The Emperor's throneTHE EMPEROR'S THRONE IN THE OLD PALACE"The throne is reached by a short flight of steps, and the canopy is of barbaric splendour"[To face page 248]
THE EMPEROR'S THRONE IN THE OLD PALACE"The throne is reached by a short flight of steps, and the canopy is of barbaric splendour"[To face page 248]
In the middle of the street one meets mandarins hurrying to their offices, magistrates and other men of consequence, most of them in chairs, or rather boxes, carried by two servants. The vehicle is covered with a cloth, that of the better class matching in colour the servants' liveries. I have seen grey and yellow ones also. These belong to the Korean aristocracy.
The most attractive of all was the "carriage" of a noble in mourning. His chair had quite recently been covered with cloth of a yellowish hue, the same as that worn by his two servants, their coats reaching nearly to the ground. In order to give their limbs free play, these had been split up as far as the waist. But this can be nothing more than fashion, for not even the whip would make a Korean hurry. The servants also wear a broad girdle, tied up in a bow, round their waists.
When in mourning they wear straw hats, not black, but shaped like a fair-sized old-fashioned bread-basket. These have wide sloping brims, reaching the shoulders, and entirely concealing the face. In such a weird costume they strongly resemble yellow mushrooms sprung up on a summer's day. Straw sandals complete thecostume.
In spite of these strange details and absurd combinations, the general effect is good; the colours, the silk-covered chair, straw hat and sandals, blend harmoniously together. Seen from a distance, they almost have the appearance of ivory knick-knacks, such as you see exhibited for sale in Japanese curio shops.
But I hear a noise in the distance, and from the direction of the western gate a motley crowd comes towards me. It must be either a funeral or a wedding. So far I cannot distinguish which. The next moment two children detach themselves from the crowd and seem to lead the procession. Their dress is glaring, of green, purple, and scarlet silk, with their dark hair encircling their foreheads in gleaming plaits. They are also decked out with flowers and butterflies.
Behind them is carried a large box, painted red, and polished. It is evidently a wedding, and this is very likely the dowry. Now follow the dancers, in pairs, but wide apart from each other. Their costume—I cannot describe it! Almost shapeless, it consisted of skirt over skirt, kerchiefs, veils, all pell-mell and of every colour of the rainbow.
I take note of many things which to-morrow might escape me.
Street life is one ever-flowing stream. In Seoul, I observe, everybody lives on the thoroughfares,and this is probably the reason why the roads are so wide and the dwellings so cramped. In this trait the Korean is like the Spaniard or Italian, for he is never so happy as when out of doors. There he stands on his threshold, or basking in the sunny courtyards; or he lights his pipe and strolls up and down for hours. His carriage is slow and stately. I wonder where he is going, and what he is thinking of—nowhere and of nothing. I should say, "Il flâne." There is no suitable word in another language for this aimless meandering. "Loitering" indicates only physical slowness, nor does even "to lounge or saunter" exactly convey the idea. Physical sluggishness and moral vacuum are not simultaneously connoted by them.
Now and again a private comes by. He is the coming man! If he learns nothing else in the barrack-yard, he certainly does learn how to walk.
His pigtail has been shorn off. At first he bemoaned it, for this antiquated head-dress of his embodied a general principle, and with its departure he was cut adrift from all his old associations and traditions; but, like the child he is at heart, he soon forgets his pigtail and its traditions along with it, and today is proud of the metamorphosis.
As the man of progress and of the future, he scorns the white coats, sandals, and hats, of hiscountrymen.
On reaching the hotel I find a gentleman awaiting me; it is the Minister of Great Britain. He has learnt of my arrival, and is come to offer me his hospitality, my country not having a legation in the city.
The Hôtel du Palais in Seoul is new and fairly well managed, and so I did not wish to put any one to inconvenience. The bishop being away, and having no legation, I was anxious to remain my own master. We never know when we may become a nuisance to the kindest of hosts. The pleasantness of a visit, after all, depends more on circumstances than on the host or guest.
All this I frankly explained, and in the end we made a compromise in such a way as not to disturb our daily programme. I was to be his guest, but each of us was to attend to his usual occupations, and we were to meet only at luncheon time. As for the afternoons, we left everything to circumstances.
The British Legation, on the other side of the new palace, is a pretty country mansion, with a loggia, built on a bank, and enclosed by a garden. The secretary's house stands in another part of the grounds, and at the entrance a pavilion for the guards is in course of construction.
