lives on the thoroughfares, and this is probably the reason why the
roads are so wide and the dwellings so cramped. In this trait the Korean
is like the Spaniard or Italian, for he is never so happy as when out of
doors. There he stands on his threshold, or basking in the sunny
courtyards; or he lights his pipe and strolls up and down for hours. His
carriage is slow and stately. I wonder where he is going, and what he is
thinking of--nowhere and of nothing. I should say, "Il flane." There is
no suitable word in another language for this aimless meandering.
"Loitering" indicates only physical slowness, nor does even "to lounge
or saunter" exactly convey the idea. Physical sluggishness and moral
vacuum are not simultaneously connoted by them.
Now and again a private comes by. He is the coming man! If he learns
nothing else in the barrack-yard, he certainly does learn how to walk.
His pigtail has been shorn off. At first he bemoaned it, for this
antiquated head-dress of his embodied a general principle, and with its
departure he was cut adrift from all his old associations and
traditions; but, like the child he is at heart, he soon forgets his
pigtail and its traditions along with it, and today is proud of the
metamorphosis.
As the man of progress and of the future, he scorns the white coats,
sandals, and hats, of his countrymen.
On reaching the hotel I find a gentleman awaiting me; it is the Minister
of Great Britain. He has learnt of my arrival, and is come to offer me
his hospitality, my country not having a legation in the city.
The Hotel du Palais in Seoul is new and fairly well managed, and so I
did not wish to put any one to inconvenience. The bishop being away, and
having no legation, I was anxious to remain my own master. We never know
when we may become a nuisance to the kindest of hosts. The pleasantness
of a visit, after all, depends more on circumstances than on the host or
guest.
All this I frankly explained, and in the end we made a compromise in
such a way as not to disturb our daily programme. I was to be his guest,
but each of us was to attend to his usual occupations, and we were to
meet only at luncheon time. As for the afternoons, we left everything to
circumstances.
The British Legation, on the other side of the new palace, is a pretty
country mansion, with a loggia, built on a bank, and enclosed by a
garden. The secretary's house stands in another part of the grounds, and
at the entrance a pavilion for the guards is in course of construction.
The interior is typically English, the same as we find it in the houses
of the well-to-do classes, whose root principle is, "My home is my
castle." Among those with whom the family life is such a fine example of
domestic virtues, the "home" strikes us very forcibly and with such
graciousness. Indeed, the "home" idea is one of Great Britain's
bulwarks.
My room was ready for me, bright and cheerful. The creeper on the
balcony was still green, and my windows looked out on to the courtyard
of the neighbouring palace.
In the afternoon I went to the German Consulate, and passed on the way
the Temple of Heaven--a pagoda standing on a hill, with a fair double
roof and in front of it a marble altar.
It is a replica, a poor one it is true, of Pekin's masterpiece, but
quite pretty from a scenic point of view.
From a small house at the corner a very babel of sound issues forth. It
is the inarticulate mechanical repetition of one chapter--exactly the
same method our own schoolmasters used to employ for instilling
knowledge.
As the door in the courtyard is open, I enter. In front of me I find a
room, not more than ten feet square, in which ten or more youngsters are
crowded together. There they sit on the floor, dressed green instead of
white, and their long hair hanging down in fine plaits.
[Illustration: THE IMPERIAL LIBRARY IN SEOUL "One of those charming
buildings full of originality" To face page 252]
Each has a big A B C book in his hand. Every word has a different
letter; these they repeat, and in this way knowledge is driven into
them. They pronounce everything out loud, moving the upper part of their
body to right and left, backwards and forwards, all the time.
The dominie is seated in front, also squatting on the floor. His eyes
are shielded by goggles of enormous size, and he wears on his head a
horsehair crown.
He is wisdom personified, outwardly at any rate, and his thoughts seem
to be ranging far away in the distance; and from his Olympic seat he
casts an indifferent eye on his perspiring pupils. But, as a famous
Chinese pedagogue says, "Chinese spelling and writing can only be
mastered mechanically; the best scholar is the jackass."
