CHANGES AFTER THE INVASION.
The war over, and peace again in the land, the fugitives returned to
their homes and the farmers to their fields. The whole country was
desolate, the scars of war were everywhere visible, and the curse of
poverty was universal. From the king and court, in the royal city, of
which fire had left little but ashes, and of which war and famine had
spared few inhabitants, to the peasant, who lived on berries and roots
until his scanty seed rose above the ground and slowly ripened, all now
suffered the woful want which the war had bred. Kind nature, however,
ceased not her bountiful stores, and from the ever-ready and ever-full
treasuries of the ocean, fed the stricken land.
The war was a fruitful cause of national changes in Corean customs and
institutions. The first was the more thorough organization of the
military, the rebuilding and strengthening of old castles, and the
erection of new ones; though, like most measures of the government, the
proposed reforms were never properly carried out. The coasts were
guarded with fresh vigilance. Upon one of the Corean commanders, who
had been many times successful against the Japanese, a new title and
office was created, and the coast defence of the three southern
provinces was committed to him. This title was subsequently conferred
upon three officials whose headquarters were at points in Kiung-sang.
Among the literary fruits of the leisure now afforded was the
narrative, in Chinese, of the events leading to the war with the
Japanese, written by a high dignitary of the court, and covering the
period from about 1586 to 1598. This is, perhaps, the only book
reprinted in Japan, which gives the Corean side of the war. In his
preface the excessively modest author states that he writes the book
“because men ought to look at the present in the mirror of the past.”
The Chinese style of this writer is difficult for an ordinary Japanese
to read. The book (Chōhitsuroku) contains a curious map of the eight
provinces.
In Japan the energies of the returned warriors were fully employed at
home after their withdrawal from Corea. The adherents of Taikō and
those of Iyéyasŭ, the rising man, came to blows, and at the great
battle of Sékigahara, in October, 1600, Iyéyasŭ crushed his foes. Many
of the heroes of the peninsular campaign fell on the field; or, as
beaten men, disembowelled themselves, according to the Japanese code of
honor.
Konishi, being a Christian, and unable, from conscientious scruples, to
commit suicide by hara kiri, was decapitated. The humbled spirit and
turbulent wrath of Satsuma were appeased, and given a valve of escape
in the permission accorded them to make definite conquest of Riu Kiu.
This was done by a well-planned and vigorously executed expedition in
1609, by which the little archipelago was made an integral part of the
Japanese empire. When retiring from Chō-sen, in 1597, the daimiō and
general Nabéshima requited himself for the possible loss of further
military glory, by bringing over and settling in Satsuma a colony of
Corean potters. He builded better than he knew, for in founding these
industries in his own domain, he became the prime author of that
delight of the æsthetic world, “old Satsuma faïence.” Other daimiōs, in
whose domains were potteries, likewise transported skilled workers in
clay, who afterward brought fame and money to their masters. On the
other hand, Iyéyasŭ sent back the Corean prisoners in Japan to their
own homes.
The spoil brought back from the peninsular campaign—weapons, flags,
brocades, porcelains, carvings, pictures, and manuscripts was duly
deposited, with certifying documents, in temples and storehouses, or
garnished the home of the veterans for the benefit of posterity. Some,
with a literary turn, employed their leisure in writing out their notes
and journals, several of which have survived the wreck of time. Some,
under an artistic impulse, had made valuable sketches of cities,
scenery, battle-fields, and castles, which they now finished. A few of
the victors shore off their queues and hair, and became monks. Others,
with perhaps equal piety, hung up the arrow-pierced helmet, or corslet
slashed by Chinese sabre, as ex-voto at the local shrines. The writer
can bear personal witness to the interest which many of these authentic
relics inspired in him while engaged in their study. In 1878 a large
collection of various relics of the Corean war of 1592–1597 came into
the possession of the mikado’s government in Tōkiō, from the heirs or
descendants of the veterans of Taikō. In Kiōto, besides the
Ear-monument, the Hall of the Founder, in one of the great Buddhist
temples, rebuilt by the widow of Taikō, was ceiled with the choice wood
of the war junk built for the hero.
Though the peninsula was not open to trade or Christianity, it was not
for lack of thought or attention on the part of merchant or missionary.
