As "Paris is France," so Seoul may be said to be Korea, for it is the
centre from which nearly every thing for the country either originates
or is disseminated. Officers ruling over country districts usually
have their "house in town," and expect to spend a portion, at least,
of their time within the walls of the capital. While some of the
provincial capitals are said to contain more people and to be more
celebrated for certain reasons, Seoul is the home of the King and
the Mecca of his faithful subjects. A description of this city may,
therefore, answer for all. The capital is a city of some 300,000
inhabitants, half of whom, perhaps, live in the extensive suburbs
without the walls. It lies in a basin of granite sand, surrounded by
high mountains and their projecting ridges, over which climbs the high,
thick, encircling wall of masonry; pierced at convenient points by
massive, pagoda-roofed gates, amply strong enough for defense against
the weapons of war in use at the time of building this great relic
of seclusion.
The city is traversed by broad avenues from which runs a perfect
labyrinth of narrow streets. Originally none of these streets were
less than twenty feet wide, and some of the avenues leading up to the
imposing gates of the palaces are even now a good two hundred feet
in width. But the streets have all been encroached upon by the little
temporary thatched booths of the petty retail dealers, so that, with
the exception of the approaches to the palaces, the line is broken,
the streets made tortuous, and only here and there a broad open
spot indicates the original width of the thoroughfare. Originally
every street was furnished with its sewer--open in the smaller
streets, while the avenues were drained by great covered sewers of
stonework. Occasionally the proprietor of one of the little temporary
booths would put a foundation under his structure, bridging over the
sewer, until now the streets have in many cases become mere crooked
alleys, and but for the bountiful rains, the excellent natural
drainage, and the character of the soil, the mortality would be very
great instead of being less than in ordinary American cities. No
attempt is made towards street decoration, as that would attract the
attention of thieves. The magnificent grounds of a nobleman, with their
artificial lakes, flower gardens, water-worn pillars of ancient rock
and quaintly twisted trees, may be enclosed by a row of tumble-down,
smoke-begrimed servant-quarters that would never indicate the beauty
to be found hidden within its forbidding exterior.
Travellers never seem to realize that a street in the East is apt to
be but a "way" between two points, and as the usual Oriental odors
greet their nostrils and their eyes rest on the dirty servants and
their dirtier hovels, they at once denounce the whole town.
There is attraction enough, however, in a Korean street for any one
who is in search of strange sights. Looking down one of the broad
thoroughfares of Seoul from a point on the city wall, the sun's rays,
falling on the light-colored gowns of the pedestrians as they saunter
along amid the bulls and ponies, produce a kaleidoscopic effect that
is certainly charming. Passing down into the throng it will be seen to
be made up mostly of men, with here and there a group of common women,
each closely veiled with a bright green gown, made like the long outer
garment of the men, and possessing little sleeves of crimson. This
strange garment is never worn, but is always used as a covering for
the fair (?) face. Tradition teaches that in ancient times, when wars
were frequent, veils were discarded and these gowns were worn by the
wives and sisters, that, in case of sudden call to arms, they could
be given to their husbands and brothers to be worn to battle--hence
the red sleeves, upon which the gory sword was to be wiped.
The peculiar gauze "stove-pipe" hat of the men, about which so much has
been said, also has its origin in tradition, as follows: In ancient
days conspiracies were common; to prevent these an edict was issued
compelling all men to wear great earthenware hats, the size of an
umbrella (type of the mourner's hat in Korea to-day, except that the
latter is made of finely woven basket-work). This law became very
odious, for in addition to the weight of the hats, not more than a
very few men could come close enough together to converse, and even
then spies could hear their necessarily loud whispering. Little by
little, therefore, the law began to be infringed upon till the people
got down to the present airy structure of horsehair, silk, and bamboo.
Another story is, that petty wars being too frequent between rival
sections, all men were compelled to wear these umbrella hats of
clay. In case one became broken the possessor was punished by
decapitation--naturally they stopped their fighting and took good
care of their hats till the law was repealed.
The custom of wearing white so extensively as they do is also
accounted for by tradition. Mourning is a serious business in Korea,
for on the death of a father the son must lay aside his gay robes
and clothe himself in unbleached cotton of a very coarse texture. He
wraps his waist with a rope girdle, and puts on the umbrella hat,
which conceals the whole upper portion of his person. For further
protection against intrusion he carries a white fan, and, should he
smoke, his pipe must be wrapped with white. For three years he must
wear this guise and must do no work, so that the resources of even
a large and prosperous family may be thus exhausted.