The interior is typically English, the sameas we find it in the houses of the well-to-do classes, whose root principle is, "My home is my castle." Among those with whom the family life is such a fine example of domestic virtues, the "home" strikes us very forcibly and with such graciousness. Indeed, the "home" idea is one of Great Britain's bulwarks.
My room was ready for me, bright and cheerful. The creeper on the balcony was still green, and my windows looked out on to the courtyard of the neighbouring palace.
In the afternoon I went to the German Consulate, and passed on the way the Temple of Heaven—a pagoda standing on a hill, with a fair double roof and in front of it a marble altar.
It is a replica, a poor one it is true, of Pekin's masterpiece, but quite pretty from a scenic point of view.
From a small house at the corner a very babel of sound issues forth. It is the inarticulate mechanical repetition of one chapter—exactly the same method our own schoolmasters used to employ for instilling knowledge.
As the door in the courtyard is open, I enter. In front of me I find a room, not more than ten feet square, in which ten or more youngsters are crowded together. There they sit on the floor, dressed green instead of white, and their long hair hanging down in fine plaits.
The Imperial library in SeoulTHE IMPERIAL LIBRARY IN SEOUL"One of those charming buildings full of originality"[To face page 252]
THE IMPERIAL LIBRARY IN SEOUL"One of those charming buildings full of originality"[To face page 252]
Each has a big A B C book in his hand.Every word has a different letter; these they repeat, and in this way knowledge is driven into them. They pronounce everything out loud, moving the upper part of their body to right and left, backwards and forwards, all the time.
The dominie is seated in front, also squatting on the floor. His eyes are shielded by goggles of enormous size, and he wears on his head a horsehair crown.
He is wisdom personified, outwardly at any rate, and his thoughts seem to be ranging far away in the distance; and from his Olympic seat he casts an indifferent eye on his perspiring pupils. But, as a famous Chinese pedagogue says, "Chinese spelling and writing can only be mastered mechanically; the best scholar is the jackass."
The German Consulate is a new building, but by no means as comfortable as the English. The Consul-General is also entrusted with Austro-Hungarian affairs, and would look after them if there were any to look after. But I am afraid that the Viennese Foreign Office of the present régime does not quite realize the commercial interests which it might promote, and follows strictly the advice of the late Secretary of Foreign Affairs, Ct. Kálnoky, given to an enthusiastic youth, "If you want to succeed in your career and maintain your position when once acquired, do not forget 'On n'est jamaisen disgrace pour ce qu'on n'a pas fait.'" He is very courteous, and talks a good deal of Japan, where he acted as Councillor of the Legation.
From there to the Roman Catholic Mission is but a few yards. As I enter its iron grilled gate, my surprise is as great as it is agreeable, for I see before me a grand cathedral, and on either side spacious buildings standing in their own wooded grounds.
It was built on the model of one of the old cathedrals in the Netherlands—red brick, Gothic, a style which, as I invariably avow, I do not like to find in the East. But this is only a criticism due to my artistic sense. As a building, nothing can be said against it, for of its kind it is perfect. But what struck me most was its cleanliness. The stone floor was as bright as a mirror.
The bishop was away on circuit, and would not return for ten days, so Father——, the vicar, received me, and showed me over the whole little colony, the school, and convent and orphanage; but of these I will speak more fully elsewhere.
As I took my leave the sun was setting. The peaks of the encircling hills were reflected in purple tints on the topaz sky. The Mission down below, in the dell, appeared in a bluish mist, only the cathedral cresting the hill.
Returning home by a circuitous route, I find the streets even more thronged than in themorning. I glance into a few shops, but there is not much worth seeing. The furriers, who are engaged in cutting out and sewing a number of tunics, capes, and fur coats, seem to be the busiest. There are also a good many jackets and still more waistcoats without sleeves to protect the chest and back. Over these are worn white linen kaftans. No wonder the wearers look like walking eider-down quilts.
To the right I noticed a tavern, much like the Chinese roadside inn, and in the large open stable a row of small rough-haired horses were standing with straw rugs on their backs. A coolie was carrying water from the well in two brass vessels, hanging on the ends of a long pole. The pole does not, however, rest upon his shoulders, but is fastened crosswise to his back, giving man and load the appearance of a living pair of scales.
Next come some unpretentious little barracks, which, in their smallness, are after the pattern of the soldiers, a number of whom are looking out of the windows. In the absence of any better occupation, they are chewing pumpkin-seeds.
Now we arrive at the curiosity shops displaying several porcelain articles, a few of bronze, many tiles, and a farrago of rubbish.
On the cross-road are some more barracks, comprised in a long low building, the little men infront of which were wearing, not only red collars, but also red dolmans. Here the cavalry are garrisoned, and a little scrap of a hussar is just galloping home. This warrior is not a whit taller than Hop o' my Thumb, his charger scarce larger than a well-developed calf of two months.
By the side of this toy hussar rattled a formidable sabre, which seemed in danger of pulling him down from his horse.
Without that impediment his seat is poor enough. On his coming nearer I see that the murderous instrument is an ordinary cavalry sword. His uniform is the most chequered I ever saw. The dolman of the Korean hussar is of a cinnamon colour, his collar and cuffs emerald-green, and his breeches stripes saffron. If the pattern of his uniform was the plumage of a parrot, the imitation is indeed most successful.
I was wandering farther on, when in front of a gate some dogs nearly knocked me down.
The streets of Seoul, like those of Pekin and Constantinople, are full of them, but with this difference, that the dogs here are well-kept and strong. If a single one of these starts barking, this signal of some approaching danger is in a minute responded to throughout a whole quarter. It was so in my case. As I came too near the threshold, the guardian on duty there was under the impressionthat I intended to encroach on his domain. His attitude towards me was anything but friendly, and not being armed with either stick or umbrella, I instinctively stooped down to pick up a stone. This movement on my part, however, was sufficient to make him retire summarily into his own courtyard. He was perfectly in the right, and it only showed what a faithful watch-dog he was.
The Korean canine race is a subject worthy of a few words, because it affords some of the most typical figures in the streets of Seoul. I must confess I never have seen better-trained dogs than these. In the streets they are the meekest of quadrupeds, and as quiet as lambs.
A single word is quite sufficient to make the Seoul dog scamper home to his doorway. He knows that it is his duty to be there. He will lie in the little yard for hours and hours, but prefers, best of all, to take his ease on the doorstep, with his head in the street, so as not to lose sight of any one approaching. He hardly takes any notice of you, as long as you walk in the middle of the road. At most he would stare at dark-clothed people with other than yellow faces, to the sight of whom he is not accustomed, for ever since he came into this world he has seen none other than white kaftans.
But the moment any stranger directs his steps towards the house, the dog gives a growlor two, and on further approach barks as loud as he can. He reserves his attack until you are within his range, that is to say about a yard from him. By that time the auxiliary forces from the neighbourhood have concentrated, and you have the whole brigade snarling and yapping at your heels.
This fearsome pandemonium at last brings the master of the house, or a member of his family, to the seat of the disturbance, and a single word, or merely a sign, suffices for Cerberus to retire to a corner, wagging his tail.
*****
Darkness has set in. Calm reigns supreme. The fresh autumnal night is silently spreading its grey veil of mist over the white city. But look! is not that the northern light breaking through the dark? In the direction of Puk-Han it begins to dawn. The sky unexpectedly flashes up; its subdued red light is getting more and more brilliant. Now flames of hundreds of torches illuminate the atmosphere. Here is another surprise, as if the many strange phenomena of the day had not yet reached their climax.
It is a torchlight procession, the like of which I have never seen before. Pedestrians, sedan-chairs, men on horseback, are coming forward in an endless string. And what a pageant this is! What effective grouping! The minutestdetail has been carried out with artistic taste. The smallest traits are wonderfully harmonized, to enhance the general effect.
The procession is headed by children, dressed in white from top to toe, wearing bell-shaped head-gear. Then follow bearers of torchlights and banners, servants carrying inscriptions attached to poles, others dangling lanterns, and behind these another group burning straw plaits.
The next section of the procession consists of riders, of whom eight are entirely covered by white cloaks. You would imagine they were phantoms, if it were not that they are weeping bitterly. These are the paid mourners, like the moaning women of ancient Rome; for it is a native funeral. A member of the Min family is being taken to his last resting-place. He is a descendant of a famous clan, a relative of the late Empress of Korea, so regal pomp is awarded him. And the funeral procession is really grand, although all dresses worn therein are of unbleached linen. The trimmings are for the most part of paper, but in such striking combinations, and designed and finished so perfectly, that we disregard the details and only admire the general effect. The group of moaning women is followed by monsters, dressed as guys, such as gruesome fables are peopled with. One wears a red, another a yellow, mask; this a green, and that a blue one. The appearance of all is awe-inspiring,their heads being adorned with horns, cockscombs, and crowns. Now more and more new groups follow, approaching in a stately way, and disappearing slowly in the darkness of the night.
How long the procession lasted I could not ascertain, but some thousand persons must have marched by ere the two gilt catafalques appeared on the scene. Both were alike, resembling monumental pagodas, gabled in many places, designed with the quaint originality of this people, and ornamented with all the fullness of their fancy. The two coffins, prescribed by ancient traditions, rest on pedestals in the shadow of high baldachinos. Behind the coffin walks a person wrapped in sackcloth, suggestive of the cloth worn over their uniforms by members of the society of the Misericordia in Italy. The catafalques and coffins are carried on their shoulders by thirty-two mourners, proceeding slowly and rhythmically.
But the pageant is not yet at an end. On a number of sedan-chairs are heaped up the personal belongings of the deceased. His clothes, household furniture, horses, and cows, all follow him, so that they may be consumed as a burnt-offering by his grave-side; all ineffigy, for they are but of paper. It is in such cheap counterfeit that the ancient traditions are being preserved by the more practical progeny of thepresent day. The silver coins, thrown by the riding "weepers" amongst the crowd, are likewise make-believe, being really nothing but small discs of paper. One sedan-chair follows another; hosts of carriers and servants accompany the members of the family. There is the whole tribe; a whole brigade is riding behind the gabled catafalque. All are covered with sackcloth; even the mendicant is dressed in white—the whole procession is white. And as they turn round at the top of the hill, the effect of the picture is unique. The weeping women, the monsters, the mourners and attendants, the gigantic catafalques, and the immense crowd, formed one of the strangest sights I ever contemplated. The furled banners, dangling inscriptions, open sunshades, lanterns with dim lights in the darkness of the night, formed the quaintest setting. The light of torches, the burning bunches of bulrushes and straw, are tinting in a vibrating red the long, white and ghostly procession. The beating of drums, and the droning of bagpipes, furnish the music, and the weeping women the proper chorus. This strange funeral, in fact, is the most perfect "danse macabre."
The full moon, fuller than usual, as though anxious to light up the weird procession, is rising in a slow and stately manner behind the hills. Her melancholy rays filter through the night,her silvery splendour intensifying the ghostliness of the scene.
*****
The first day spent in the capital of Korea is nearing its end. Quietness penetrates the night—such profound quietness as can only be enjoyed in Seoul. The alley leading to the legation is dark and deserted. And as I walk home I try to recall to my memory all that I have perceived and heard; all that was new to me and striking; all the contrasts and the incoherency of earliest perceptions.
No guests were bidden to dinner, and when my host put the question to me, "What do you think about Seoul?" I was scarcely able to express my thoughts clearly. What do I really think about Seoul? What about her people, her life, physiology, and atmosphere? I will write it down forthwith, ereknowledgespoils the glamour of first impressions, whilst every tint is shining in glaring colour, whilst every detail can be observed through the microscope of novelty.
On the last day of my sojourn here, I will look through these short notes, and, like a schoolmaster, correct in red ink any mistakes that may be found therein. Town and people will then be better known, but the charm of the first day will vanish for ever.
X
THE EMPEROR OF KOREA AT THE NEW PALACE
Since last night we have been in the midst of revolution; but it seems that a revolution in Korea is very much like everyday life in other corners of the earth, and nobody attaches any importance to it. Everybody pursues his daily task, the ordinary routine goes on in its slow and lumbering way. Official life maintains its sluggish pulsation, and to my astonishment I even get an invitation to be received in the course of the afternoon by the Emperor and the Crown Prince.
It is a calm day, calm in every respect, and the people of Seoul seem to be at rest, as I am carried by eight unusually large bearers towards the New Palace. The littlecortègeis of a strange character. My sedan-chair is covered with green silk, and, with the bearers in dark purple, makes quite a patch of colour in the whitewashed streets.
Seoul might be called the white city. The houses are white, and every living being, young and old, man and woman, is clad in white cotton. I should really think that the absence of colourand sound is the most striking feature of the Land of the Morning Calm.
The reception takes place at the New Palace. There are four palaces in Seoul, the Eastern, Northern, Western, and the one I am just entering. I have passed a great many delightful afternoons in their magnificent grounds, forlorn gardens, quaint summer-houses, and charming pagodas.
I returned again and again to sketch for a while, or to admire the once-famous Korean art, which, I am afraid, has vanished for ever, like the famous bronze-workers, sculptors, and cloisonné makers, like the whole once-famous civilization that has left only a few magnificent monuments of its existence.
The sedan-chairs are put down before the main entrance, which looks very much like that of a suburban railway station, with its glass roof, supported by iron posts. It is modern indeed. It may be useful, but it is sadly commonplace. There is a platform, too, not to miss anything to complete thetout ensemble.
I am shown first into an ante-room which might be that of any small country villa, and our coats are hung on racks which have every appearance of having come straight from Tottenham Court Road. And then we step into a drawing-room, which I prefer to call a waiting room, an exact replica of those dreary placeswhere we are compelled to waste so many hours of our lives. It might belong to a dentist, a doctor, or a public official at home.
In the centre there is a huge table with the kind of books which nobody ever dreams of reading. The furniture is featureless, but not altogether unpretentious, and the engravings and pictures are of a sort that nobody cares for. I was told by way of compliment to the West that the Court arranged this apartment for foreign receptions, and I wonder if it was entirely without sarcasm or pardonable malice that visitors are confronted with a room that makes all the faults of modern Western taste so manifest. It was a climax of all that is banal.
Whilst waiting we are entertained by His Excellency the Master of Ceremonies, the Lord Chamberlain, and several A.D.C.'s. They all wear European uniforms, dark marine-blue tunics, with many black and gold badges and heavily braided dark red trousers. Everything is of the best material and highly finished, apparently made far beyond Korea's frontiers. Some of the officials talk French, some English, and all are most interesting and entertaining. They have charming manners and all the natural refinements of an ancient race.
Two of them are old acquaintances. I met them years ago at Buckingham Palace, on the occasion of Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee.Prince Min is an accomplished man of the world. He has just built a new house on the outskirts of the city, "with all the most modern improvements," but I am rather sorry he has left his old home, lost in the maze of the inner town and buried in the shade of a few fine chestnut trees. It was such a typical old Korean home, looking outside like a hut built of mud and covered with thatch, but inside looking like a white paper box. Its tiny rooms were carpeted with silky matting, and for furniture it had half a dozen silk cushions—for ornamentation, but a single flower stand.
There is a striking contrast between this modern waiting-room and the old Korean house; a contrast of vulgarity and refinement. I am sorry to say I saw only a few of these quaint old places, and I fear that on my next visit they will all have disappeared. To pass the time, tea, champagne-cup, and cigarettes, are handed round, as they would be in any Western house.
The New Palace and its diplomatic receptions are managed by a Western lady.
There are some other Westerners holding Court appointments here, some with the title of teacher of languages, and many others under different pretexts. But few of them render services that are ever required.
The building of this New Palace is unquestionablystrange and antagonistic, but I will confine myself to observing the material sides. Its conception and architecture are equally incoherent; it is such an unintelligible mixture of old and new, national and foreign. Near the hall, built exactly like an old yamen, there stands a shed of corrugated iron, and a wonderful old gate leads to a passage furnished with Viennese chairs. The whole palace was built as opportunity offered, without previous plans. It came to be erected in the following way. During the last revolution, the Empress lost her life: she was dragged out of her room, atrociously tortured, and stabbed by ruffians, or, as some say, by foreign soldiers. Afterwards, her body was burned in the adjoining deer park, at the foot of the eastern hills. The Emperor himself escaped only with the greatest difficulty, in a disguise, carried on men's shoulders, as Anchises was out of the burning ruins of Troy. He never returned to those ill-fated walls, but took refuge in the Russian Legation, and remained there for a long time to be in greater security.
After this, land was secured near the legations, amidst the foreign settlement, and there the New Palace was erected. It is not completed yet, and I am afraid it will remain unfinished for many years, and offer a source of income to the commercial, trading, labouring, and idlingclasses of the country.
At last His Majesty awoke from his siesta and was ready to receive me. There are no ushers and no Court functionaries, and little or no display. The servants who came with the message wore a red calico kaftan to the ground, with a red calico hood that looked like a domino. It is the Court livery, simple to make and cheap to buy. Calico is the national material, that everybody wears at all seasons of the year—in winter padded with cotton-wool or sheepskin. There are over 10,000,000 purchasers of calico in Korea, and it has become quite an interesting commercial question whether Japan's Osaka or England's Manchester will secure the future market.
By a little door and through a narrow passage, built of white deal boards, we get to the inner court, which is really a backyard surrounded by store-rooms and servants' sheds.
The throne roomTHE THRONE ROOM"Since the revolution, in which the Empress lost her life, the Emperor has never returned there"[To face page 268]
THE THRONE ROOM"Since the revolution, in which the Empress lost her life, the Emperor has never returned there"[To face page 268]
To avoid the mud it is necessary to use a pathway composed of two planks. They are narrow enough to test the skill of an equilibrist, and it may be they are put down to drill the courtiers in that useful art. On this occasion these planks are covered with narrow bright red carpet—a poor specimen of the thing usually found in "furnished apartments," not at all conducive to comfort, and apparently only a harbour for the dust. The yard is deserted.Here and there, out of peep-holes and half-open doors, a few red-calicoed servants are gazing with inquisitive eyes, but not one of them is in attendance.
From the central building a wide, unpainted door leads into the yard. The door is open and we see a kind of hall, with its walls covered with a large-patterned blue-and-white paper, which probably lay for years neglected and unadmired in some mean shop. There is a table in the centre and a high screen behind. Squeezed in between the two stands the Emperor. I can hardly realize that I am in the presence of the all-powerful potentate—an Emperor who is more than ruler, and more even than despot, in fact, an idol in the eyes of his people. His person is sacred, his power is boundless, his word is law, and he owns everything, land and people, without restriction, his simple wish is a command.
If human hand touches him it is sacrilege, and the punishment for sacrilege is death. Even the dead body of an emperor must be lifted into the coffin by a special device. If the Emperor touches a subject, the body so touched becomes blessed. The Emperor's name must not be mentioned except in whispers. His portrait is never painted except after death, when it becomes an object of worship in the ancestral halls. Once a foreign envoy sought topresent the Emperor with the portrait of his sovereign, but the Minister for Foreign Affairs regarded the offer as an outrage and the portrait was never accepted. How very strange all these customs seem to be! But it is scarcely thirty years since Korea was still, if not the "Land of the Morning Calm," at least the "Hermit Kingdom," secluded and unknown.
The Emperor of KoreaTHE EMPEROR OF KOREACopyright, Nops Ltd.[To face page 270]
THE EMPEROR OF KOREACopyright, Nops Ltd.[To face page 270]
My impression of the Emperor is favourable. His features are heavy, but the face is kind and his expression is benevolent. Physically he is delicate. I cannot imagine him to be a man of strong likes or dislikes, and his shyness approaches timidity. He wore ancient Korean state robes of rich yellow hue, embroidered with numberless cabalistic signs. Around his waist was clasped a stiff ceremonial girdle, inlaid with jade. It looked much like an iron hoop round a shrunken barrel and seemed peculiar to Western eyes, accustomed to belts that, on the contrary, grip the body only too closely.
The representative of my country, who has lived for many years in Korea, and is an excellent scholar, had scarcely time to make the necessary introductions before the Emperor opened the conversation. He was most interested in the way I had come, and hearing that I had used the overland route, his questions were inexhaustible. "When did you leave home?"
"How long have you been travelling?" "Whatinterested you most?" "What is the country like?" "What do the people do?" "What are their ambitions?" and so on. He seemed to be interested in my own country, and especially in all the different manners and customs of the West.
"Is your country a very hilly one?" "Are the people agricultural, as here?" "Is your capital a very fine one, and what is the Emperor's palace like? I hear there are magnificent Court functions, and pageants with a great many carriages. My envoys, coming home from the European tour, gave me very interesting details of your magnificent cities and great wealth, and brought home many valuable souvenirs and pictures. I am sorry to be too old, otherwise I myself would start to see all I have heard about."
The state coaches seemed to appeal most to his imagination, which, after all, is but natural, considering that such a thing as a carriage has never been known to the Koreans. His Majesty even expressed a wish to order one in Europe.
Question after question came, giving me scarcely time to give answers. I, of course, could not ask questions except in an indirect way, for in this respect Korea sticks firmly to the etiquette of all Courts, which provides that the monarch alone is allowed to start a new topic of conversation.