The German Consulate is a new building, but by no means as comfortable
as the English. The Consul-General is also entrusted with
Austro-Hungarian affairs, and would look after them if there were any to
look after. But I am afraid that the Viennese Foreign Office of the
present regime does not quite realize the commercial interests which it
might promote, and follows strictly the advice of the late Secretary of
Foreign Affairs, Ct. Kalnoky, given to an enthusiastic youth, "If you
want to succeed in your career and maintain your position when once
acquired, do not forget 'On n'est jamais en disgrace pour ce qu'on n'a
pas fait.'" He is very courteous, and talks a good deal of Japan, where
he acted as Councillor of the Legation.
From there to the Roman Catholic Mission is but a few yards. As I enter
its iron grilled gate, my surprise is as great as it is agreeable, for I
see before me a grand cathedral, and on either side spacious buildings
standing in their own wooded grounds.
It was built on the model of one of the old cathedrals in the
Netherlands--red brick, Gothic, a style which, as I invariably avow, I
do not like to find in the East. But this is only a criticism due to my
artistic sense. As a building, nothing can be said against it, for of
its kind it is perfect. But what struck me most was its cleanliness. The
stone floor was as bright as a mirror.
The bishop was away on circuit, and would not return for ten days, so
Father ----, the vicar, received me, and showed me over the whole little
colony, the school, and convent and orphanage; but of these I will speak
more fully elsewhere.
As I took my leave the sun was setting. The peaks of the encircling
hills were reflected in purple tints on the topaz sky. The Mission down
below, in the dell, appeared in a bluish mist, only the cathedral
cresting the hill.
Returning home by a circuitous route, I find the streets even more
thronged than in the morning. I glance into a few shops, but there is
not much worth seeing. The furriers, who are engaged in cutting out and
sewing a number of tunics, capes, and fur coats, seem to be the busiest.
There are also a good many jackets and still more waistcoats without
sleeves to protect the chest and back. Over these are worn white linen
kaftans. No wonder the wearers look like walking eider-down quilts.
To the right I noticed a tavern, much like the Chinese roadside inn, and
in the large open stable a row of small rough-haired horses were
standing with straw rugs on their backs. A coolie was carrying water
from the well in two brass vessels, hanging on the ends of a long pole.
The pole does not, however, rest upon his shoulders, but is fastened
crosswise to his back, giving man and load the appearance of a living
pair of scales.
Next come some unpretentious little barracks, which, in their smallness,
are after the pattern of the soldiers, a number of whom are looking out
of the windows. In the absence of any better occupation, they are
chewing pumpkin-seeds.
Now we arrive at the curiosity shops displaying several porcelain
articles, a few of bronze, many tiles, and a farrago of rubbish.
On the cross-road are some more barracks, comprised in a long low
building, the little men in front of which were wearing, not only red
collars, but also red dolmans. Here the cavalry are garrisoned, and a
little scrap of a hussar is just galloping home. This warrior is not a
whit taller than Hop o' my Thumb, his charger scarce larger than a
well-developed calf of two months.
By the side of this toy hussar rattled a formidable sabre, which seemed
in danger of pulling him down from his horse.
Without that impediment his seat is poor enough. On his coming nearer I
see that the murderous instrument is an ordinary cavalry sword. His
uniform is the most chequered I ever saw. The dolman of the Korean
hussar is of a cinnamon colour, his collar and cuffs emerald-green, and
his breeches stripes saffron. If the pattern of his uniform was the
plumage of a parrot, the imitation is indeed most successful.
I was wandering farther on, when in front of a gate some dogs nearly
knocked me down.
The streets of Seoul, like those of Pekin and Constantinople, are full
of them, but with this difference, that the dogs here are well-kept and
strong. If a single one of these starts barking, this signal of some
approaching danger is in a minute responded to throughout a whole
quarter. It was so in my case. As I came too near the threshold, the
guardian on duty there was under the impression that I intended to
encroach on his domain. His attitude towards me was anything but
friendly, and not being armed with either stick or umbrella, I
instinctively stooped down to pick up a stone. This movement on my part,
however, was sufficient to make him retire summarily into his own
courtyard. He was perfectly in the right, and it only showed what a
faithful watch-dog he was.
