EXORCISTS AND DANCING WOMEN
At Cha-san, a magistracy, we rejoined the road from which we had
diverged on the northward journey. It is a quiet, decayed place, though
in a good agricultural country. As I had been there before, the edge
of curiosity was blunted, and there was no mobbing. The people gave
a distressing account of their sufferings from the Chinese soldiers,
who robbed them unscrupulously, took what they wanted without paying,
and maltreated the women. The Koreans deserted, through fright, the
adjacent ferry village of Ou-Chin-gang, where we previously crossed the
Tai-döng, and it was held by 53 Chinese, being an important post. Two
Japanese scouts appeared on the other side of the river, fired, and the
Chinese detachment broke and fled! At Cha-san, as elsewhere, the people
expressed intense hatred of the Japanese, going so far as to say that
they would not leave one of them alive; but, as in all other places,
they bore unwilling testimony to the good conduct of the soldiers, and
the regularity with which the commissariat paid for supplies.
The Japanese detachments were being withdrawn from the posts along that
road, and we passed several well-equipped detachments, always preceded
by bulls loaded with red blankets. The men were dressed in heavy gray
ulsters with deep fur-lined collars, and had very thick felt gloves.
They marched as if on parade, and their officers were remarkable for
their smartness. When they halted for dinner, they found everything
ready, and had nothing to do but stack their arms and eat! The peasant
women went on with their avocations as usual. In that district and in
the region about Tok Chhön, the women seclude themselves in monstrous
hats like our wicker garden sentry-boxes, but without bottoms. These
extraordinary coverings are 7 feet long, 5 broad, and 3 deep, and
shroud the figure from head to foot. Heavy rain fell during the
night, and though the following day was beautiful, the road was a
deep quagmire, so infamously bad that when only two and a half hours
from Phyöng-yang we had to stop at the wayside inn of An-chin-Miriok,
where I slept in a granary only screened from the stable by a bamboo
mat, and had the benefit of the squealing and vindictive sounds which
accompanied numerous abortive fights. If possible, the next day
exceeded its predecessors in beauty, and though the drawbacks of Korean
travelling are many, this journey had been so bright and so singularly
prosperous, except for Im’s accident, which, however, brought out
some of the best points of Korean character, that I was even sorry to
leave the miserable little hostelry and conclude the expedition, and
part with the _mapu_, who throughout had behaved extremely well. The
next morning, crossing the battlefield once more and passing through
the desolations which war had wrought, I reached my old, cold, but
comparatively comfortable quarters at Phyöng-yang, where I remained for
six days.
While the river remained open, a small Korean steamer of uncertain
habits, the _Hariong_, plied nominally between Phyöng-yang and
Chemulpo, but actually ran from Po-san, a point about 60 _li_ lower
down the Tai-döng, which above it is too shallow and full of sandbanks
for vessels of any draught, necessitating the transhipment of all
goods not brought up by junks of small tonnage. There was, however, no
telegraph between Po-san and Phyöng-yang, no one knew when the steamer
arrived except by cargo coming up the river, and she only remained a
few hours; so that my visit to Phyöng-yang was agitated by the fear
of losing her, and having to make a long land journey when time was
precious. There was no Korean post, and the Japanese military post and
telegraph office absolutely refused to carry messages or letters for
civilians. Wild rumors, of which there were a goodly crop every hour,
were the substitute for news.
A subject of special interest and inquiry at Phyöng-yang was mission
work as carried on by American missionaries. At Seoul it is far more
difficult to get into touch with it, as, being older, it has naturally
more of religious conventionality. But I will take this opportunity of
saying that longer and more intimate acquaintance only confirmed the
high opinion I early formed of the large body of missionaries in Seoul,
of their earnestness and devotion to their work, of the energetic,
hopeful, and patient spirit in which it is carried on, of the harmony
prevailing among the different denominations, and the cordial and
sympathetic feeling towards the Koreans. The interest of many of the
missionaries in Korean history, folklore, and customs, as evidenced
by the pages of the valuable monthly, the _Korean Repository_, is
also very admirable, and a traveller in Korea must apply to them for
information vainly sought elsewhere.
