Corean inns--Seoul--A tour of
observation--Beggars--Lepers--Philosophy--An old palace--A leopard
hunt--Weather prophets--The main street--Sedan chairs---The big
bell--Crossing of the bridges--Monuments--Animal worship--The Gate of the
Dead--A funeral--The Queen-dowager's telephone.
[Illustration: THE DRILLING GROUND, SEOUL]
During the time that I was in Seoul--and I was there several months--most
of my time was spent out of doors, for I mixed as much as possible with
the natives, that I might see and study their manners and customs. I was
very fortunate in my quarters: for I first stayed at the house of a
Russian gentleman, and after that in that of the German Consul, and to
these kind friends I felt, and shall always feel, greatly indebted for
the hospitality they showed me during the first few weeks that I was in
the capital; but, above all, do I owe it to the Vice-Minister of Home
Affairs in Corea, Mr. C.R. Greathouse, in whose house I stayed most of
the time, that I saw Corea as I did see it, for he went to much trouble
to make me comfortable, and did his best to enable me to see every phase
of Corean life. For this, I need not say, I cannot be too grateful.
The great difficulty travellers visiting the capital of Corea
experience--I am speaking of four years ago--is to find a place to put up
at, unless he has invitations to go and stay with friends. There are no
hotels, and even no inns of any sort, with the exception of the very
lowest _gargottes_ for soldiers and coolies, the haunts of gamblers and
robbers. If then you are without shelter for the night, you must simply
knock at the door of the first respectable house you see, and on demand
you will heartily be provided with a night's domicile and plentiful rice.
This being so, there is little inducement to go to some filthy inn
entirely lacking in comforts, and, above all, in personal safety.
The Corean inns--and there are but few even of those--are patronised only
by the scum of the worst people of the lowest class, and whenever there
is a robbery, a fight, or a murder, you can be certain that it has taken
place in one of those dens of vice. I have often spent hours in them
myself to study the different types, mostly criminal, of which there are
many specimens in these abodes. There it is that plots are made up to
assassinate; it is within those walls that sinners of all sorts find
refuge, and can keep well out of sight of the searching police.
The attractions of Seoul, as a city, are few. Beyond the poverty of the
buildings and the filth of the streets, I do not know of much else of any
great interest to the casual globe-trotter, who, it must be said, very
seldom thinks it advisable to venture as far as that. No, there is
nothing beautiful to be seen in Seoul. If, however, you are on the
look-out for quaintness and originality, no town will interest you more.
Let us go for a walk round the town, and if your nose happens to be of a
sensitive nature, do not forget to take a bottle of the strongest salts
with you. We might start on our peregrinations from the West Gate, as we
are already familiar with this point. We are on the principal
thoroughfare of Seoul, which we can easily perceive by the amount of
traffic on it as compared with the other narrower and deserted streets.
The mud-houses on each side, as we descend towards the old royal palace,
are miserable and dirty, the front rooms being used as shops, where
eatables, such as rice, dried fruit, &c, are sold. A small projecting
thatched roof has been put up, sustained by posts, at nearly each of
these, to protect its goods from sun and snow. Before going two hundred
yards we come to a little stone bridge, about five feet wide, and with no
parapet, over a sewer, in front of which is an open space like a small
square. But look! Do you see that man squatting down there on a mat? Is
he not picturesque with his long white flowing robe, his large pointed
straw hat and his black face? As he lies there with outstretched hands,
dried by the sun and snow, calling out for the mercy of the passers-by,
he might almost be mistaken for an Arab. His face is as black as it could
be, and he is blind. He is one of the personalities of Seoul, and rain or
shine you always see him squatting on his little mat at the same spot in
the same attitude.
[Illustration: THE BLIND BEGGAR: SEOUL]
It is only seldom that beggars are to be seen in Cho-sen, for they are
not allowed to prowl about except on certain special occasions, and
festivities, when the streets are simply crammed with them. It is then
that the most ghastly diseases, misfortunes, accidents, and deformities
are made use of and displayed before you to extract from your pockets the
modest sum of a _cash_. I cannot say that I am easily impressed by such
sights, and far less horrified, for in my lifetime it has been my luck to
see so many that I have got accustomed to them; but I must confess to
being on one occasion really terrified at the sight of a Corean beggar. I
was sketching not very far from this stone miniature bridge on which we
are supposed to be still standing, when I perceived the most ghastly
object coming towards me. It looked like a human being, and it did not;
but it was. As he drew nearer, I could not help shivering. He was a
walking skeleton, minus toes and fingers. He was almost naked, except
that he had a few rags round his loins; and the skin that hardly covered
his bones was a mass of sores. His head was so deformed and his eyes so
sunken that a Peruvian mummy would have been an Adonis if compared with
him. Nose he had none--_et ça passe_--for in Seoul it is a blessing not
to have one; and where his mouth should have been there was a huge gap,
his lower jaw being altogether missing. A few locks of long hair in
patches on his skull, blown by the wind, completed a worthy frame for
this most unprepossessing head.
Oh, what a hideous sight! He hopped along a step or two at a time on his
bony legs and toeless feet, keeping his balance with a long crutch, which
he held under his arm, and he had a sort of wooden cup attached by a
string to his neck, into which people might throw their charities. "He is
a leper," a Corean, who stood by my side and had noticed the
ever-increasing expression of horror on my face, informed me.