The Korean canine race is a subject worthy of a few words, because it
affords some of the most typical figures in the streets of Seoul. I must
confess I never have seen better-trained dogs than these. In the streets
they are the meekest of quadrupeds, and as quiet as lambs.
A single word is quite sufficient to make the Seoul dog scamper home to
his doorway. He knows that it is his duty to be there. He will lie in
the little yard for hours and hours, but prefers, best of all, to take
his ease on the doorstep, with his head in the street, so as not to lose
sight of any one approaching. He hardly takes any notice of you, as long
as you walk in the middle of the road. At most he would stare at
dark-clothed people with other than yellow faces, to the sight of whom
he is not accustomed, for ever since he came into this world he has seen
none other than white kaftans.
But the moment any stranger directs his steps towards the house, the
dog gives a growl or two, and on further approach barks as loud as he
can. He reserves his attack until you are within his range, that is to
say about a yard from him. By that time the auxiliary forces from the
neighbourhood have concentrated, and you have the whole brigade snarling
and yapping at your heels.
This fearsome pandemonium at last brings the master of the house, or a
member of his family, to the seat of the disturbance, and a single word,
or merely a sign, suffices for Cerberus to retire to a corner, wagging
his tail.
* * * * *
Darkness has set in. Calm reigns supreme. The fresh autumnal night is
silently spreading its grey veil of mist over the white city. But look!
is not that the northern light breaking through the dark? In the
direction of Puk-Han it begins to dawn. The sky unexpectedly flashes up;
its subdued red light is getting more and more brilliant. Now flames of
hundreds of torches illuminate the atmosphere. Here is another surprise,
as if the many strange phenomena of the day had not yet reached their
climax.
It is a torchlight procession, the like of which I have never seen
before. Pedestrians, sedan-chairs, men on horseback, are coming forward
in an endless string. And what a pageant this is! What effective
grouping! The minutest detail has been carried out with artistic taste.
The smallest traits are wonderfully harmonized, to enhance the general
effect.
The procession is headed by children, dressed in white from top to toe,
wearing bell-shaped head-gear. Then follow bearers of torchlights and
banners, servants carrying inscriptions attached to poles, others
dangling lanterns, and behind these another group burning straw plaits.
The next section of the procession consists of riders, of whom eight are
entirely covered by white cloaks. You would imagine they were phantoms,
if it were not that they are weeping bitterly. These are the paid
mourners, like the moaning women of ancient Rome; for it is a native
funeral. A member of the Min family is being taken to his last
resting-place. He is a descendant of a famous clan, a relative of the
late Empress of Korea, so regal pomp is awarded him. And the funeral
procession is really grand, although all dresses worn therein are of
unbleached linen. The trimmings are for the most part of paper, but in
such striking combinations, and designed and finished so perfectly, that
we disregard the details and only admire the general effect. The group
of moaning women is followed by monsters, dressed as guys, such as
gruesome fables are peopled with. One wears a red, another a yellow,
mask; this a green, and that a blue one. The appearance of all is
awe-inspiring, their heads being adorned with horns, cockscombs, and
crowns. Now more and more new groups follow, approaching in a stately
way, and disappearing slowly in the darkness of the night.
How long the procession lasted I could not ascertain, but some thousand
persons must have marched by ere the two gilt catafalques appeared on
the scene. Both were alike, resembling monumental pagodas, gabled in
many places, designed with the quaint originality of this people, and
ornamented with all the fullness of their fancy. The two coffins,
prescribed by ancient traditions, rest on pedestals in the shadow of
high baldachinos. Behind the coffin walks a person wrapped in sackcloth,
suggestive of the cloth worn over their uniforms by members of the
society of the Misericordia in Italy. The catafalques and coffins are
carried on their shoulders by thirty-two mourners, proceeding slowly and
rhythmically.
But the pageant is not yet at an end. On a number of sedan-chairs are
heaped up the personal belongings of the deceased. His clothes,
household furniture, horses, and cows, all follow him, so that they may
be consumed as a burnt-offering by his grave-side; all in _effigy_, for
they are but of paper. It is in such cheap counterfeit that the ancient
traditions are being preserved by the more practical progeny of the
present day. The silver coins, thrown by the riding "weepers" amongst
the crowd, are likewise make-believe, being really nothing but small
discs of paper. One sedan-chair follows another; hosts of carriers and
servants accompany the members of the family. There is the whole tribe;
a whole brigade is riding behind the gabled catafalque. All are covered
with sackcloth; even the mendicant is dressed in white--the whole
procession is white. And as they turn round at the top of the hill, the
effect of the picture is unique. The weeping women, the monsters, the
mourners and attendants, the gigantic catafalques, and the immense
crowd, formed one of the strangest sights I ever contemplated. The
furled banners, dangling inscriptions, open sunshades, lanterns with dim
lights in the darkness of the night, formed the quaintest setting. The
light of torches, the burning bunches of bulrushes and straw, are
tinting in a vibrating red the long, white and ghostly procession. The
beating of drums, and the droning of bagpipes, furnish the music, and
the weeping women the proper chorus. This strange funeral, in fact, is
the most perfect "danse macabre."
The full moon, fuller than usual, as though anxious to light up the
weird procession, is rising in a slow and stately manner behind the
hills. Her melancholy rays filter through the night, her silvery
splendour intensifying the ghostliness of the scene.
* * * * *
The first day spent in the capital of Korea is nearing its end.
Quietness penetrates the night--such profound quietness as can only be
enjoyed in Seoul. The alley leading to the legation is dark and
deserted. And as I walk home I try to recall to my memory all that I
have perceived and heard; all that was new to me and striking; all the
contrasts and the incoherency of earliest perceptions.
No guests were bidden to dinner, and when my host put the question to
me, "What do you think about Seoul?" I was scarcely able to express my
thoughts clearly. What do I really think about Seoul? What about her
people, her life, physiology, and atmosphere? I will write it down
forthwith, ere _knowledge_ spoils the glamour of first impressions,
whilst every tint is shining in glaring colour, whilst every detail can
be observed through the microscope of novelty.
On the last day of my sojourn here, I will look through these short
notes, and, like a schoolmaster, correct in red ink any mistakes that
may be found therein. Town and people will then be better known, but the
charm of the first day will vanish for ever.
X
THE EMPEROR OF KOREA AT THE NEW PALACE
Since last night we have been in the midst of revolution; but it seems
that a revolution in Korea is very much like everyday life in other
corners of the earth, and nobody attaches any importance to it.
Everybody pursues his daily task, the ordinary routine goes on in its
slow and lumbering way. Official life maintains its sluggish pulsation,
and to my astonishment I even get an invitation to be received in the
course of the afternoon by the Emperor and the Crown Prince.
It is a calm day, calm in every respect, and the people of Seoul seem to
be at rest, as I am carried by eight unusually large bearers towards the
New Palace. The little _cortege_ is of a strange character. My
sedan-chair is covered with green silk, and, with the bearers in dark
purple, makes quite a patch of colour in the whitewashed streets.
Seoul might be called the white city. The houses are white, and every
living being, young and old, man and woman, is clad in white cotton. I
should really think that the absence of colour and sound is the most
striking feature of the Land of the Morning Calm.
The reception takes place at the New Palace. There are four palaces in
Seoul, the Eastern, Northern, Western, and the one I am just entering. I
have passed a great many delightful afternoons in their magnificent
grounds, forlorn gardens, quaint summer-houses, and charming pagodas.
I returned again and again to sketch for a while, or to admire the
once-famous Korean art, which, I am afraid, has vanished for ever, like
the famous bronze-workers, sculptors, and cloisonne makers, like the
whole once-famous civilization that has left only a few magnificent
monuments of its existence.
The sedan-chairs are put down before the main entrance, which looks very
much like that of a suburban railway station, with its glass roof,
supported by iron posts. It is modern indeed. It may be useful, but it
is sadly commonplace. There is a platform, too, not to miss anything to
complete the _tout ensemble_.
I am shown first into an ante-room which might be that of any small
country villa, and our coats are hung on racks which have every
appearance of having come straight from Tottenham Court Road. And then
we step into a drawing-room, which I prefer to call a waiting room, an
exact replica of those dreary places where we are compelled to waste so
many hours of our lives. It might belong to a dentist, a doctor, or a
public official at home.