Christian missions were unsuccessful in Phyöng-yang. It was a very
rich and very immoral city. More than once it turned out some of
the missionaries, and rejected Christianity with much hostility.
Strong antagonism prevailed, the city was thronged with _gesang_,
courtesans, and sorcerers, and was notorious for its wealth and infamy.
The Methodist Mission was broken up for a time, and in six years
the Presbyterians only numbered 28 converts. Then came the war, the
destruction of Phyöng-yang, its desertion by its inhabitants, the ruin
of its trade, the reduction of its population from 60,000 or 70,000 to
15,000, and the flight of the few Christians.
Since the war there had been a very great change. There had been 28
baptisms, and some of the most notorious evil livers among the middle
classes, men shunned by other men for their exceeding wickedness,
were leading pure and righteous lives. There were 140 catechumens
under instruction, and subject to a long period of probation before
receiving baptism, and the temporary church, though enlarged during
my absence, was so overcrowded that many of the worshippers were
compelled to remain outside. The offertories were liberal.[39] In the
dilapidated extra-mural premises occupied by the missionaries, thirty
men were living for twenty-one days, two from each of fifteen villages,
all convinced of the truth of Christianity, and earnestly receiving
instruction in Christian fact and doctrine. They were studying for
six hours daily with teachers, and for a far longer time amongst
themselves, and had meetings for prayer, singing, and informal talk
each evening. I attended three of these, and as Mr. Moffett interpreted
for me, I was placed in touch with much of what was unusual and
interesting, and learned more of missions in their earlier stage than
anywhere else.
Besides the thirty men from the villages, the Christians and
catechumens from the city crowded the room and doorways. Two
missionaries sat on the floor at one end of the room with a kerosene
lamp mounted securely on two wooden pillows in front of them--then
there were a few candles on the floor, centres of closely-packed
groups. Hymns were howled in many keys to familiar tunes, several
Koreans prayed, bowing their foreheads to the earth in reverence, after
which some gave accounts of how the Gospel reached their villages,
chiefly through visits from the few Phyöng-yang Christians, who were
“scattered abroad,” and then two men, who seemed very eloquent as well
as fluent, and riveted the attention of all, gave narratives of two
other men who they believed were possessed with devils, and said the
devils had been driven out a few months previously by united prayer,
and that the “foul spirits” were adjured in the name of Jesus to come
out, and that the men trembled and turned cold as the devils left them,
never to return, and that both became Christians, along with many who
saw them.
A good many men came from distant villages one afternoon to ask for
Christian teaching, and in the evening one after another got up and
told how a refugee from Phyöng-yang had come to his village and had
told them that they were both wicked and foolish to worship dæmons,
and that they were wrongdoers, and that there is a Lord of Heaven who
judges wrongdoing, but that He is as loving as any father, and that
they did not know what to think, but that in some places twenty and
more were meeting daily to worship “the Highest,” and that many of the
women had buried the dæmon fetishes, and that they wanted some one to
go and teach them how to worship the true God.
A young man told how his father, nearly eighty years old, had met Mr.
Moffett by the roadside, and hearing from him “some good things,” had
gone home saying he had heard “good news,” “great news,” and had got
“the Books,” and that he had become a Christian, and lived a good life,
and had called his neighbors together to hear “the news,” and would not
rest till his son had come to be taught in the “good news,” and take
back a teacher. An elderly man, who had made a good living by sorcery,
came and gave Mr. Moffett the instruments of his trade, saying he “had
served devils all his life, but now he knew that they were wicked
spirits, and he was serving the true God.”
