Seoul--The City Wall--A large image--Mount Nanzam--The
fire-signals--women's joss-house--Foreign buildings--Japanese
settlement--An anecdote--Clean or not clean?--The Pekin Pass--The
water-carrier--The man of the Gates.
[Illustration: MOUNT NANZAM]
The ground in and around Seoul is very hilly. The wall that surrounds the
capital uncoils itself, like a gigantic snake, up and down the slopes of
high bluffs, and seems a very marvellous work of patient masonry when it
is borne in mind that some of the peaks up which it winds its way are so
steep that even climbing on foot is not an easy task. The height is not
uniform, but where it is highest it reaches to over thirty feet. The
North Gate, for instance, is at a much higher level than the town down
below, and it is necessary to go up a steep road to reach it. From it, a
very good idea is obtainable of the exact situation of Seoul. Down in
the valley, a narrow one, lies the town itself, completely surrounded by
hills, and even mountains, covered with thick snow during the winter
months.
The wall, several miles long, goes over the hill ridges far above the
level of the town, except towards the west, where it descends to the
valley, and is on almost level ground, as far as the East Gate. It has a
rampart in which holes have been pierced, for the defence of the town by
archers and gunners; and, to let out the water of the streams, which
intersect the town, low arches have been cut in the wall, provided with
strong iron bars, and a solid grating through which no man can penetrate.
Outside the town, bridges of masonry have been constructed; for instance,
there is one of four arches, a short distance from the North Gate, being
the continuation of a portion of the wall protecting the river valley on
the north of Seoul. Not far from this bridge, is a monastery, and a small
temple with curled-up roof supported by columns, painted red and green.
The latter protects an enormous block of stone upon which has been carved
a large image of Buddha, the surface of which has been painted white.
When I saw it, close by the river side, with the sun shining on it, and
its image reflected in the limpid ice of the frozen river, the sight was
indeed quite a picturesque one.
Towards the south side of Seoul, and within the city wall, rises in a
cone-like fashion a high hill called Mount Nanzam. One cannot help
feeling interested about this hill, and for many reasons. In the first
place, it is most picturesque; secondly, it is a rare thing to find a
mountain rising in the centre of a town, as this one does; thirdly, from
the summit of this particular hill a constant watch is kept on the state
of affairs all over the kingdom.
The mode of accomplishing the last-mentioned object is as ingenious as it
is simple. It is shortly this. On the summit of Mount Nanzam a signal
station is placed--a miserable shed, in which the watchmen live. In front
of this, five piles of stones have been erected, upon which, by means of
the "Pon-wa," or fire-signals, messages are conveyed and transmitted from
one end of the Corean kingdom to the other. Now, it is on these five
piles of stones that the safety of the Land of the Morning Calm depends,
and it is a pretty and weird sight to watch the lights upon them, playing
after dark, in the stillness of the night. Similarly appointed stations
on the tops of all the highest peaks in Corea issue, transmit, and
answer, by means of other lights, messages from the most distant
provinces, by which means, in a very few minutes, the King in his royal
palace is kept informed of what happens hundreds of miles from his
capital. It is from the royal palace itself that fire-messages start in
the first instance, and that too is the place which lastly receives them
from other mountain tops. All along the coast line of Corea, on the
principal headlands, fire-stations have long been in use in order to give
the alarm in the capital, should marauders approach the coast or other
invasions take place.
Until quite lately, the coast villages and towns used to suffer much at
the hands of Chinese pirates, who, though well aware that they would, if
caught, most certainly find themselves in the awkward position of having
their heads cut off, nevertheless used to approach the coast by night in
swift junks, make daring raids, and pillage the villages, and even some
of the smaller towns. So suddenly were these incursions usually made that
by the time the natives had managed to get over their astonishment at the
attack of these unpleasant and greedy visitors, the acute Chinamen, with
their booty, were well out at sea again.
[Illustration: THE FIRE-SIGNAL STATION AND JOSS-HOUSE]
The great drawback to fire-signalling is, that messages can only be
clearly conveyed at night. In the day-time, when necessary,
smoke-signals are transmitted, though never with the same safety as are
the fire-signals. By burning large torches of wet straw, masses of white
smoke are produced, upon which the alarm is raised that the country is
in danger. The code of smoke signalling, however, is almost limited to
that one signal; for, on a windy or rainy day, it would be quite
impossible to distinguish whether there were one or more torches
smoking, unless, of course, they could be set very far apart, which
cannot be done on Nanzam. Prior to sending a message, a bell is rung in
the royal palace to attract the attention of the Mountain Watchmen. The
whole code, for they have a really systematic way of using their
pyrographs, is worked with five burning fires only, and more than that
number of lights are never shown, though, of course, many times there
are less. The five-lights-together signal, I believe, indicates that the
country is in imminent danger; there are other signals to meet the cases
of rebellions, recalling of magistrates from distant provinces, orders
to them to extort money from their subjects, the despatch or recall of
troops, &c. &c.