Should a king die, the whole nation would be compelled to don this
mourning garb, or rather they would be compelled to dress in white--the
mourning color. Once, during a period of ten years, three kings died,
necessitating a constant change of dress on the part of the people
and a great outlay of money, for a Korean wardrobe is extensive
and costly. Tradition has it, therefore, that, to be ready for the
caprice of their kings in the future, the people adopted white as
the national color.
The nobility and wealthy persons who can afford it, dress in rich gayly
colored silks, and even the common people add a little blue or green to
their outside robes, so that when they wander about over the beautiful
green hills in their favorite pastime of admiring the natural beauties
of a remarkably beautiful and well preserved landscape, their bright
gowns but add to the general effect. And a long procession of monks
emerging from their high mountain temple and descending along the
green mountain path might be taken for a company of the spirits with
which their literature abounds; especially will this be the case if,
as is common, the region of the temple is shrouded with clouds.
But little of home life is seen along the streets, and the favored
ones who may pass the great gates and traverse the many courts which
lead to the fine inclosures of the nobility would see but little of
home life, as the women have quarters by themselves, and are only
seen by the men of their own family.
It is pleasant, however, to see the little groups of the working class
sitting around the fire which is cooking their evening meal and at
the same time heating the platform of paper and cement-covered stones
which form the floor of their bed chamber, and on which they will
spread their mats and sleep. They will all be found to be smoking,
and if tobacco was ever a blessing to any people it is to the lower
classes in Korea, who find in it their greatest comfort. No one could
see the solid enjoyment taken by a Korean coolie with his pipe without
blessing the weed.
As the fires burn low, and one by one the smokers have knocked
the ashes from their pipes and sought the warm stone floor, a deep
stillness settles over the profoundly dark city. The rich, deep notes
of a great centrally located bell ring out as the watchman draws back
a huge suspended beam of wood, and releasing it, lets it strike the
bronze side of the heavy bell, from which vibration after vibration
is sent forth upon the still night-air.
Some weird music, which has been likened to that of Scotch bagpipes,
is heard from the direction of the city gates, and the traveller,
who is still threading the streets to his abode, feels thankful that
he has arrived in time, for now the massive gates are closed, and
none may enter without royal permission. The street traveller will
also hasten to his home or stopping-place, for between the ringing
of the evening chimes and the tolling of the bell to announce the
approach of dawn, all men must absent themselves from the streets,
which then are taken possession of by the women, who even then, as
they flit about from house to house with their little paper lanterns,
go veiled lest some passing official should see their faces. [1]
The midnight stillness is broken by the barking of countless dogs,
but as cats are in disfavor their serenades are seldom heard. Another
sound is often, in busy times heard throughout the whole night. It
is peculiar to Korea, and to one who has lived long in the country
it means much. It is the drumming of the Korean laundry. To give the
light-colored gowns their highly prized lustre they must be well
pounded; for this purpose the cloth is wrapped around a long hard
roller which is fixed in a low frame, two women then sit facing each
other with, in each hand, a round, hard stick, something like a small
base-ball bat, and they commence beating the cloth, alternating so
as to make quite a musical tinkle.
Heard at some distance this rhythmic rattle is not unpleasant, and
one is assured that in the deep night that has settled so like a pall
over the city, two persons are wide-awake and industriously engaged,
while, when the tapping ceases for a bit, one is comforted with
the thought that the poor things are enjoying a rich bit of gossip,
or welcoming a friend who is more fortunate in having finished her
ironing in time to enjoy the freedom of the night.
Inside the Palace the night is turned into day as nearly as can be
done by the electric light. The business of the government is mostly
transacted at night that the wheels of administration may run smoothly
during the day. At sun-down several lights may be seen on the summit
of the beautiful ever green south mountain which forms the southern
limit of the city; as does a grim stony peak on the north serve a
similar purpose on that side. The south mountain faces the Palaces. It
also commands a good view of the outlying peaks, upon some of which,
situated in suitable localities, are stationed watchmen, so placed as
to command a view of others farther and farther removed; thus forming
lines from the distant borders of the country to the capital. On
these peaks small signal-fires are nightly kindled, and as the lights
are seen by the watchman on the south mountain, he builds the proper
number of fires upon little altars in full view of the Palace. Then a
body of gray old officers go in before His Majesty, and bowing their
heads to the floor, make known the verdict of the signal-fires,
as to whether peace reigns in the borders or not. Soon after this
the officials assemble and the business of the government begins,
the King giving his personal attention to all matters of importance.