On the same afternoon four requests for Christian teaching came to
the missionaries, each signed by from fifteen to forty men. At all
these evening meetings the room was crammed within and without by
men, reverent and earnest in manner, some of whom had been shunned for
their wickedness even in a city “the smoke of which” in her palmy days
was said “to go up like the smoke of Sodom,” but who, transformed by a
power outside themselves, were then leading exemplary lives. There were
groups in the dark, groups round the candles on the floor, groups in
the doorways, and every face was aglow except that of poor, bewildered
Im. One old man, with his forehead in the dust, prayed like a child
that, as the letter bearing to New York an earnest request for more
teachers was on its way, “the wind and sea might waft it favorably,”
and that when it was read the eyes of the foreigners[40] might be
opened “to see the sore need of people in a land where no one knows
anything, and where all believe in devils, and are dying in the dark.”
As I looked upon those lighted faces, wearing an expression strongly
contrasting with the dull, dazed look of apathy which is characteristic
of the Korean, it was impossible not to recognize that it was the
teaching of the Apostolic doctrines of sin, judgment to come, and
divine love which had brought about such results, all the more
remarkable because, according to the missionaries, a large majority of
those who had renounced dæmon worship, and were living in the fear of
the true God, had been attracted to Christianity in the first instance
by the hope of gain! This, and almost unvarying testimony to the same
effect, confirm me in the opinion that when people talk of “nations
craving for the Gospel,” “stretching out pleading hands for it,” or
“athirst for God,” or “longing for the living waters,” they are using
words which in that connection have no meaning. That there are “seekers
after righteousness” here and there I do not doubt, but I believe that
the one “craving” of the far East is for money--that “unrest” is only
in the east a synonym for poverty, and that the spiritual instincts
have yet to be created.
On the Sunday I went with Dr. Scranton of Seoul to the first regular
service ever held for women in Phyöng-yang. There were a number
present, all dæmon-worshippers, some of them attracted by the sight
of a “foreign woman.” It was impossible to have a formal service with
people who had not the most elementary ideas of God, of prayer, of
moral evil, and of good. It was not possible to secure their attention.
They were destitute of religious ideas. An elderly matron, who acted as
a sort of spokeswoman said, “They thought perhaps God is a big dæmon,
and He might help them to get back their lost goods.” That service was
“mission work” in its earliest stage.
On returning from a service in the afternoon where there were crowds of
bright intelligent-looking worshippers, we came upon one of the most
important ceremonies connected with the popular belief in dæmons--the
exorcism of an evil spirit which was supposed to be the cause of a
severe illness. Never by night or day on my two visits to Phyöng-yang
had I been out of hearing of the roll of the sorcerer’s drum, with the
loud vibratory clash of cymbals as an intermittent accompaniment. Such
sounds attracted us to the place of exorcism.
In a hovel with an open door a man lay very ill. The space in front was
matted and enclosed by low screens, within which were Korean tables
loaded with rice cakes, boiled rice, stewed chicken, sprouted beans
and other delicacies. In this open space squatted three old women, two
of whom beat large drums, shaped like hour-glasses, while the third
clashed large cymbals. Facing them was the _mu-tang_ or sorceress,
dressed in rose-pink silk, with a buff gauze robe, with its sleeves
trailing much on the ground, over it. Pieces of paper resembling the
Shinto _gohei_ decorated her hair, and a curious cap of buff gauze with
red patches upon it, completed the not inelegant costume. She carried
a fan, but it was only used occasionally in one of the dances. She
carried over her left shoulder a stick, painted with bands of bright
colors, from which hung a gong which she beat with a similar stick,
executing at the same time a slow rhythmic movement accompanied by a
chant. From time to time one of the ancient drummers gathered on one
plate pieces from all the others and scattered them to the four winds
for the spirits to eat, invoking them, saying, “Do not trouble this
house any more, and we will again appease you by offerings.”
The _mu-tang_ is, of course, according to the belief of those who
seek her services, possessed by a powerful dæmon, and by means of
her incantations might induce this dæmon to evict the one which was
causing the sickness by aiding her exorcisms, but where the latter is
particularly obstinate, she may require larger fees and more offerings
in order that she may use incantations for bringing to her aid a yet
more powerful dæmon than her own. The exorcism lasted fourteen hours,
until four the next morning, when the patient began to recover. A
crowd, chiefly composed of women and children, stood round the fence,
the children imbibing devilry from their infancy.