A few yards from the signal station, though still on Mount Nanzam, there
is a picturesque red joss-house with a shrine in close proximity to it.
The story goes--and the women of Cho-sen find it convenient to believe
it--that a visit to this particular joss-house has the wonderful effect
of making sterile women prolific. A few strings of _cash_ and a night's
rest at the temple--preceded, if I remember rightly, by
prayers--constitute sufficient service to satisfy the family duties, and
I was certainly told that in many cases the oracle worked so well that in
due time the _chin-chins_ got rewarded with the birth of babies. I may
mention incidentally that the caretaker of the joss-house was a strong,
healthy, powerful man.
As we are now on a splendid point of vantage for a bird's-eye view of the
town we may as well take a glance over it.
Very prominent before us, after the large enclosure of the royal Palace,
are the foreign buildings, such as the Japanese Legation on a smaller
hill at the foot of Nanzam, and overlooking the large Japanese
settlement; the abode of the Chinese Minister resident, with its numerous
buildings around it; the British Consulate with its new red brick house
in course of construction; and, by the side of the last mentioned, the
_compounds_ of the American and Russian legations. Farther on, nearer the
royal Palace, the German flag may be seen surmounting the German
Consulate, which is situated in an enclosure containing several Corean
houses which have been reduced _à l' Européenne_ and made very
comfortable. Then the large house with a glass front is the one now
inhabited by the Vice-Minister for Home Affairs, but the grounds
surrounding this are very restricted. A nunnery and a few houses of
missionaries also stand prominent, mostly in the neighbourhood of the
Japanese settlement.
The Japanese settlement, into which we will now descend, is noteworthy
for the activity and commercial enterprise shown by the subjects of the
Mikado. It is remarkable, also, to notice the curious co-existence of
sense and nonsense in the Jap's adoption of foreign customs. For
instance, you see the generality of them dressed in European clothes, but
nevertheless still sticking to the ancient custom of removing their
boots on entering a house; a delightful practice, I agree, in Japan,
where the climate is mild, but not in a country like Corea, where you
have an average of sixty degrees of frost. Then again, the Japanese
houses, the outer walls of which consist of tissue paper, seem hardly
suited to such a climate as that of Corea. It is really comical to watch
them as they squat in a body round a brass brasier, shivering and blue
with cold, with thin flat faces and curved backs; reminding one very much
of the large family of quadrumans at the Zoo on a cold day. Nevertheless,
they are perfectly happy, though many die of pleurisy, consumption, and
cold in the chest.
The Japanese women dress, of course, in their national _kimonos_, and
just as it is in Japan the fashion to show a little of the chest under
the throat, so in Cho-sen the same custom is adopted; with the result
that many are carried off by bronchitis to the next world.
One cannot but admire the Japanese, however, for the cleanliness of their
houses and for the good-will--sometimes too much of it--which they
display as well in their commercial dealings as in their colonising
schemes. The custom of daily bathing in water of a boiling-point
temperature is carried on by them in Corea as in their own country,
notwithstanding which I venture to say that the Japanese are very dirty
people. This remark seems non-coherent and requires, I am afraid, some
explanation.
"How can they be dirty if they bathe every day? I call that being very
clean," I fancy I hear you reply.
So they would undoubtedly be, if they bathed in clean water; but,
unfortunately, this is just what they do not do, and, to my uncivilised
mind, bathing in filthy water seems ten times more dirty than not bathing
at all. Just imagine a small tank of water in which dozens, if not
hundreds, of people have been already boiled before you in your turn use
it, and upon which float large "eyes" of greasy matter. Well, this is
what every good Japanese is expected to immerse himself in, right up to
his nose, for at least half an hour at a time! I cannot but admire them
for their courage in doing it, but, certainly, from the point of view of
cleanliness my view is quite different; for, really and truly, I have
always failed to see where the "cleanliness" comes in. Persons belonging
to the wealthier classes have small baths of their own, in the steaming
hot liquid of which bask in turns the family itself, their friends, the
children and servants; and probably the same water is used again and
again for two or three days in succession.
I remember well how horrified I was one evening, in the Land of the
Rising Sun, when, on visiting a small village, I was, as a matter of
politeness on their part, requested to join in the bath. Being a novice
at Japanese experiences, and as their request was so pressing, I thanked
them and accepted; whereupon, I was buoyantly led to the bath. Oh what a
sight! Three skinny old women, "disgraces," I may almost call them, for
certainly they could not be classified under the designation of "graces,"
were sitting in a row with steaming water up to their necks, undergoing
the process of being boiled. What! thought I, panic-stricken--am I to
bathe with these three ... old lizards? Oh no, not I! and I made a rush
for the door, greatly to the annoyance of the people, who not only
considered me very dirty, but also very rude in not availing myself of
their polite invitation! The next morning as I took my cold bath as usual
in beautifully clean spring water, I was condemned and pitied as a
lunatic! Such are the different customs of different people.