The man, or rather the scarecrow, for he hardly had any more the
resemblance to a human being, hearing the noise of the crowd that was
round me, moved in my direction. He staggered and dragged himself till he
got quite close, then bending his trembling head forward, made the utmost
efforts to see, just as a bat does when taken out into the daylight. Poor
fellow! he was also very nearly blind. His efforts to speak were painful
beyond measure. A hoarse sound like the neighing of a pony was all that
came out of his throat, and each time he did this, shrieks of laughter
rose from the crowd, while comical jokes and sarcastic remarks were
freely passed at the thinness of his legs, the condition of his skin, and
the loss of the lower half of his face. Oh! it was shocking and
revolting, though it must be said for them that the same people who
chaffed him were also the first ones to fill his little pot with cash.
Now, you must not think that I have told you this story to make your hair
stand on end, for that is not my intention at all; but simply to prove to
you the anomaly that a Corean is not really cruel when he is cruel, or
rather when he appears to us to be cruel. This sounds, I believe, rather
extraordinary to people who cannot be many-sided when analysing a
question, but what I mean is this: It must not be forgotten that
different people have different customs and different ways of thinking;
therefore, what we put down as dreadful is often thought a great deal of
in the Land of the Morning Calm.
"Why not laugh at illnesses, death, and deformity?" I once heard a Corean
argue.
"It does not make people any better if you sympathise with them; on the
contrary, by so doing you simply add pain to their pain, and make them
feel worse than they really are. Besides, illnesses help to make up our
life, and it is our duty to go through them as merrily as through those
other things which you call pleasures. We people of Cho-sen do not look
upon illnesses, accidents, or death as misfortunes, but as natural things
that cannot be helped and must be bravely endured; what better, then, can
we do than laugh at them?"
"So your argument is," I dared put in, "that if one may laugh at one's
own misfortunes, there is all the more title to laugh at those of other
people?"
"That is so," retorted the man of Cho-sen, with an air of
self-conviction.
I at once agreed with him that I did not find much real harm in laughing
at other people's misfortunes, except that if it did not do anybody any
harm, it neither did them any good; but I acknowledge that it took me
some minutes before I could make up my mind as to one's own misfortunes.
In the end, however, I had to agree with him even about this point. He
proved to me that Coreans are at bottom very good-hearted and unselfish,
and always ready to help relations and neighbours, always ready to be
kind even at their own discomfort. This good-nature, however, lacks in
form from our point of view, though the substance is always the same, and
probably more so than with us. They are a much simpler people, and
hypocrisy among them has not yet reached our civilised stage. In the case
of our poor leper friend, we have seen that the people who laughed at him
were the first to help him; whereas, I have no doubt that among us who
are good Christians, and nothing else but charitable, the majority would
not have laughed; indeed, I am not quite sure but that, on the contrary,
many would have run to the nearest church to pray for the man, meantime
leaving him "cashless," if not to die of starvation.
Now let us continue our walk and leave the blind man and leper behind. On
our left-hand side there is a huge gateway with a red wooden door--in
rather a dilapidated condition--though apparently leading to something
very grand. Since we are here we may as well go in. Good gracious! it is
a tumble-down place. In olden days it used to be the king's palace, and
if you follow me you can see how big the grounds are. For some reason or
other this place, with all its accessories, buildings, &c., has been
abandoned by the Court simply because of rumours getting abroad that
ghosts haunted it. Evil spirits were reported to have been seen prowling
about the grounds, and in the royal apartments, and it would never have
done for a king to have been near such company; so the Court went to
great expense to build a fresh abode for the royal personage, and the old
palace was abandoned and left to decay. The grounds that were laid out as
pretty gardens were, many years later, used for a plantation of
mulberries, a foreign speculation which was to enrich the King and the
country, but which turned out instead a huge _fiasco_. The mulberry trees
are still there, as you may see. Let us, however, proceed a little way up
this hill and go and pay a visit to the two eunuchs who are the sole
inhabitants of this huge place, and who will take us round it. These
eunuchs occupy a little room about ten feet square and of the same height
in the inner enclosure. They are very polite, and joining their hands by
way of salute to you, invite you to go in--to drink tea and smoke a pipe.
Poor wretches! One of them, a fat fellow of an unwholesome kind, as if he
were made of putty, having learnt the European way of greeting people,
insisted on shaking hands with me, but, oh, how repulsive it was! His
cold, squashy sort of boneless hand, gave you the impression that you had
grasped a toad in your hand. And his face! Did you ever see a weaker,
more depraved and inhuman head than that which was screwed on his
shoulders? His cadaverous complexion was marked with the results of
small-pox, which were certainly no improvement to his looks; his eyes had
been set in his head anyhow, and each seemed to move of its own accord;
his mouth seemed simply to hang like a rag, showing his teeth and his
tongue.
His fellow was somewhat better, for he was of the thin kind of that type,
and though possessing the effeminate, weak characteristics of his friend,
one could at least see that he was built on a skeleton, like the
generality of people! But the features of these eunuchs were as nothing
to their voices. The latter were squeaky like those of girls of five; and
more especially when the fat man spoke, it almost seemed as if the thread
of a voice came from underground, so imperceptible was the sound that he
could produce after he had spoken a few minutes. Having profited by the
notions of my Corean philosopher of a little while ago, I simply went
into screams of merriment at the misfortune of these poor devils, but
really it was difficult to help it.