I was not at a regular inn in Phyöng-yang but at a broker’s house,
with a yard to myself nominally, but which was by no means private.
Im generally, and not roughly, requested the people to “move on,” but
he made two exceptions, one being in favor of a madwoman of superior
appearance and apparel who haunted me on my second visit, hanging about
the open front of my room, and following me to the mission-house and
elsewhere. She said that I was her grandmother and that she must go
with me everywhere, and, like many mad people, she had an important
and mysterious communication to make which for obvious reasons never
reached me. She was the concubine of a late governor of the city, and
not having escaped before its capture, went mad from horror at seeing
the Chinese spitted on the bayonets of the Japanese. She carried a
long bodkin, and went through distressing pantomimes of running people
through with it!
The other exception was in favor of _gesang_, upon whose presence Im
looked quite approvingly, and evidently thought I did.
Phyöng-yang has always been famous for the beauty and accomplishments
of its _gesang_, singing and dancing girls, resembling in many respects
the _geishas_ of Japan, but correctly speaking they mostly belong to
the Government, and are supported by the Korean Treasury. At the time
of my two first sojourns in Seoul, about seventy of them were attached
to the Royal Palace. They were under the control of the same Government
department as that with which the official musicians are connected.
As a poor man gifted with many sons, for whom he cannot provide,
sometimes presents one to the government as a eunuch, so he may give
a girl to be a _gesang_. The _gesang_ are trained from a very early
age in such accomplishments as other Korean women lack, and which
will ensure their attractiveness, such as playing on various musical
instruments, singing, dancing, reading, reciting, writing, and fancy
work. As their destiny is to make time pass agreeably for men of the
upper classes, this amount of education is essential, though a Korean
does not care how blank and undeveloped the mind of his wife is. The
_gesang_ are always elegantly dressed, as they were when they came to
see me, even through the mud of the Phyöng-yang streets, and as they
have not known seclusion, their manners with both sexes have a graceful
ease. Their dancing, like that of most Oriental countries, consists
chiefly of posturing, and is said by those foreigners who have seen it,
to be perfectly free from impropriety.
Dr. Allen, Secretary to the U.S. Legation at Seoul, in a paper in
the _Korean Repository_ for 1886, describes among the dances which
specially interest foreigners at the entertainments at the Royal
Palace one known as the “Lotus Dance.” In this, he writes, “A tub is
brought in containing a large lotus flower just ready to burst open.
Two imitation storks then come in, each one being a man very cleverly
disguised. These birds flap their wings, snap their beaks, and dance
round in admiration of the beautiful bud which they evidently intend
to pluck as soon as they have enjoyed it sufficiently in anticipation.
Their movements all this time are very graceful, and they come closer
and closer to the flower keeping time to the soft music. At last the
proper time arrives, the flower is plucked, when, as the pink petals
fall back, out steps a little _gesang_ to the evident amazement of the
birds, and to the intense delight of the younger spectators.”
The Sword and Dragon dances are also extremely popular, and on great
occasions the performance is never complete without “Throwing the
Ball,” which consists in a series of graceful arm movements before a
painted arch, after which the _gesang_ march in procession before the
King, and the successful dancers receive presents.
Though the most beautiful and attractive _gesang_ come from
Phyöng-yang, they are found throughout the country. From the King
down to the lowest official who can afford the luxury, the presence
of _gesang_ is regarded at every entertainment as indispensable to
the enjoyment of the guests. They appear at official dinners at the
Foreign Office, and at the palace are the chief entertainers, and sing
and dance at the many parties which are given by Koreans at the picnic
resorts near Seoul, and though attached to the prefectures, and various
other departments, may be hired by gentlemen to give fascination to
their feasts.
Their training and non-secluded position place them, however, outside
of the reputable classes, and though in Japan _geishas_ often become
the wives of nobles and even of statesmen, no Korean man would dream of
raising a _gesang_ to such a position.