[Illustration: THE PEKIN PASS]
When visiting Seoul, it is well worth one's while to take a walk to the
Pekin Pass, a _li_ or two outside the West Gate. The pass itself, which
is cut into the rock, is situated on the road leading from Seoul to
Pekin; which, by the way, is the road by which the envoys of the Chinese
Emperor, following an ancient custom, travel overland with a view to
claiming the tribute payable by the King of Corea. As a matter of fact,
this custom of paying tribute had almost fallen into disuse, and China
had not, for some years, I believe, enforced her right of suzerainty over
the Corean peninsula, until the year 1890, when the envoys of the
Celestial Emperor once again proceeded on their wearisome and long
journey from Pekin to the capital of Cho-sen. It was here at the Pekin
Pass, then, that, according to custom, they were received with great
honour by the Coreans, and led into Seoul. It was at a large house,
surrounded by a wall, on the road side, that these envoys were usually
received and welcomed, either by the king in person or by some
representative; and it was here that they were treated with refreshments
and food, previously to being conducted in state into the capital, this
being accomplished amidst the cheers of a Corean crowd, which, like
other crowds, is always ready to cheer the last comer. At the Pekin Pass,
a "triumphal arch"--for want of a better word--could be seen. It was a
lofty structure, composed of two high columns, the lower part of these
being of masonry, and the upper of lacquered wood, which supported a
heavy roof of the orthodox Corean pattern, under which, about one-fourth
down the columns, was a portion decorated with native fretwork of a
somewhat rough type. The illustration represents this monument as it
appeared in winter time, when the ground was covered with snow, beyond it
being the square cut in the rocks, through which the road leads to
Newchuang and Pekin.
There are two types of individuals that are very interesting from a
picturesque point of view; viz., the water-coolie, and the man who
carries the huge locks and keys of the city gates.
The water-coolie is almost as much of a "personality," as the _mapu_, in
his rude independent ways. He displays much patience, and certainly
deserves admiration for the amount of work he daily does, for very little
pay. His work consists in carrying water, from morning until night, to
whoever wants it. This is a simple enough process in summer time, but in
winter matters are rather different, for now nearly all the fountains are
frozen, and the water has to be drawn from a well. The water-coolie
carries a peculiar arrangement on his shoulders, a long pole fastened
cross-wise upon his shoulder-blades, by straps going under and round the
arms; by which means he is enabled to carry two buckets of water at a
time. The arrangement, though more complicated, is not dissimilar to
that used for the same purpose, by women in Holland, or to that for
carrying milk in many parts of Switzerland. In winter time the buckets of
water become buckets of ice the moment they are drawn from the well, and
then it is really pitiable to see these poor beggars with the skin of
their hands all cracked and bleeding with the cold. They run along at a
good pace when loaded, and show great judgment in avoiding collision,
sighing as they go a loud _hess! hess! hess! hess!_ to which they keep
time with their steps. They are considered about the lowest creatures in
the kingdom, and enjoy some of the privileges of children and unmarried
men as regards clothing; for instance, they generally wear a light blue
jacket even when the country is in mourning. When on duty they never wear
hats, and often no head-bands, having, instead, blue kerchiefs wrapt
round the head. The inevitable long pipe is not forgotten, and is
carried, after the fashion of the _mapu_, stuck down the back.
[Illustration: A WATER-COOLIE]
The lock-carrier, again, is by no means the dirtiest individual in the
land of Cho-sen, at least as far as it was my good fortune to see.
Nevertheless, his clothes are invariably in a state of dilapidation, and,
though intended to be white, are usually black with grease and dirt. As
he is employed by the Government he wears the deepest mourning; his face,
and one half of his body being actually hidden under the huge hat
provided for deep mourners. He seldom possesses a pair of padded socks
and sandals, and in the coldest days walks about bare-footed with his
trousers turned up to the knees. He is visible only at sunrise and
sunset, when he goes on his round to all the city gates in order to
inspect the locks and bring or take away the keys. Slung down his back,
he carries a large leather bag, something like a tennis bag, which
contains numberless iron implements of different shapes and weights. He
appears to be friendless and despised by everybody, and I have never seen
him talk to any one. I rather pitied the poor fellow as I saw him go
night after night, with his long unwashed face and hands, along the
rampart of the wall from one gate to another. _Apropos_ of this I once
made a Corean very angry by remarking that "really the safety of the city
could not be in dirtier hands."