Preceded by these eunuchs, let us now go over the tumble-down ruins of
the palace. On the top of the small hill stands the main building of red
painted wood and turned up roof _à la Chinoise_, and inside this, in the
audience hall, can yet be seen the remains of the wooden throne raised up
in the centre, with screens on the sides. There is nothing artistic about
it, no richness, and nothing beautiful, and with the exception of the
ceiling, that must have been pretty at one time with native patterns and
yellow, red and green ornaments, there is absolutely nothing else worth
noticing. Outside, the three parallel flights of steps leading up to the
audience hall have a curious feature. It is forbidden to any one but the
King to go up on the middle steps, and he of course is invariably
carried; for which reason, in the middle part of the centre staircase a
carved stone table is laid over the steps in such a way that no one can
tread on them except quite at the sides where the men who carry the King
have to walk.
The houses where the King and royal family used to live with their
household have now been nearly all destroyed by the weather and damp, and
many of the roofs have fallen in. They were very simple, only one story
high, and little better than the habitations of the better classes of
people in Cho-sen. Coming out again of the inner enclosure, one finds
stables and other houses scattered here and there in the _compound_,[3]
and lower down we come to a big drain of masonry. But let me tell you a
funny story.
As you know, the Land of the Morning Calm is often troubled at night by
prowling leopards and huge tigers which make their peregrinations through
the town in search of food. A big leopard was thus seen by the natives
one fine day taking a constitutional in the grounds of this haunted
palace. Perplexed and even terrified, the unarmed natives ran for their
lives, except one who, from a distant point of vantage, watched the
animal and saw him enter the drain just mentioned. There happened to be
staying in Seoul an Englishman, a Mr. S., who possessed a rifle and who
had often astonished the natives by his skill in never missing the bull's
eye; so to him they all went in a deputation, begging him to do away with
the four-legged, unwelcome visitor. Mr. S., who wished for nothing
better, promised that he would go that same night, and, accompanied by
his faithful native servant, went and hid himself in proximity to the
hole whence the leopard was likely to spring. It was a lovely moonlight
night, and several hours had been passed in perfect silence and vain
waiting for the chance of a shot, when a bright idea struck the native
servant. Certain that the leopard was no longer there, and wishing to
retire to his warm room, he addressed his master in poetic terms somewhat
as follows:--
"Sir, I am a brave man, and fear neither man nor beast. I am your
servant, and for you am ready to give my life. I have brought with me two
long bamboos, and with them I shall go and poke in the drain, rouse the
ferocious beast, and as he jumps out you will kill him. If I shall lose
my life, which I am ready to do for you, please think of my wife and
child."
"Very good," said the Englishman, who was getting rather tired of the
discomfort and cold, and who, though he did not say so, also shared the
opinion that the brute had gone.
Thus encouraged, the servant at once proceeded to tie the two bamboos
together, and again reminding his master of the brave act he was going to
accomplish, proceeded with firm step to the drain, about thirty yards
off. When he reached the opening he seemed to hesitate. He stood and
listened. He carefully peeped in and listened again. He heard nothing.
Then, bringing all his courage to bear, he lifted his bamboo and began
poking in the drain. Two or three times, as he thought, he had touched
something soft with the end. He dropped his bamboo as if it had been a
hot iron, and ran full-speed back to his master, imploring his
protection.
"Has got--has got--kill--master--kill--kill!" and he lay by his side,
shivering with fright.
"You are frightened, you coward; there is nothing. Go again."
After a few minutes the faithful valet, who had then made quite sure that
there was no leopard in the drain and that he had shown himself a coward,
unwillingly and slowly returned to the charge and picked up his bamboo.
"I am trembling with cold, not with fear," he had said as he was getting
up again. "I shall enter the drain this time and rouse the animal
myself!"
So he really did. He went in, holding the bamboo in front of him, and
pausing at each step. The farther in he went, the more his
self-confidence failed him. The drain was high enough to allow of his
standing in it with his back and head bent down; wherefore, if an
encounter with the spotted fiend were to take place, the retreat of the
man would not be an easy matter.
"Master must think me very brave," he was soliloquising on his
subterranean march, when he received a sudden shock that nearly stopped
his heart and froze the blood in his veins. He had actually touched
something soft with the end of his bamboo, and not only that, but he
fancied he heard a growl.
He quickly turned round to escape, when a violent push knocked him down,
and he fell almost senseless and bleeding all over.
"Bang!" went the rifle outside just as the screams of: "Master, aahi,
aahi, kill, kill, kill," were echoing in the drain; and the leopard with
a broken hind leg rolled over on the ground groaning fiercely, by-and-by
trying to retrace its steps to its domicile. The poor Corean lay
perplexed, looking at the scene, all lighted up by the beautiful
moonlight; and his heart bounded with joy, when, after the second or
third report of the gun, he saw shot dead the animal that had already
reached the opening of the drain.
As his master appeared, rifle in hand, and touched the dead beast, his
valiant qualities returned to him in full, and he got out of the drain.
He was badly scratched all over, I dare say, by the paws of the beast,
for it had sprung violently out the moment the bamboo tickled it, though
otherwise he was not much the worse for his narrow escape.