Dr. Allen, who has had special opportunities of becoming acquainted
with the inner social life of Korea, says that they are the source of
much heartburning to the legal but neglected wife, who in no case is
the wife of her husband’s choice, and that Korean folklore abounds
with stories of discord arising in families from attachments to
_gesang_, and of ardent and prolonged devotion on the part of young
noblemen to these girls, who they are prevented from marrying by rigid
custom. There is a Korean tale called _The Swallow King’s Rewards_ in
which a man is visited with the “ten plagues of Korea,” for maltreating
a wounded swallow, and in it _gesang_ are represented along with
_mu-tang_ as “among the ten curses of the land.”
Dr. Allen, to whom I owe this fact writes, “Doubtless they are so
considered by many a lonely wife, as well as by the fathers who mourn
to see their sons wasting their substance in riotous living, as they
doubtless did themselves when they were young.”
The house in which I had quarters was much resorted to by merchants for
whom my host transacted brokerage business, and entertainments were
the order of the day. Mr. Yi was invited to dinner daily, and on the
last evening entertained all who had invited him. Such meals cost per
head as much as a dinner at the St. James’s restaurant! Noise seems
essential to these gatherings. The men shout at the top of their voices.
There is an enormous amount of visiting and entertaining among men in
the cities. Some public men keep open house, giving their servants as
much as $60 a day for the entertainment of guests. Men who are in easy
circumstances go continually from one house to another to kill time.
They never talk politics, it is too dangerous, but retail the latest
gossip of the court or city and the witticisms attributed to great men,
and tell, hear, and invent news. The front rooms of houses in which
the men live are open freely to all comers. In some circles, though
it is said to a far less extent than formerly, men meet and talk over
what we should call “questions of literary criticism,” compare poetic
compositions, the ability to compose a page of poetry being the grand
result of Korean education, and discuss the meaning of celebrated
works--all literature being in Chinese.
The common people meet in the streets, the house fronts, and the inns.
They ask each other endless questions, of a nature that we should think
most impertinent, regarding each other’s business, work, and money
transactions, and for the latest news. It is every man’s business to
hear or create all the news he can. What he hears he embellishes by
lies and exaggerations. Korea is the country of wild rumors. What a
Korean knows, or rather hears, he tells. According to Père Dallet, he
does not know the meaning of reserve, though he is utterly devoid of
frankness. Men live in company in each others’ houses. Domestic life is
unknown. The women in the inner rooms receive female visitors, and the
girl children are present. The boys at a very early age are removed to
the men’s apartments, where they learn from the conversation they hear
that every man who respects himself must regard women with contempt.
We left Phyöng-yang for Po-san in a very small boat in which six people
and their luggage were uncomfortably packed and cramped. One of the two
boatmen was literally “down with fever,” but with one and the strong
ebb-tide we accomplished 20 miles in six hours, and were well pleased
to find the _Hariong_ lying at anchor, as we had not been able to get
any definite information concerning her, and I never believed in her
till I saw her. The Tai-döng has some historic interest, for up its
broad waters sailed Ki-ja or Kit-ze with his army of 5,000 men on the
way to found Phyöng-yang and Korean civilization, and down it fled
Ki-jun, the last king of the first dynasty from the forces of Wei-man
descending from the north. Phyöng-yang impressed me as it did Consul
Carles with its natural suitability for commerce, and this Tai-döng,
navigable up to the city for small junks, is the natural outlet for
beans and cotton, some of which find their way to Newchwang for
shipment, for the rich iron ore which lies close to the river banks
at Kai Chhön, for the gold of Keum-san only 20 miles off, for the
abounding coal of the immediate neighborhood; for the hides, which are
now carried on men’s backs to Chemulpo, and for the products of what is
said to be a considerable silk industry.
In going down the river something is seen of the original size of
Phyöng-yang, for the “earth wall” on solid masonry, built, it is said,
by Kit-ze 3,000 years ago, follows the right bank of the Tai-döng for
about four miles before it turns away to the north, to terminate at the
foot of the hill on which is the reputed grave of its builder. This
extends in that direction possibly three miles beyond the present wall.
