and peacock’s
feathers, and throat lashes of great amber beads, with all their
splendid trains, footmen in armor bossed with large nails, drummers,
men carrying arrow frames and insignia on poles, then the “general of
the rear guard” in a gleaming helmet and a splendid blue, crimson,
and gold uniform, propped up by retainers on his handsome pony, more
soldiers armed with old matchlock guns, lastly men bearing arrow frames
and standards, and with them the barbaric and bizarre splendor of the
_Kur-dong_ was over, and the white crowd once more overflowed the mean
street. Quite late in the evening the Royal pageant returned by the
light of stationary torches, with lanterns of blue and crimson silk
undulating from the heads of pikes and bayonets.
This truly splendid display was estimated to cost $25,000--a heavy
burden on the small resources of the kingdom. It is only thus
surrounded that the King ever appears in public, and the splendor
accentuates the squalor of the daily life of the masses of the
people in the foul alleys which make up most of the city. It must be
remembered that the people taking part in the pageant are not men
hired and dressed up by a _costumier_, but that they are actual Court
officials and noblemen in the dress of to-day, and that the weapons
carried by the soldiers are those with which they are supposed to repel
attack or put down rebellion.
FOOTNOTES:
[9] If an apology be necessary for the following minute description of
this unique ceremonial, I offer it on the ground that it was probably
the last of its kind, and that full details of it have not been given
before.