Such is the last story connected with that drain. The grounds, as you
see, extend towards the west as far as the city wall. As we go out of the
gate which we entered, you can see a sort of a portico on the left-hand
side as you approach it. Well, under that, as the spring is approaching,
there are often to be heard the most diabolical noises for several days
in succession. If the season has been a very dry one, you will see
several men and numberless children beating on three or four huge drums
and calling out at the top of their voices for rain. From sunrise until
sunset this goes on, unless some stranded cloud happens to appear on the
horizon, when the credit of such a phenomenon is awarded to their
diabolical howls, and _cash_ subtracted from landed proprietors as a
reward for their having called the attention of the weather-clerk. A
spectacled wise-man, a kind of astrologer, on a donkey and followed and
preceded by believers in his extraordinary powers of converting fine
weather into wet, and _vice versâ_, rides through the main streets of the
capital, with lanterns and festoons, on the same principle as does our
Salvation Army, namely, to collect a crowd to the spot where his
mysterious rites are to be performed. Here, supported by his servants, he
dismounts from his high saddle, and, still supported under his arms--the
idea being that so great a personage cannot walk by himself--he at last
reaches the spot, apparently with great fatigue. "To carry all his
knowledge," argue the admiring natives, "must indeed entail great
fatigue."
When rain is to be summoned, our astrologer addresses his first
reproaches to the sun, stretching out his hands and using the strongest
of invectives, after which, when he has worked himself into a towering
rage against the orb of day, an execrable beating on the drums begins,
accompanied by the howling of all the people present. The god of rain
gets his share of insults, and is severely reprimanded for the casual way
in which he carries on his business, and so, partly with good, partly
with bad manners, this satanic performance goes on day after day, until,
eventually, it does begin to rain.
The portico in this old haunted palace was a favourite spot for these
rites, and as the house of the Vice-Minister of Home Affairs, where I
stayed as a guest, was close by, I suffered a good deal at the hands of
these fanatics, for the noise they made was of so wild a nature as to
drive one crazy--if not, also, quite sufficient to bring the whole world
down.
We may now continue our peregrination along the main street. There along
the wall squat dozens of coolies, with their carrying arrangement,
sitting on their heels, and basking in the sun. Further on, one of them
is just loading a huge earthenware vase full of the native beverage. The
weight must be something enormous. Yet see how quickly and cleverly he
manages to get up with it, and walk away from his kneeling position by
first raising one leg, then the other, and after that a push up and it is
done.
Here, again, coming along, is another curiosity. It is a blue palanquin,
carried on the back of two men. They walk along quickly, with bare feet,
and trousers turned up over the knees. Instead of wearing a transparent
head-gear, like the rest of the people, these chair-bearers have round
felt hats. In front walks a _Maggiordomo_, and following the palanquin
are a few retainers. Heading the procession are two men, who, with rude
manners, push away the people, and shout out at the top of their voices:
"Era, Era, Era; Picassa, Picassa!" ("Out of the way; get out, get away!")
were the polite words with which these roughs elbowed their way among the
crowd, and flung people on one side or the other, in order to clear the
road for their lord and master. From the hubbub they made, one might have
imagined that it was the King himself coming, instead of a mere
magistrate.
A few hundred yards further on, one finds on one's left a magnificent
street departing at right angles to the main thoroughfare. It is
certainly the widest street in the Corean capital. So wide is it, in
fact, that two rows of thatched houses are built in the middle of the
road itself, so to speak, forming out of one street three parallel
streets. These houses are, however, pulled down and removed altogether
once or twice a year, when His Majesty the King takes it into his head to
come out of his palace and go in his state chair, preceded by a grand
procession, to visit the tombs of his ancestors, some miles out of the
town, or to meet the envoys of the Chinese Emperor, a short way out of
the west gate of the capital, at a place where a peculiar triumphal arch,
half built of masonry and half of lacquered wood, has been erected, close
to an artificial cut in the rocky hill, named the "Pekin Pass" in honour
of the said Chinese messengers.
I witnessed two or three of these king's processions, and I shall
describe them to you presently. In the meantime, however, let us walk up
the royal street.
The two rows of shanties having been pulled down, its tremendous width is
very conspicuous, being apparently about ten times that of our
Piccadilly. The houses on both sides are the mansions in which the
nobles, princes, and generals live, and are built of solid masonry. They
are each one story high, with curled-up roofs, and here and there the
military ensign may be seen flying. Facing us at the end, a pagoda-like
structure, with two roofs, and one half of masonry, the upper part of
lacquered wood, is the main entrance to the royal palace. Two sea-lions,
roughly carved out of stone, stand on pedestals a short distance in front
of the huge closed gate, and there, squatting down, gambling or asleep,
are hundreds of chair-carriers and soldiers, while by the road-side are
palanquins of all colours, and open chairs, with tiger and leopard skins
thrown over them, waiting outside the royal precincts, since they are not
allowed inside, for their masters, who spend hours and days in
expectation of being invited to an audience by, or a confabulation with,
His Majesty. People of different ranks have differently coloured
chairs--the highest of the palanquin form being that covered with green
cloth and carried by four men. Foreign consuls and legal advisers of the
King are allowed the honour of riding in one of these. The privilege of
being carried by four men instead of by two is only accorded to officials
of high rank. The covered palanquins are so made that the people squat in
them cross-legged. A brass receptacle, used for different purposes, is
inside, in one corner of the conveyance. Some of them are a little more
ornamented than others, and lined with silk or precious skins, but
generally they are not so luxurious as the ones in common use in China.
[Illustration: AN OFFICIAL GOING TO COURT IN A MONO-WHEELED CHAIR]
But if you want to see a really strange sight, here at last you have it.