The plain through which the river runs is fertile and well
cultivated, though the shining mud flats at low tide are anything but
prepossessing. Various rivers, enabling boats of light draught to
penetrate the country, most of them rising in the picturesque mountain
ranges which descend on the plain, specially on its western side, join
the Tai-döng.
Much had been said of the _Hariong_. I was told I “should be all right
if I could get the _Hariong_,” that “the _Hariong’s_ a most comfortable
little boat--she has ten staterooms,” and as we approached her in the
mist, very wet, and stiff from the length of time spent in a cramped
position, I conjured up visions of comfort and even luxury which were
not to be realized.
She was surrounded by Japanese junks, Japanese soldiers crowded her
gangways, and Japanese officers were directing the loading. We hooked
on to the junks and lay in the rain for an hour, nobody taking the
slightest notice of us. Mr. Yi then scrambled on board and there was
another half-hour’s delay, which took us into the early darkness. He
reappeared, saying there was no cabin and we must go on shore. But
there was no place to sleep on shore and it was the last steamer,
so I climbed on board and Im hurried in the baggage. It was raining
and blowing, and we were huddled on the wet deck like steerage
passengers, Japanese soldiers and commissariat officers there as
elsewhere in Korea, masters of the situation. Mr. Yi was frantic that
he, a Government official, and one from whom “the Japanese had to
ask a hundred favors a month” should be treated with such indignity!
The vessel was hired by the Japanese commissariat department to
go to Nagasaki, calling at Chemulpo, and we were really, though
unintentionally, interlopers!
There was truly no room for me, and the arrangement whereby I received
shelter was essentially Japanese. I lived in a minute saloon with the
commissariat officers, and fed precariously, Im dealing out to me, at
long intervals, the remains of a curry which he had had the forethought
to bring. There was a Korean purser, but the poor dazed fellow was
“nowhere,” being totally superseded by a brisk young manikin who, in
the intervals of business, came to me, notebook in hand, that I might
help him to enlarge his English vocabulary. The only sign of vitality
that the limp, displaced purser showed was to exclaim with energy more
than once, “I hate these Japanese, they’ve taken our own ships.”
Fortunately the sea was quite still, and the weather was dry and fine;
even Yön-yung Pa-da, a disagreeable stretch of ocean off the Whang Hai
coast, was quiet, the halt of nearly a day off the new treaty port of
Chin-nam-po where the mud flats extend far out from the shore, was
not disagreeable, and we reached the familiar harbor of Chemulpo by a
glorious sunset on the frosty evening of the third day from Po-san, the
voyage in a small Asiatic transport having turned out better than could
have been expected.
ITINERARY
Seoul to--
_Li._
Ko-yang 40
Pa Ju 40
O-mok 40
Ohur-chuk Kio 30
Song-do 10
O-hung-suk Ju 30
Kun-ko Kai 30
Tol Maru 35
An-shung-pa Pal 25
Shur-hung 30
Hung-shou Wan 30
Pong-san 40
Whang Ju 40
Kur-moun Tari 30
Chi-dol-pa Pal 40
Phyöng-yang 30
Mori-ko Kai 30
Liang-yang Chang 30
Cha-san 30
Shou-yang Yi 40
Ha-kai Oil 35
Ka Chang 35
Huok Kuri 40
Tok Chhön 30
Shur-chong 30
An-kil Yung 20
Shil-yi 40
Mou-chin Tai 25
Sun Chhön 35
Cha-san 30
Siang-yang Chhön 40
An-chin Miriok 30
Phyöng-yang 20
----
Total land journey 1060
FOOTNOTES:
[39] The Seoul _Christian News_, a paper recently started, gave its
readers an account of the Indian famine, with the result that the
Christians in the magistracy of Chang-yang raised among themselves $84
for the sufferers in a land they had hardly heard of, some of the women
sending their solid silver rings to be turned into _cash_. In Seoul the
native Presbyterian churches gave $60 to the same fund, of which $20
were collected by a new congregation organized entirely by Koreans. I
am under the impression that the liberality of the Korean Christians in
proportion to their means far exceeds our own.
[40] The American Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions.