and even in this short time she has introduced innovations which have
shaken her to her foundations, and I fear even greater changes are
awaiting her in the near future. Her ancient suzerain, China, has
retired from her political arena, but Japan has taken even stronger hold
of the country than ever before, and a new element has been introduced
into the field by the occupation by Russia of Manchuria and the Yalu.
Such was the condition of the country when in 1894 the war broke out
between China and Japan. Korea obtained her independence without
participating in any way in the great fight. Her king became an emperor.
But all these changes were only superficial. A new internal
administration could not be consolidated in a few days, and Korea's
independence is only on the protocol.
The freedom of Korea was, as we saw, proclaimed with great pomp just at
the moment when she had the least chance of making use of that
unexpected independence. Surrounded by enemies, she had neither the
moral strength nor the military force to maintain it. She was bound to
follow the advice of one or the other of her neighbours; in fact, it was
only by showing herself to be of no use to her allies that she could
ensure her very existence. One day it was the Chinese, the next the
Japanese, then the Russians. She has always been a mere instrument in
the hands of these Powers. Their influence has changed very rapidly
without any apparent cause. Which of her attachments has been the most
sincere, who can say? The manifestations of both were equally ostensible
and complete, and the Koreans went so far as to proclaim their adherence
by adopting the uniform of the favoured country for their soldiers, and
the inhabitants of Seoul have had the pleasure of seeing their army
parading the main streets first in the uniform of Cossacks, and then in
that of Nippon.
Ever since the latter part of the nineties Japan has been showing
remarkable activity. She has invested considerable capital in the
country, opened banks, founded large commercial firms, built railways,
and established a regular steamship service. She goes even farther and
is endeavouring to instil fresh life into the people. She is trying to
remodel the Korean government on Japanese principles. As to the army of
(nominally) eighty thousand soldiers, of which nearly eight thousand
are stationed in Seoul, it is being drilled by Japanese officers and
supplied with European rifles and uniforms. Japan is establishing modern
schools, and desires to transform young and old alike.
During my visit Russian influence contended with Japanese for the
mastery, but in the midst of all these antagonistic fluctuations it is
scarcely possible to speak of political convictions. The people dislike
the Russians as much as they detest the Japanese. They resemble a man in
danger of drowning, who stretches out his hand to his enemy, in the vain
hope of not being submerged in the floods. Public men are divided into a
great many parties and form different political groups. Some even belong
to the most reactionary of the time, while others are more favourably
disposed to progress, and all of them are open to conviction where
personal advantage is concerned. If the dislike of foreign nations is
intense, the hatred of their compatriots who are attached to other
political factions is still greater. And when the national apathy and
indolence are broken through by animosity to rivals, the people become
blind to reason, cruel, and bloodthirsty. They have no self-control, as
they have never been trained to a higher moral standard, and there is no
education such as will develop their better qualities. Among all the
puzzles of the present day in Korea, certainly the most important is how
to bring up the rising generation. The conditions, not only of Korea but
of the neighbouring states, being entirely changed, her old methods are
of no practical use for the present situation. The future requires a
different system. In order to face the difficulties of the present, they
must bring up their children to be men; and I have been most interested
to note how the children respond to a better method of training. During
my stay in the country I visited again and again native, foreign, and
missionary schools, and came to the conclusion that the Koreans are not
lacking in the mental qualities which are required by our Boards of
Education. I listened to boys of fourteen and fifteen, not only
translating the classics as well as the children in our schools do, but,
what was more exceptional, they showed a real pleasure in dealing with
deeper questions, where logical thought and sequence of ideas were
requisite. They like to study, and, to my great astonishment, I was told
by the rector of our seminary that, during the vacations, many of the
boys go on with the next year's course.
Their moral training is not very difficult either. The children are
docile, obedient, and good-natured, and are most amenable to religious
principles. Catechists have a high opinion of their catechumens, who
take deep interest in theological doctrine. As a rule, they evince a
real desire to be better acquainted with spiritual matters, and, if they
become Christians, conscientiously adhere to their faith and observe the
religious rites. All who have lived in Korea are of the same
opinion--that this unexplored country and its backward people need
before all cultivation and education, and it depends entirely on those
who take this great work of development into their hands whether it
shall become a flourishing land and its people happy or not. And in that
case, instead of the country being the seat of disturbance and war, and
the inhabitants mere instruments in the hands of their enemies, the land
of the Morning Calm may deserve its name and become a guarantee for the
commercial prosperity and the peace of the Far East.
Such was the general situation at the moment of the outbreak of the
Japanese-Russian war.
XII
It is evident that Korea is yet incapable of self-government. She is
dependent on one or the other neighbour. Since China fell out of the
ranks of conquering Powers Japan has taken up arms as she did centuries
ago. To-day it is she who is aiming at ruling Eastern Asia, as if it
were her mission to awaken the peoples of Asia and to instil Western
civilization into them. The movement is of great interest and of more
import than we should dare to believe. Its significance is incalculable.
Whether Japan will be the master who is to transform the Asiatic races
is another puzzling problem. Already a considerable number of young
Chinese are frequenting Japanese high schools and colleges. Delegates
are being sent from Pekin, at the expense of the Government, to Japanese
commercial and industrial institutions to study and to become acquainted
with modern ideas.
Korea is face to face with similar problems of transformation. Who is to
secure her definite leadership--Japan or Russia? The present war is more
than a boundary dispute; it means the old struggle between the white and
yellow races for the hegemony of Asia. On whichever side success
ultimately lies, on that of Russia or of Japan, let all those who know
Korea and are interested in her fate, hope that the conquerors will
fulfil the duties victory involves. The little country deserves that her
rulers should earnestly study her conditions and seek to improve them.
Even from a merely utilitarian standpoint it will prove a better policy
to develop and help than to exploit to excess or to oppress her. It is
just as important that her people, who ever since their infancy have
been the victims of cruel foes and the prey of bad government, should be
elevated to a higher standard.
For those who like to gather knowledge, not only about the outward
circumstances of foreign countries but also about their inner life, it
will be of interest to know that in spite of their degradation Korea's
people have preserved unimpaired the sensitiveness of their mind. They
are by no means insensible to lofty ideas. They are even capable of
showing some enthusiasm for higher ideals. There is hardly another
nation in the East which evinces more sincere appreciation of Christian
ethics and doctrines than the Koreans.
Scarcely half a century has passed since the first Roman Catholic
priests began their work, and they already number about fifty parishes
and over fifty thousand parishioners. The old religious hatred is
gradually changing into sympathy. Recently a few orphanages were built
where children, abandoned by their parents, are being brought up and
trained for some useful vocation.
The people are beginning to conceive clearer ideas about Christian
virtues, and those who see under what wretched conditions the
missionaries live, in what poor huts they dwell, on what scanty fare
they have to live--especially when they realize that these men have left
their own families, homes, and their country to educate little orphans,
to help the needy, and to nurse the sick, no matter of what creed or
sect, be they pagans or worshippers of the sun or of ancestors--regard
this self-sacrifice with an admiration which is general and sincere.
For those who wish to form an estimate of the intellectual powers of a
people, the missionary schools offer undoubtedly the greatest
facilities. It is there that the natural inclinations, good or bad, find
direct expression. Of all my surprising experiences in Korea--a country
rich in surprises--nothing equalled my impressions of the new college
and seminary at Yong-Sang. There young people of twelve to fifteen gave
as precise answers to questions put to them as one could hear in the
best European high schools. And there Korea's primitive children can
express themselves fluently in classical Latin. It was interesting for
me to get an insight into their capabilities and observe their industry.
For hours they would pore over their books if the teacher would not call
them away for recreation. With the inherited inclination of Oriental
people for abstract sciences, they enter with delight and pleasure into
any metaphysical question. I was delighted to hear how successful their
training is, and how easy it is to form their minds. I saw young Korea
in a new light. There I best realized the force of the maxim that the
future of a nation lies in the potentialities of its youths and their
sound bringing up. But education can be of value only when carefully
founded on higher morality and guided by true religion.
With such an education Chosen's children might hold in their hands one
day their country's independence and prosperity.
Korea's exceptional geographical position, its natural wealth, and
inborn physical strength, should tend to make her in the extreme Far
East a sort of buffer state, and a bulwark of international good
fellowship and established peace.
Nations, like individuals, have their moral codes and vocations. Nemesis
must always overtake evil of every kind, and to the virtuous alone is
granted the palm of victory.
IX
SEOUL, THE CAPITAL OF KOREA
I have arrived safely in Seoul. It is eventide, and the moon is just
appearing. In the dimness the most desolate imperial residence in the
world seems still more desolate, more wretched, miserable, and forlorn.
My sedan-chair is being carried through a long street, or rather road,
of small houses--but houses they cannot be called: those I have seen up
to the present can at the best be termed hovels.
At last we reach the walls of the inner city--for till now we have been
merely in the outer town. The wall is ragged and thorny. In front stand
a number of roofed and painted gates. I almost imagine myself back in
Pekin, for the picture is a replica, but in miniature. I am, however,
unable in the dusk to see how much smaller it is, only the general
effect is the same, stamped with the familiar Chinese characteristics.
[Illustration: SEOUL "The broad streets seem an immense cemetery, and
the mean little flat-roofed houses graves" To face page 240]
The moon is now shining brightly, but it shows nothing new in the aspect
of the road within the walls. The main street of Seoul is as deep in
clay and mud as it was at the time when the "waters dried up." Its
houses have not altered; they are scarcely more than the clay huts of
prehistoric man, his protection against cold or heat.
The first sight of an unknown country stamps itself on our minds in a
manner unique, and I requested the bearers of my chair to walk slowly,
for I did not wish to lose my first impression. There is a fascination
in the unknown--a wonderful interest attached to the unexpected. Our
wanderings amongst strange peoples in the streets of a city which we
have not visited before are not for the pen to describe.
Everything that is unknown is mysterious, until reality tears aside the
veil, and so long as it is built up by our imagination and peopled by
fantastic creations it remains to a certain extent a City of Dreams.
The streets are gradually getting broader, and the clay huts grow even
more insignificant. I stop for a moment in the great square, which may
be the centre of the city, but is little more than a cross-road leading
into a few side-streets.
It is scarcely seven o'clock, and yet over all broods a death-like
silence, a peaceful calm, as complete as one can imagine. The broad
streets seem an immense cemetery, and the mean little flat-roofed houses
graves. One might think it is All Saints' Day, for on each grave a
little lamp is burning. A lantern hangs from the eaves of each roof,
showing a yellowish flame.
But the people themselves are returning like ghosts to their homes, each
robed in white--each and all mute. Without a sound they flit over the
roads of the endless graveyard, until they disappear into the depths of
some one of the illuminated tombs.
I have never been so impressed by any other city I have seen as I was by
my first sight of Seoul. As I saw the city just now, by the light of a
November moon, dark, dumb, desolate, and ghostly, it resembled some
fairy city more than reality; like those storied places sung of in the
poetry of almost every people, the tale of which is listened to with
such rapture by the little folk of the nursery, who know nothing as yet
of life's seamy side.
Such a town was Seoul to me, the first few hours after my arrival.
Next morning I was aroused by the sound of drums and trumpets. But
whose? Do they belong to the ghosts? What can have happened that the
home of silence should have been disturbed by such an awful uproar?
I hasten to my window. The long street, the square, every inch of
ground, is occupied by soldiers. These are short and yellow, wearing a
black uniform, the black cloth of which, set off by a broad red collar
and contrasted with the yellow faces, makes a motley colour-scheme,
almost like a chequered field. The men seem to like it. If the mixture
serves no other purpose it offers an excellent target for an enemy,
which was probably the idea of its inventors.
The din continues. The trumpets blare, and these black, red, and yellow
little people, like tin soldiers, keep moving before me; to and fro, up
one street and down another they go, like stage-property soldiers, now
appearing on and again disappearing from the stage--always the same
supers; but one would think they were a mighty army. And all the time
the bayonets flash on the rifle-barrels, whose weight seems rather too
much for the little men. The drums still beat, and fanfares ring out on
the frosty morning.
What has happened? Has the coronation not been postponed after all? Is
the Emperor at last inaugurating the long-awaited festivities?
I ring the bell, and a servant, dressed in white, and wearing a pigtail
twisted up in a knot, enters. His long coat is of linen, his head
covered by a hat of horsehair, which resembles in shape the wire lid
used to protect preserves from flies.
This quaint servant seems more surprised at my question than I at his
livery.
"But the army has been reorganized by European officers. It has been
taught, in the Western style, to march, manoeuvre, and kill, and for
the performance of this gay farce new taxes have been raised. And now
you, a European, coming from the West, ask, with obvious irony, 'What
does this all mean?'"
I can see how amusing the whole situation is, and what a ludicrous side
it has. The fact of the collar being a few inches deeper, or of the
colour of the tunic, does not alter the character of the uniform; it is
still a distinctive mark, even in its best form, whether the mechanism
which propels the bullet be new or old fashioned. The rifle always
destroys, and whether a soldier is a couple of feet taller or not,
whether he has a yellow or a white complexion, his calling is a rather
gloomy one. For do we not consider that soldier most efficient who
destroys the greatest number of lives?
Dawn now turns into morning, and the doors of the shops open one by one.
Most of them are only protected for the night by mats or a few planks.
Later on the customers begin to arrive, all of them dressed in white.
Men and women alike wear long linen coats (kaftans), and their lined
foot-gear is also of linen; in fact, they are white from top to toe,
excepting the black hat of horsehair.
Now and again I see a sedan-chair, which, however, is not larger than a
good-sized box, its occupant huddled up inside. I cannot perceive any
carriage, trap, or horse, in spite of the growing traffic, which,
however, is perfectly noiseless. Perhaps this may account for the fact
of my still being under the impression of being in a deserted city.
It is generally on the first day that we catch the most characteristic
traits, or, at any rate, that the most salient features strike our
imagination. While our perceptive powers are still fresh, we are able to
be impressed by the smallest peculiarities.
After breakfast I go out for a stroll, and find in front of me the
palace gate, outside which some soldiers are standing. Beyond it
stretches a long street, towards which I turn. This is the same
thoroughfare which yesterday resembled a vast graveyard, but the houses
now stand open, as the wooden wall, looking on the street, has been
removed. There are a considerable number of shops, but small and mean,
displaying no wares that attract my attention. Those of the
cabinet-makers make the best show, consisting of small chests, inlaid
with brass ornamentation, having large polished locks. These are no less
quaint than they are tasteful. There seems to be a great demand for
them, for in a whole row I can see nothing else. There is also no lack
of fruit and seeds, but the baskets do not offer a quarter of the
variety of a Chinese grocer. I do not think I saw any more shops, at
least any that I remarked. They seemed small and empty, never more than
a couple of customers in them.
What especially attracted my attention was the large number of
sentry-boxes. Every five or ten yards you came across a box, with a
stubby black-red-and-yellow soldier inside, armed!
No matter where I turn, there are sentry-boxes everywhere--to the right,
to the left, in front and behind me. Can it be a fact that this army is
required to keep these little folk in order?
* * * * *
No sooner had I put this question to myself than I became aware of a
disturbance going on--some coolies, carrying vegetables, engaged in a
battle royal, and two boys pitching into each other. But the private
stands there unmoved. His look seems rather to approve than condemn. He
is evidently not intended to keep the peace; this does not seem to be
part of his duties; so the coolies may fight as much as they like among
the cabbages. (The group, by the way, forms a pretty picture--the
coolies in white, with the green loads on their backs, in the thick of
the fray.) The smaller of the boys commences to cry, as blood is
dripping from his forehead; but the soldier is not affected by the sight
of this either. I wonder if what he just muttered was that the "Red
Cross" was not his business.
As I went on I heard more screaming and quarrelling, and witnessed a few
more little skirmishes. It was not until now that I realized how
unaccustomed I was to quarrels and fights, as in China I never saw one
man fighting another--they have their thousands of years of civilization
to thank for that.
Later I approach a hall which is being repaired. It has a pointed roof
and broad eaves, similar to those of the palace at Pekin.
A whole forest of wood is stored up there in the shape of beams. As I
see with what precision the workmen make the various parts fit together,
without the use of nails, I am delighted that the traditions of ancient
architecture are not yet extinct.
I am now in the neighbourhood of the Royal Palace. In front of the main
gate is a large square, which farther on turns into a street, with
public buildings on either side. These are the Ministerial Offices,
where is spun the web of the Korean Government.
Externally the palace has little to distinguish it. The facade is rather
low, and the walls are mud-coated, while the gates are not much better,
in the Chinese style, and crowned by tiles.
The gates, which are wide open, lead into a large inner courtyard, where
there are a number of ordinary and state sedan-chairs. Crowds of
servants, attendants, and coolies, are warming themselves in the sun,
others are playing at ball, which they kick off and catch with their
legs.
[Illustration: THE EMPEROR'S THRONE IN THE OLD PALACE "The throne is
reached by a short flight of steps, and the canopy is of barbaric
splendour" To face page 248]
In the middle of the street one meets mandarins hurrying to their
offices, magistrates and other men of consequence, most of them in
chairs, or rather boxes, carried by two servants. The vehicle is covered
with a cloth, that of the better class matching in colour the servants'
liveries. I have seen grey and yellow ones also. These belong to the
Korean aristocracy.
The most attractive of all was the "carriage" of a noble in mourning.
His chair had quite recently been covered with cloth of a yellowish hue,
the same as that worn by his two servants, their coats reaching nearly
to the ground. In order to give their limbs free play, these had been
split up as far as the waist. But this can be nothing more than fashion,
for not even the whip would make a Korean hurry. The servants also wear
a broad girdle, tied up in a bow, round their waists.
When in mourning they wear straw hats, not black, but shaped like a
fair-sized old-fashioned bread-basket. These have wide sloping brims,
reaching the shoulders, and entirely concealing the face. In such a
weird costume they strongly resemble yellow mushrooms sprung up on a
summer's day. Straw sandals complete the costume.
In spite of these strange details and absurd combinations, the general
effect is good; the colours, the silk-covered chair, straw hat and
sandals, blend harmoniously together. Seen from a distance, they almost
have the appearance of ivory knick-knacks, such as you see exhibited for
sale in Japanese curio shops.
But I hear a noise in the distance, and from the direction of the
western gate a motley crowd comes towards me. It must be either a
funeral or a wedding. So far I cannot distinguish which. The next moment
two children detach themselves from the crowd and seem to lead the
procession. Their dress is glaring, of green, purple, and scarlet silk,
with their dark hair encircling their foreheads in gleaming plaits. They
are also decked out with flowers and butterflies.
Behind them is carried a large box, painted red, and polished. It is
evidently a wedding, and this is very likely the dowry. Now follow the
dancers, in pairs, but wide apart from each other. Their costume--I
cannot describe it! Almost shapeless, it consisted of skirt over skirt,
kerchiefs, veils, all pell-mell and of every colour of the rainbow.
I take note of many things which to-morrow might escape me.