It is a high official going to Court in his state mono-wheeled chair. You
can see that he is a "somebody" by the curious skull-cap he is wearing,
curled up over the top of his head and with wings on each side starting
from the back of his head-gear. His flowing silk gown and the curious
rectangular jewelled stiff belt, projecting far beyond his body, denote
that he is holding a high position at the Corean Court. A coolie marches
in front of him, carrying on his back a box containing the court clothes
which he will have to don when the royal palace is reached, all
carefully packed in the case, covered with white parchment. Numerous
young followers also walk behind his unsteady vehicle. There you see him
perched up in a kind of arm-chair at a height of about five feet--sitting
more or less gracefully on a lovely tiger skin, that has been
artistically thrown upon it, leaving the head hanging down at the back.
Under the legless chair, as it were, there are two supports, at the lower
end of which and between these supports revolves a heavy, nearly round
wheel, with four spokes. Occasionally the wheel is made of one block of
wood only, and is ornamented at the sides with numerous round-headed iron
nails. There may be also two side long poles to rest on the shoulders of
the two carriers--one in front and one at the back--a few extra
strengtheners on each side, and then you have the complete "_attelage_."
So you see, it may be a great honour to be carried about in a similar
chair, though to the eyes of barbarians like ourselves it looks neither
comfortable nor safe. India-rubber tyres and, still less, pneumatic ones,
have not yet been adopted by the Corean chair-maker, and it appeared to
me that a good deal of "holding on" was required, especially when
travelling over stony and rough ground, to avoid being thrown right out
of one's high position. The grandees whom I saw carried in them seemed to
me, judging by the expression on their faces, to be ever looking forward
patiently and hopefully to the time for getting out of these perilous
conveyances. Certainly when going round corners or on uneven ground I
often saw them at an angle that would make the hair of anybody but a
grave and sedate Corean official stand on end. The palace gate reached,
he is let down gently, the front part of the chair being gradually
lowered, and, with a sigh of relief, steps out of it. Immediately he is
supported on each side by his followers, and thus the palace is entered,
the mono-wheeled chair being left outside standing against the wall, and
the tired carriers squatting down to a quiet gamble with the
chair-bearers of other noblemen.
Here let us leave him for the present, since the huge gates are closed
again upon our very noses.
The royal palace is enclosed by a high wall, at the corners of which
there are turrets with sentries and soldiers. In each of the sections of
the wall also there is a gate, the principal one of course being that
which we have already described.
We shall now retrace our steps down the royal avenue, but before leaving
it we must once again look back upon the royal enclosure. It is not a
very grand sight, but it is pretty to see a high hill towering at the
back of the royal palace. Undoubtedly the position where the palace is
now situated is the best in Seoul, both through being in the very centre
of the town and through the prettiness of its situation. The inside of
the royal enclosure we shall presently describe.
Continuing our way, then, towards the east gate, we soon come to another
big thoroughfare on our right-hand side, at one corner of which is a
picturesque ancient pavilion, with a railing round it. This is one of the
sights of Seoul, "the big bell."
It is a huge bronze bell raised from the ground only about a foot. It
possesses a fine rich tone when it is hammered upon by the bell-ringer,
but a good deal of the sonorousness is lost and the sound made dreary and
monotonous by its being so low down. The man rings it by striking heavy
blows at it with a big wooden mallet, and its first note in the early
morning makes the drowsy gate-keepers of the town begin to make
preparations for establishing communication once more between the capital
and the outer world; while at sunset, as its last melancholy notes are
blown away in dying waves by the wind, the heavy gates are closed, and
every man--though not every woman, as we shall see--has to retire to his
home until dawn the next morning, if he wishes to escape a severe
flogging, or even the risk of losing his head. The laws and rules in this
respect have not been very severely enforced of late years; yet one never
sees even now a Corean male walking about the streets after dark. Though
capital punishment might not be inflicted on the offender, a very sound
spanking would very probably be the result of a native being caught
_flagrante delicto_ during a nocturnal peregrination. Wherefore, the
Corean male is, _à raison_, very careful not to be seen out after dark.
On one or two occasions, nevertheless, the male community is allowed a
prowl by night, and seem to enjoy it to their heart's content. The
principal of these great events is the night for "crossing the bridges,"
a festivity in which men and children are allowed to take part, and in
the course of which they spend the whole night in prowling about the
streets, and crossing over the bridges and back again. At such a time the
streets are alive with story-tellers, magicians and comedians, who
delight the nocturnal sight-seers with wonderful fairy-tales, jokes and
fantastic plays.
A moonlight night is always chosen for the "crossing of the bridges"
outing, a rather sensible precaution when one sees what the bridges are
like. There are the stone supports of course, and over these huge flat
broad stones on which one treads. The width of the bridges is generally
about six feet, but no parapet or railing of any kind is provided for the
safety of the wayfarer. Through age and weather, these stones have been
considerably worn out, and are here and there disconnected, besides being
slippery to an extreme degree; so that even in broad daylight, one has to
keep all his wits about him, in this sort of tight-rope performance, not
to find himself landed in the river down below, in which, however, there
is no water running. Altogether, the days in which the men of Cho-sen
enjoy liberty at night are five.
The last day of the year is probably the one when the larger crowds can
be seen hurrying along through the streets, for a custom prevails among
the Coreans to visit during that night and the following one, all one's
relations and best friends, congratulations and good wishes being freely
exchanged and presents of sweets brought and gracefully received. New
Year's night is also a night of independence, but the greater number of
the male community are so "well on" with wine-drinking and excitement,
that staying at home is generally deemed advisable.
There are two free nights, besides, on the fourteenth and fifteenth days
of the first moon, and on one of the days at "half-year" in the sixth
moon. That is all.
[Illustration: THE MARBLE PAGODA]
At no great distance from the "big bell," down a tortuous little lane, we
come to what is undoubtedly a very ancient work of art. This is a pagoda,
made of solid marble, and adorned with beautiful carvings all the way up
to the top. To me this pagoda seemed to be of Chinese origin, but, though
much speculation has been exercised in Seoul as to how so strange a
monument came to be placed in the Corean capital, no reliable data, or
facts that might be considered of historical value, have as yet been
forthcoming to explain satisfactorily its presence there. Beyond
wondering at its antiquity, therefore, and admiring the skilful
bas-relief upon it, there is little more for us to do; so, moving out of
the courtyard in which this pagoda is situated, we proceed to inspect
another monument, equally curious from an archaeological point of view.
It cannot but seem strange that the Coreans should be ignorant regarding
the little pagoda above mentioned. I call it "little," for I do not
think it stands more than fifteen or twenty feet from the base to the
top. Probably in Seoul itself there is not more than one man out of fifty
who knows of its existence, and those who are acquainted with it, beyond
telling you emphatically that it is not a Corean work, can give you no
information about it. It is not improbable that, in the course of some
friendly or unfriendly intercourse between the Chinese and the Coreans,
this pagoda was brought or sent over from China.
The other curiosity is a huge stone tortoise carrying a tablet on its
back.
As I have already mentioned, the Coreans in many ways resemble, and have
appropriated or carried with them to their place of settlement some ideas
which are common to the Manchus, the Mongols, and the Northern and
Southern Chinese. Among these may be instanced the great respect for, if
not worship of, fetishes and rudely made images of animals, both
imaginary and real, which are supposed to be embodied there with all
their good and evil qualities. The Coreans have an especial veneration
for the tiger, the emblem of supernatural strength, courage and dignity.
Now when veneration comes into play, the extraordinary, as a rule, soon
takes the place of the ordinary, especially in the Eastern mind, which is
rather addicted to letting itself be run away with by its imagination. So
the tiger, as though it were not sufficiently gifted already with evil
qualities of a more mundane order, is often depicted by native geniuses,
as having also the power of flying, producing lightning, and spitting
fire; and not only that, but as able to walk on flames without feeling
the slightest inconvenience, and manipulate blazing fire as one would a
fan in everyday use. On flags, pictures, and embroideries the tiger is
often represented by native artists.
Next to the tiger, the animal most cherished by the Coreans is the
tortoise. To it are applied all the good qualities that the tiger wants;
for example, thoughtfulness, a retiring nature, humility, gentleness,
steadiness, and patience; these being all symbolised by this shelled
amphibious animal, which, in the minds of many Eastern Asiatics, was the
basis upon which, in later times, were built the rudiments of mathematics
and wisdom. In Corea, the principal quality attributed to the tortoise is
long life; wherefore, it has been handed down from early times to the
present day as the emblem of longevity.
This, then, explains the signification of the tortoise in front of which
we are now standing. Those tortoises that are made to carry tablets on
their backs are, as a general rule, erected in honour and remembrance of
some benevolent prince or magnanimous magistrate--the tablets being
placed over these favourite creatures to signify that it was by relying
upon all the good qualities attributed to the tortoise that the person
whose praises are celebrated on them, attained to the virtues which are
deemed so worthy an example to the world.
There are many species of semi-sacred tortoises in Corea, to all
appearance the product of imaginary intermarriages between the slow
amphibious animal in question and the fire-spitting dragon, silver-tailed
phoenix, and other animals; and these mixed breeds of idols, so to
speak, are occasionally to be seen in the houses of rich people and
princes near the entrance gate. In the Royal Palace, too, some may be
seen, among the more important being the old Seal of State, which
consists of a tortoise cleverly carved out of marble with the impression
of the Royal Seal engraved on the under side.
A curious thing which strikes visitors to Corea who notice it is that,
although the tortoise runs a close race with the tiger in the respect of
the natives, nevertheless, the larger and fiercer animal is much more
frequently represented than its smaller and gentler competitor. For
instance, one invariably sees on the roofs of the city gates, fixed on
the corners, five small representations of the tiger, all reclining in a
row one after the other. On many of the larger buildings also the same
thing can be observed; while, on the other hand, it is only rarely that
the tortoise is seen in such a situation. When representations of the
latter are thus attached, they are generally placed at the four lower
corners of the buildings, as if by way of support.
It is curious, again, to note--and, indeed, it almost seems as if the
Cho-sen people are in all their ideas opposed to us--that in Corea the
snake is greatly revered; and, should it enter a household, it receives a
hearty welcome, for this reptile is supposed to bring with it everlasting
happiness and peace, a very different conception to that which we
generally form of it, for, if I mistake not, in our minds it is generally
associated with sneakishness, treachery and perfidy.