There are three palace inclosures in the city, only one of which
is occupied. One is an old ruined place that was built for the use
of a ruler who chanced to be regent for his father, and as he could
not reside in the Palace proper this smaller place was prepared for
him. The buildings now are in ruins, while the large grounds are used
by the foreign silk expert as a nursery for mulberry-trees.
The present Palace includes some hundreds of acres, and is the home
of more than three thousand attendants. The grounds are beautifully
diversified by little lakes of several acres in extent, one of which
surrounds a magnificent and stately pavilion, supported on great stone
pillars,--a fine picture and description of this, and other parts of
the Palace, may be found in Mr. Lowell's "Chosen." The other lake
possesses a bright little pagoda-like pavilion, around which plays
a steam launch, dividing the lotus flowers which grow in the water,
and startling the swan, duck, and other aquatic animals that make
this their home.
These lakes are fed and drained by a mountain stream that enters
and leaves the Palace inclosure, through water-gates built under the
walls. Some of the bridges spanning this brook are quaint pieces of
artistic masonry, having animals carved in blocks of stone, represented
in the act of plunging into the liquid depths below. This carved stone
work abounds throughout the Palace buildings; the largest of which
is the great Audience-Hall, with its mast-like pillars supporting a
ceiling at an elevation of near one hundred feet above the tiled floor.
The dwelling-houses of the Royal Family are built upon the banks
of one of the small lakes, and are surrounded by walls for greater
seclusion. The rooms are furnished with costly articles from European
markets, together with the finest native furniture. Foreign-trained
cooks are employed, and the dinners sometimes given to distinguished
foreign guests are in entire accord with modern western
methods. Royalty is never present at these banquets, which are
presided over by one of the heads of departments; the Royal Family,
maybe, witnessing the novel sight from a secluded place where their
presence may not be known.
The King only leaves the Palace upon certain occasions, as when he
goes to bow before the tombs of his ancestors. On these occasions
the streets are cleared of the little straw-thatched booths of the
petty retail merchants as well as of all other unsightly objects. The
street is roped off and sprinkled with fresh earth, and the people
don their holiday garb, for it is indeed a great gala day to
them. The procession is a gorgeous relic of mediæval times, with
bits of the present strangely incorporated. There may be regiments
of soldiers in the ancient fiery coats of mail, preceded or followed
by soldiers dressed in the queer hybrid uniforms of the modern army,
and bearing the bayoneted rifles of the present day, instead of the
quaint matchlock-guns and ugly spears of the ancient guard. The wild,
weird music of the native bands may be followed by the tooting of
the buglers of the modern soldiery.
The strange one-wheeled chair of an official, with its numbers of
pushers and supporters, will probably be followed by an artillery
company dragging Gatling guns. His Majesty himself will be borne in
a great throne-like chair of red work, supported on the shoulders
of thirty-two oddly attired bearers, while high officials in the
government service may be mounted on horse back, or borne in less
pretentious chairs. The length of the procession varies, but it is
seldom less than an hour in passing a given place.
The King is thirty-eight years of age. The Queen is one year his
senior. The Crown Prince is fifteen years old, and has no brothers
or sisters. Foreigners who have been granted an audience with the
King are always pleased with his affability and brightness. He
is quick of perception and very progressive. By having foreign
newspapers translated to him he keeps fully abreast of the times. He
is kind-hearted to a fault, and much concerned for the welfare of
his people. His word is law, and an official would never think of
failing to carry out his instructions or perish in the attempt. Owing
to his great seclusion and the amount of ceremony with which he is
hedged in, and the fact that, as a rule, nothing disagreeable must be
brought to his notice, he is somewhat at the mercy of his favorites;
and a trusted eunuch, having the King's ear continually, may become
a great power for good or bad as the case may be. As decapitation is
the usual punishment for most crimes, however, and as an official
who should deceive the King would probably meet with such an end,
the responsibility of the place is apt to sober an otherwise fickle
mind and insure honest reports.