In England, a project was formed to establish a trading-station in
Japan, and, if there was a possibility, in Corea also, or, at least, to
see what could be done in “the island”—as Corea then, and for a long
time afterward, was believed to be. Through the Dutch, the Jesuits, and
their countryman, Will Adams, in Japan, they had heard of the Japanese
war, and of Corea. Captain Saris arrived off Hirado Island about the
middle of June, 1613, with a cargo of pepper, broadcloth, gunpowder,
and English goods. In a galley, carrying twenty-five oars and manned by
sixty men furnished by the daimiō, Saris and his company of seventeen
Englishmen set out to visit the Iyéyasŭ at Yedo, by way of Suruga (now
Shidzuoka). After two days’ rowing along the coast, they stopped for
dinner in the large and handsome city of Hakata (or Fukuoka), the city
being, in reality, double. As the Englishmen walked about to see the
sights, the boys, children, and worse sort of idle people would gather
about them, crying out, “Coré, Coré, Cocoré Waré” (Oh you Coreans,
Coreans, you Kokorai men), taunting them by these words as Coreans with
false hearts, whooping, holloaing, and making such a noise that the
English could hardly hear each other speak. In some places, the people
threw stones at these “Corean” Englishmen. Hakata was one of the towns
at which the embassy from Seoul stopped while on its way to Yedo, and
the incident shows clearly that the Japanese urchins and common people
had not forgotten the reputed perfidy of the Coreans, while they also
supposed that any foreigner, not a Portuguese, with whom they were
familiar, must be a Corean. In the same manner, at Nankin, for a long
while all foreigners, even Americans, were called “Japanese.”
Nothing was done by Saris, so far as is known, to explore or open Corea
to Western commerce, although the last one of the eight clauses of the
articles of license to trade, given him by Iyéyasŭ, was, “And that
further, without passport, they may and shall set out upon the
discovery of Yeadzo (Yezo), or any other part in and about our empire.”
By the last clause any Japanese would understand Corea and Riu Kiu as
being land belonging to, but outside of “civilized” Nippon.
After leaving Nagasaki, and calling at Bantam, Saris took in a load of
pepper, and sailed for England, reaching Plymouth September 27, 1614.
An attempt was also made by the Dominican order of friars to establish
a mission in Corea. Vincent (Caun), the ward of Konishi, who had been
educated and sent over by the Jesuits to plant Christianity among his
countrymen, reached Peking and there waited four years to accomplish
his purposes, but could not, owing to the presence of the hostile
Manchius in Liao Tung. But just as he was returning to Japan, in 1618,
another attempt was made by the Dominican friars to penetrate the
sealed land. Juan de Saint Dominique, a Castilian Spaniard, who had
labored as a missionary in the Philippine Islands since 1601, was the
chosen man. Having secured rapid mastery of the languages of the Malay
archipelago, he was selected as one well fitted to acquire Corean. With
two others of the same fraternity he embarked for the shores of Morning
Calm. For some reason, not known, they could not land in Corea, and so
passed over to Japan, where the next year, March 19th, having met
persecution, Dominique died in prison. The ashes of his body, taken
from the cremation furnace, were cast in the sea; but his followers,
having been able to save from the fire a hand and a foot, kept the
ghastly remnants as holy relics.
The exact relations of “the conquering and the vassal state,” as the
Japanese would say, that is, of Nihon and Chō-sen, were not definitely
fixed, nor the menace of war withdrawn, until the last of the line of
Taikō died, and the family became extinct by the death of Hidéyori, the
son of Taikō, in 1612.
There is not a particle of evidence that the conquerors ever exacted an
annual tribute of “thirty human hides,” as stated by a recent French
writer. While Iyéyasŭ had his hands full in Japan, he paid little
attention to the country which Taikō had used as a cockpit for the
Christians. Iyéyasŭ dealt with the Jesuit, the Christian, and the
foreigner, in a manner different from, and for obvious reasons with
success greater than, that of Taikō. He unified Japan, re-established
the dual system of mikado and shō-gun, with two capitals and two
centres of authority, Kiōto and Yedo. He cleared the ground for his
grandson Iyémitsŭ, who at once summoned the Coreans to renew tributary
relations and pay homage to him at Yedo. Magnifying his authority, he
sent, in 1623, a letter to the King of Corea, in which he styles
himself Tai-kun (“Tycoon”), or Great Prince. This is the equivalent in
Chinese pronunciation of the pure Japanese O-gimi, an ancient title
applied only to the mikado. No assumption or presumption of pomp and
power was, however, scrupled at by the successors of Iyéyasŭ.
The title “Tycoon,” too, was intended to overawe the Coreans, as being
even higher than the title Koku O (king of a [tributary] country),
which their sovereign and the Ashikaga line of rulers held by patents
from the Emperor of China, and which Taikō had scornfully refused.
The court at Seoul responded to the call, and, in 1624, sent an embassy
with congratulations and costly presents. The envoys landed in Hizen,
and made their journey overland, taking the same route so often
traversed by the Hollanders at Déshima, and described by Kaempfer,
Thunberg, and others. A sketch by a Yedo artist has depicted the
gorgeous scene in the castle of the “Tycoon.” Seated on silken
cushions, on a raised dais, behind the bamboo curtains, with
sword-bearer in his rear, in presence of his lords, all in imitation of
the imperial throne room in Kiōto, the haughty ruler received from the
Corean envoy the symbol of vassalage—a gohei or wand on which strips of
white paper are hung. Then followed the official banquet.
Since the invasion, Fusan, as before, had been held and garrisoned by
the retainers of the daimiō of Tsushima. At this port all the commerce
between the two nations took place. The interchange of commodities was
established on an amicable basis. Japanese swords, military equipments,
works of art, and raw products were exchanged for Corean merchandise.
Having felt the power of the eastern sword-blades, and unable to
perfect their own clumsy iron hangers, either in temper, edge, or
material, they gladly bought of the Japanese, keeping their
sword-makers busy. Kaempfer, who was at Nagasaki from September 24,
1690, to November, 1692, tells us that the Japanese imported from Fusan
scarce medicinal plants, especially ginseng, walnuts, and fruits; the
best pickled fish, and some few manufactures; among which was “a
certain sort of earthen pots made in Japij and Ninke, two Tartarian
provinces.” These ceramic oddities were “much esteemed by the Japanese,
and bought very dear.”
From an American or British point of view, there was little trade done
between the two countries, but on the strength, of even this small
amount, Earl Russell, in 1862, tried to get Great Britain included as a
co-trader between Japan and Corea. He was not successful. Provision was
also made for those who might be cast, by the perils of the sea, upon
the shore of either country. At the expense of the Yedo government a
Chō-sen Yashiki (Corean House), was built at Nagasaki. From whatever
part of the Japanese shores the waifs were picked up, they were sent to
Nagasaki, fed and sheltered until a junk could be despatched to Fusan.
These unfortunates were mostly fishermen, who, in some cases, had their
wives and children with them. It was from such that Siebold obtained
the materials for his notes, vocabulary, and sketches in the Corean
department of his great Archiv.
The possession of Fusan by the Japanese was, until 1876, a perpetual
witness of the humiliating defeat of the Coreans in the war of
1592–1597, and a constant irritation to their national pride. Their
popular historians, passing over the facts of the case, substitute
pleasing fiction to gratify the popular taste. The subjoined note of
explanation, given by Dallet, attached to a map of Corea of home
manufacture, thus accounts for the presence of the foreigners. The
substance of the note is as follows: During the sixteenth century many
of the barbarous inhabitants of Tsushima left that island, and, coming
over to Corea, established themselves on the coast of Corea, in three
little ports, called Fusan, Yum, and Chisi, and rapidly increased in
numbers. About five years after Chung-chong ascended the throne, the
barbarians of Fusan and Yum made trouble. They destroyed the walls of
the city of Fusan, and killed also the city governor, named Ni Utsa.
Being subdued by the royal troops, they could no longer live in these
ports, but were driven into the interior. A short time afterward,
having asked pardon for their crimes, they obtained it and came and
established themselves again at the ports. This was only for a short
time, for a few years afterward, a little before the year 1592, they
all returned to their country, Tsushima. In the year 1599 the king,
Syen-cho, held communication with the Tsushima barbarians. It happened
that he invited them to the places which they had quitted on the coast
of Corea, built houses for them, treated them with great kindness,
established for their benefit a market during five days in each month,
beginning on the third day of the month, and when they had a great
quantity of merchandise on hand to dispose of he even permitted them to
hold it still oftener.
This is a good specimen of Corean varnish-work carried into history.
The rough facts are smoothed over by that well-applied native lacquer,
which is said to resemble gold to the eye. The official gloss has been
smeared over more modern events with equal success, and even defeat is
turned into golden victory.
Yet, with all the miseries inflicted upon her, the humble nation
learned rich lessons and gained many an advantage even from her enemy.
The embassies, which were yearly despatched to yield homage to their
late invaders, were at the expense of the latter. The Japanese pride
purchased, at a dear rate, the empty bubble of homage, by paying all
the bills. We may even suspect that a grim joke was practised upon the
victors by the vanquished. Year by year they swelled the pomp and
numbers of their train until, finally, it reached the absurd number of
four hundred persons. With imperturbable effrontery they devastated the
treasury of their “Tycoon.” To receive an appointment on the embassy to
Yedo was reckoned a rich sinecure. It enabled the possessor to enjoy an
expensive picnic of three months, two of which were at the cost of the
entertainers. Landing in Chikuzen, or Hizen, they slowly journeyed
overland to Yedo, and, after their merrymaking in the capital,
leisurely made their jaunt back again. For nearly a century the Yedo
government appeared to relish the sensation of having a crowd of people
from across the sea come to pay homage and bear witness to the
greatness of the Tokugawa family. In 1710 a special gateway was erected
in the castle at Yedo to impress the embassy from Seoul, who were to
arrive next year, with the serene glory of the shō-gun Iyénobu. From a
pavilion near by the embassy’s quarters, the Tycoon himself was a
spectator of the feats of archery, on horseback, in which the Coreans
excelled. The intolerable expense at last compelled the Yedo rulers to
dispense with such costly vassalage, and to spoil what was, to their
guests, a pleasant game. Ordering them to come only as far as Tsushima,
they were entertained by the So family of daimiōs, who were allowed by
the “Tycoon” a stipend in gold kobans for this purpose.
A great social custom, that has become a national habit, was introduced
by the Japanese when they brought over the tobacco plant and taught its
properties, culture, and use. The copious testimony of all visitors,
and the rich vocabulary of terms relating to the culture, curing, and
preparation of tobacco show that the crop that is yearly raised from
the soil merely for purposes of waste in smoke is very large. In the
personal equipment of every male Corean, and often in that of women and
children, a tobacco pouch and materials for firing forms an
indispensable part. The smoker does not feel “dressed” without his
well-filled bag. Into the forms of hospitality, the requisites of
threshold gossip and social enjoyment, and for all other purposes, real
or imaginary, which nicotine can aid or abet, tobacco has entered not
merely as a luxury or ornament, but as a necessity.
Another great change for the better, in the improvement of the national
garb, dates from the sixteenth century, and very probably from the
Japanese invasion. This was the introduction of the cotton plant.
Hitherto, silk for the very rich, and hemp and sea grass for the middle
and poorer classes, had been the rule. In the north, furs were worn to
a large extent, while plaited straw for various parts of the limbs
served for clothing, as well as protection against storm and rain. The
vegetable fibres were bleached to give whiteness. Cotton now began to
be generally cultivated and woven.
It is true that authorities do not agree as to the date of the first
use of this plant. Dallet reports that cotton was formerly unknown in
Corea, but was grown in China, and that the Chinese, in order to
preserve a market for their textile fabrics within the peninsula,
rigorously guarded, with all possible precautions, against the
exportation of a single one of the precious seeds.
One of the members of the annual embassy to Peking, with great tact,
succeeded in procuring a few grains of cotton seed, which he concealed
in the quill of his hat feather. Thus, in a manner similar to the
traditional account of the bringing of silk-worms’ eggs inside a staff
to Constantinople from China, the precious shrub reached Corea about
five hundred years ago. It is now cultivated successfully in the
peninsula in latitude far above that of the cotton belt in America, and
even in Manchuria, the most northern limit of its growth.
It is evident that a country which contains cotton, crocodiles, and
tigers, cannot have a very bleak climate. It seems more probable that
though the first seeds may have been brought from China, the
cultivation of this vegetable wool was not pursued upon a large scale
until after the Japanese invasion. Our reasons for questioning the
accuracy of the date given in the common tradition is, that it is
certain that cotton was not known in Northern China five hundred years
ago. It was introduced into Central China from Turkestan in the
fourteenth century, though known in the extreme south before that time.
The Chinese pay divine honors to one Hwang Tao Po, the reputed
instructress in the art of spinning and weaving the “tree-wool.” She is
said to have come from Hainan Island.
Though cotton was first brought to Japan by a Hindoo, in the year 799,
yet the art of its culture seems to have been lost during the long
civil wars of the middle ages. The fact that it had become extinct is
shown in a verse of poetry composed by a court noble in 1248. “The
cotton-seed, that was planted by the foreigner and not by the natives,
has died away.” In another Japanese book, written about 1570, it is
stated that cotton had again been introduced and planted in the
southern provinces.
The Portuguese, trading at Nagasaki, made cotton wool a familiar object
to the Japanese soldiers. While the army was in Corea a European ship,
driven far out of her course and much damaged by the storm, anchored
off Yokohama. Being kindly treated while refitting, the captain, among
other gifts to the daimiō of the province, gave him a bag of cotton
seeds, which were distributed. The yarn selling at a high price, the
culture of the shrub spread rapidly through the provinces of Eastern
and Northern Japan, being already common in the south provinces. Even
if the culture of cotton was not introduced into Corea by the Japanese
army, it is certain that it has been largely exported from Japan during
the last two centuries. The increase of general comfort by this one
article of wear and use can hardly be estimated. Not only as wool and
fibre, but in the oil from its seeds, the nation added largely to the
sum of its blessings.
Paper, from silk and hemp, rice stalk fibres, mulberry bark, and other
such raw material, had long been made by the Chinese, but it is
probable that the Coreans, first of the nations of Chinese Asia, made
paper from cotton wool. For this manufacture they to-day are famed.
Their paper is highly prized in Peking and Japan for its extreme
thickness and toughness. It forms part of the annual tribute which the
embassies carry to Peking. It is often thick enough to be split into
several layers, and is much used by the tailors of the Chinese
metropolis as a lining for the coats of mandarins and gentlemen. It
also serves for the covering of window-frames, and a sewed wad of from
ten to fifteen thicknesses of it make a kind of armor which the troops
wear. It will resist a musket-ball, but not a rifle-bullet.