With regard to the snake, it is noteworthy that the Coreans have allowed
their fancies to run riot in pretty much the same direction as
imaginative people in our own country have done, and have not only added
wings to their serpents to send them air-faring, but have also invented a
near relation to these in the shape of a travelling sea-serpent, which is
not, however, of such large dimensions as those with which we are
familiar. From this it is only a short step to the well-known half-human,
half-fish being and the sea-lion or tiger; stone representations of which
are to be seen at the entrance of the Royal Palace. The principal
peculiarity of the sea-tiger is its ugliness. It is represented as having
a huge mouth, wide open, showing two rows of pointed teeth, and a mane
and tail curled up into hundreds of conventional little curlets. If the
statues of these sea-tigers are divided in three sections perpendicular
to the base, the head will occupy the whole of one of these sections,
which, in other words, means that the body is made only twice the size of
the head.
The _lin_ is also frequently found figuring in Corean mythology, but this
fanciful creature is undoubtedly an importation from the well-known
_ki-lin_ of China, being half ox, half deer, and having but a single horn
in the centre of the head. It is the symbol of good nature and well-being
Another borrowed individual of this class is the dragon, a monster which
is a great favourite and much cherished all over the East, though
principally by the Emperor of Heaven and his subjects. This popularity of
the dragon in the kingdom of the Morning Calm is due, I suppose, in a
large measure to the frequent Chinese invasions and constant intercourse
of the Chinese with Corea. And yet, upon a less appropriate country, to
my belief, he could hardly have been stranded, for, although he possesses
all the good virtues of the other mythical creatures of which I have made
mention taken together, he certainly is never presented as gifted with
that delightful faculty which goes by the name of tranquillity. Restless
in the extreme, this genius of the East is said to penetrate through
mountains into the ground, skip on the clouds, produce thunder and
lightning, and go through fire and water. It can, moreover, make itself
visible or invisible at pleasure, and, in fact, can to all intents and
purposes do what it pleases, except--remain quiet.
Of dragons there are many kinds, but the most respectable of them all is,
as in China, the yellow one, which is as represented on the Chinese
flags. Next to the yellow one in popularity comes the green one. In
shape, as the natives picture it, the dragon is not unlike a huge lizard,
with long-nailed claws, and a flat long head like the elongated head of a
neighing horse, possessed, however, of horns, and a long mane of fire, or
lightning. The tail is like that of a serpent, with five additional
pointed ends. It is, too, rather interesting to note that the king,
princes, and highest magistrates, when the country is not in mourning,
wear upon their breasts pieces of square embroidery ornamented in the
centre with representations of the dragon, having the jewel on its head
which is supposed to be a certain cure for all evils. The officials of
lesser degree wear, instead of this emblem, the effigy of a flying
phoenix, the symbol of pride, friendship, and kind ruling power.
The phoenix is also occasionally to be seen standing on a tortoise's
back, the combination being emblematic of the combined virtues of these
two mythical creatures.
Returning to the main street, we can walk a long way without finding
anything interesting in the way of architecture, or of a monumental
character until we reach the East Gate, which is probably the largest
gate of all. One of the peculiarities of this gate is that on the outside
it has a semi-circular wall protection, and in this wall a second gate
which renders it, therefore, doubly strong in time of war. The outer wall
is very thick, and a wide space is provided which can be manned with
soldiers, when the town happens to be besieged. If my memory serves me
rightly, yet another gate in Seoul is provided with a similar
contraffort, but of this I am not quite certain, for the part of my diary
in which the wall of Seoul is described has been, I regret to say,
unfortunately mislaid. Near the gate above mentioned, is a large open
space, on the centre of which stands a somewhat dilapidated pavilion
_pour façon de parler_, and, on inquiry, I was told that this place was
the drilling-ground of the king's troops, the pavilion being for the use
of the king and high officials, when on very grand occasions they went to
review the soldiery. Of late years, I believe, a new drilling-ground has
been selected by the foreign military instructors, which explains why the
pavilion has been allowed to rot and tumble down. (See Illustration p.
90.)
As already remarked, all the gates of Seoul, as well as those of every
other city in Corea, are closed at sunset; but, like all rules, this
one, too, has its exception. Thus, there is a small gate, called the
"Gate of the Dead," which is opened till a late hour at night. Its name
explains its object fairly well, but for the benefit of those who are
unaccustomed to Corean customs I may as well put the matter a little
clearer. Funerals, in Corea, nearly always take place at night, and the
bodies are invariably carried out of the town to be buried. In lifetime
it is permitted to enter or leave the town through any gate you please,
but this freedom of choice is not accorded to the dead, when their final
exit is to be made, for this is only by way of the smaller gate just
mentioned.
A funeral is in all countries, to me, a curious sight, but in Seoul, a
performance of this description is probably more curious than elsewhere,
and that, because, to a European eye, it appears to be anything but a
funeral. The procession is headed by two individuals, each of whom
carries an enormous yellow umbrella, on the stick of which, about half
way up, there is a very large tri-coloured ball. After these, under a
sort of baldachin held up by four long poles, is the coffin, carried by
two, four, or more men, according to the social position of the deceased;
and by the side of this and following close after it are numberless
people each carrying a paper lantern stuck on a pole, who scuttle along,
singing, after a fashion, and muttering prayers and praises on behalf of
their deceased countryman. Frequently, if the latter is supposed to have
been possessed by evil spirits, and to have been carried off by them, a
man is hired, if no relation is willing to do it, to ring a hand-bell for
several consecutive days, near the house which the late unfortunate had
occupied, the shrill sound being supposed to have the power of showing
the unwelcome guests, that their presence has been noticed, and that they
had better retire and leave the house to its rightful owners. I need
hardly remark that a few hours of this noise is quite enough to turn the
best of good spirits into an evil one.