In the centre there is a huge table with the kind of books which nobody
ever dreams of reading. The furniture is featureless, but not altogether
unpretentious, and the engravings and pictures are of a sort that nobody
cares for. I was told by way of compliment to the West that the Court
arranged this apartment for foreign receptions, and I wonder if it was
entirely without sarcasm or pardonable malice that visitors are
confronted with a room that makes all the faults of modern Western taste
so manifest. It was a climax of all that is banal.
Whilst waiting we are entertained by His Excellency the Master of
Ceremonies, the Lord Chamberlain, and several A.D.C.'s. They all wear
European uniforms, dark marine-blue tunics, with many black and gold
badges and heavily braided dark red trousers. Everything is of the best
material and highly finished, apparently made far beyond Korea's
frontiers. Some of the officials talk French, some English, and all are
most interesting and entertaining. They have charming manners and all
the natural refinements of an ancient race.
Two of them are old acquaintances. I met them years ago at Buckingham
Palace, on the occasion of Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee. Prince Min
is an accomplished man of the world. He has just built a new house on
the outskirts of the city, "with all the most modern improvements," but
I am rather sorry he has left his old home, lost in the maze of the
inner town and buried in the shade of a few fine chestnut trees. It was
such a typical old Korean home, looking outside like a hut built of mud
and covered with thatch, but inside looking like a white paper box. Its
tiny rooms were carpeted with silky matting, and for furniture it had
half a dozen silk cushions--for ornamentation, but a single flower
stand.
There is a striking contrast between this modern waiting-room and the
old Korean house; a contrast of vulgarity and refinement. I am sorry to
say I saw only a few of these quaint old places, and I fear that on my
next visit they will all have disappeared. To pass the time, tea,
champagne-cup, and cigarettes, are handed round, as they would be in any
Western house.
The New Palace and its diplomatic receptions are managed by a Western
lady.
There are some other Westerners holding Court appointments here, some
with the title of teacher of languages, and many others under different
pretexts. But few of them render services that are ever required.
The building of this New Palace is unquestionably strange and
antagonistic, but I will confine myself to observing the material sides.
Its conception and architecture are equally incoherent; it is such an
unintelligible mixture of old and new, national and foreign. Near the
hall, built exactly like an old yamen, there stands a shed of corrugated
iron, and a wonderful old gate leads to a passage furnished with
Viennese chairs. The whole palace was built as opportunity offered,
without previous plans. It came to be erected in the following way.
During the last revolution, the Empress lost her life: she was dragged
out of her room, atrociously tortured, and stabbed by ruffians, or, as
some say, by foreign soldiers. Afterwards, her body was burned in the
adjoining deer park, at the foot of the eastern hills. The Emperor
himself escaped only with the greatest difficulty, in a disguise,
carried on men's shoulders, as Anchises was out of the burning ruins of
Troy. He never returned to those ill-fated walls, but took refuge in the
Russian Legation, and remained there for a long time to be in greater
security.
After this, land was secured near the legations, amidst the foreign
settlement, and there the New Palace was erected. It is not completed
yet, and I am afraid it will remain unfinished for many years, and offer
a source of income to the commercial, trading, labouring, and idling
classes of the country.
At last His Majesty awoke from his siesta and was ready to receive me.
There are no ushers and no Court functionaries, and little or no
display. The servants who came with the message wore a red calico kaftan
to the ground, with a red calico hood that looked like a domino. It is
the Court livery, simple to make and cheap to buy. Calico is the
national material, that everybody wears at all seasons of the year--in
winter padded with cotton-wool or sheepskin. There are over 10,000,000
purchasers of calico in Korea, and it has become quite an interesting
commercial question whether Japan's Osaka or England's Manchester will
secure the future market.
By a little door and through a narrow passage, built of white deal
boards, we get to the inner court, which is really a backyard surrounded
by store-rooms and servants' sheds.
[Illustration: THE THRONE ROOM "Since the revolution, in which the
Empress lost her life, the Emperor has never returned there" To face
page 268]