But to return to our funeral procession; this, when the "Gate of the
Dead" is reached, becomes broken up; the friends who were following the
hearse putting out their lights and ceasing from their singing and
praying. Only two or three of the nearest relations continue to follow
the coffin, still carried by the paid bearers, and when a suitable spot
is reached these proceed to bury the remains. A hilly ground is usually
preferred by the Coreans for the last resting place of the bones of their
dear ones. The coffin having been buried, a small mound of earth is
heaped up over it.
The spot for inhumation is generally chosen on the advice of magicians
who are supposed to know the sites which are likely to be most favourable
to the deceased. Sometimes the body is exhumed at great expense, still on
the advice of the same magicians, who, being in direct communication with
both earthly and unearthly spirits, get to know that the spot which had
been originally selected was not a favourable one. Under such
circumstances, a speedy removal is necessary, which, of course entails
both worry and money-spending and special fees for the reporting of the
ill-faring of the buried.
The relations and friends of a deceased person constantly visit the tomb,
and many a good son has been known to spend months watching his father's
grave, lest his services might be required by the parent underground.
The hills round the towns are simply covered with these little mounds of
earth, and the greatest respect is shown by the natives for all places of
sepulture. In course of time, many disappear by being washed away by the
rain, but never by any chance are they interfered with by the people. The
Coreans are extremely superstitious, and they are much afraid of the
dead. Metempsychosis is not an uncommon trait of their minds, especially
among the better classes; thus, for instance, the soul of the dead man is
sometimes supposed to enter the body of a bird, in which case the
relatives carefully build a semi-circular stone railing round the mound,
so that the winged successor of the deceased may have whereon to perch.
The grave of one of the richer people is especially noteworthy. First,
there is the mound in the centre as usual, but nearly twice the size of
that which covers a poorer person. Then there is a stone railing a little
way off; and between that and the mound stand in double rows, at the
sides, rough images of human beings and horses carved in stone. The
general rule is, in the case of a rich man, to have two men and two
ponies on either side and a small column at the end; while in the case of
a man not so much distinguished only a single horse and man respectively
are placed on either side. The short column with a slab at the top is
nearly always a feature. The stone images so placed are, as a rule, so
badly carved that, unless one is told what they are meant to represent,
it is really difficult to decide the point. The horses, especially, might
easily be mistaken for sheep, dogs, or any other animal, the small
stature of the native ponies being imitated in these images, to an
exaggerated degree. As for the stone human-shaped images, these are
usually made dressed in a long sort of gown and with the arms folded in
front and the head covered by a curled up skull-cap, of the kind worn by
Corean officials even at the present day, and formerly worn by all the
high officials in China, whence probably the fashion has been imported.
A curious feature which I often noticed about the graves of people who
had not been over well-off, and whose friends could not afford a large
number of statues or figures of men and animals, was this:--If only one
or two monuments were put up by the side of the mound, these invariably
consisted of representations either of two horses or else of a horse and
a ram, that is, if I am right in fixing the latter's identity by the
curled horns on the side of its head. If, on the other hand, the
monuments were more than two in number, the others were, just as
invariably, representations of human figures, the number of these being
the same as that of beasts in the other case.
A ceremony is to be found in the Land of the Morning Calm which
corresponds pretty closely to "_Tutti i morti_" of Italy; I mean, the
merry picnicking of distressed parents and relatives when they go and
pray on the tombs of their dead. In Corea the occasion is usually
celebrated on the first day of the first moon, or, in other words, on
New Year's Day. The family goes soon after sunrise, _en masse_, to the
burial-place, where prayers are offered, and long sticks of incense burnt
filling the air with the perfume so familiar to all who know the East.
Food and drink are also generally brought and consumed by the mourners on
such expeditions, with the result that the day which begins with praying
generally ends with playing. Similar rejoicings are again indulged in
during the third moon, when the tombs are usually cleaned and repaired,
and the stone figures and horses washed and scrubbed, amidst the
hilarious screams of the children and the less active picnickers.
The tombs of the kings do not differ very much from those of the richest
noblemen, except that they have a kind of temple near them. At one time
it was believed that the coffins in which the royal bodies were buried,
consisted of solid gold. People who are well informed, however, maintain
that there is no foundation for this statement about the royal graves,
and that, on the contrary, they are almost as simple as those of the
richer noblemen.
A strange tale was told me, which I shall repeat, as I know it to be
true. It is to this effect: A few months previous to my visit to Seoul, a
foreigner had visited the king soliciting orders for installations of
telephones. The king, being much astounded, and pleased at the wonderful
invention, immediately, at great expense, set about connecting by
telephone the tomb of the queen dowager with the royal palace--a distance
of several miles! Needless to say, though many hours a day were spent by
His Majesty and his suite in listening at their end of the telephone,
and a watchman kept all night in case the queen dowager should wake up
from her eternal sleep, not a message, or a sound, or murmur even, was
heard, which result caused the telephone to be condemned as a fraud by
His Majesty the King of Cho-sen.
I should mention that a very good specimen of a Corean tomb is to be seen
a few _lis_ outside the East Gate, on the hillside, and that another,
somewhat smaller, exists a short distance beyond the Pekin Pass outside
the West Gate. It may also be noted that trees are frequently planted,
and tablets erected, in proximity to Corean graves.
FOOTNOTES:
[3] Word used in the East for a conglomeration of houses
enclosed by a wall.