"You must have been very glad on yourarrival at Seoul to find that the finest building is your cathedral? What it must have been to have built up such a high tower! and I am told its interior is beautiful. Who was your architect? How much did it cost?" I explained that it was built by one of the fathers who studied with great care the architectural books of Viollet Le Duc, and that the expense had been very limited, on account of nearly everything being made on the spot.
But he was even more interested to hear about our orphan schools close by, where nearly two hundred children are saved from misery and death. He was pleased to hear a little more of what happens outside the palace gates, to know something more about the charitable work carried out in his own country.
It was astonishing to see with what keen interest he followed my explanations.
He wanted to know my ideas concerning Koreans, and especially Korean children and the rising generation trained in our schools. I was glad to have an opportunity of expressing my satisfaction, and I told him how very much surprised I was at seeing the Korean children at work, and hearing their answers.
I could scarcely believe that boys out here could be such good Latin scholars, some of them far in advance of boys of the same age in European schools. I was even more astonished tosee the real pleasure it gave them to study and to improve. To me it shed quite a new light on the Korean character and mind. What is more satisfactory still is, that when these children go back to their forlorn homes, as they do for several months each year, they seldom fail to return, and never forget what they have been taught.
Next the Emperor sat the Crown Prince, a man slightly over thirty years of age, overgrown and heavy, apathetic, and lethargic in all his movements. He shows little interest in anything outside his own sphere, and scarcely any capacity for the reception of new ideas. He is married, but has no family.
But there is a younger brother who is in every respect the reverse. He is bright, clever, active, and instead of the heavy atmosphere of the palace seeks the fresh air of far-away countries; At present he is in the United States, working hard, studying and gathering knowledge, experience, and statesmanship, which may, as he hopes it will, be of use to himself and to his country.
Behind the Emperor and Crown Prince stands a huge dark figure, casting a heavy black shadow on them. His expression is stolid, and he is mute, but he watches and follows everything that goes on around us. He is the chief eunuch of the palace, a man of great importanceand influence.
The chamberlains and princes accompany me to my sedan-chair when I go. Before I leave them they make an appointment for next day to show me the ancestral hall and some of the public buildings.
I must say they are all very courteous, and want to show me much that they think would prove useful to me. At last we start, sedan-chairs begin to swing, hanging from eight bearers' shoulders. A horseman rides ahead, while the legation servants and the Kisos form a guard. As we come to the large place before the palace there is a dense crowd, a faction of the revolutionists as I am told. The city is in great excitement. As we pass along we meet crowds everywhere.
Seoul is divided into two parties. One is bitter against Russia and claims the delivery and punishment of Y.-Yung-Yk, on whom all the Imperial confidence and favours are bestowed at this moment. Another party is in favour of him and Russia. The former is for Japan—but there is no party to support their own country, to work for its independence, and to secure its freedom. There seem to be very few Koreans for Korea.
XI
TOKIO
As the train stops at the terminus of Shimbashi, I can scarcely realize that I have reached the capital of beautiful Japan. The huge station is one of the most commonplace erections I have ever come across in my long journeys. Platforms, booking offices, waiting rooms, are perfect copies of all that the Western mind has produced to be useful, but from an artistic point of view featureless and colourless. And even the crowd, which bustles along and overflows the whole place, is as drab as it could be in any commercial centre on our side of the globe. Even those who still cling to the nationalkimono, instead of keeping to the old bright colours, have it made of dark cloth or modern cotton material. As I step out into the street my disappointment is even greater. I see a few buildings constructed of wood, without any ornamentation, the unpainted timber grey and weather-beaten.
I must say the day is very much against the creation of a favourable impression. It is a cold January morning, gloomy and dark, sleet falling from leaden clouds, and the streets arethickly covered with black mud. I can almost imagine myself in the suburbs of Pittsburg, for there is a great deal of smoke, the only apparent difference being that steel is replaced mostly by timber. As my jinrickshaw rolls along through the maze of wide streets and narrow lanes, I do not feel elated. My extraordinary vehicle, which is drawn by two men harnessed tandem fashion and pushed by another, has, however, an Eastern flavour, though the 'rickshaw was actually invented by an Anglo-Saxon genius.
During the first weeks of my stay I visited all the ancient monuments, temples, and pagodas, and all the usual haunts of the traveller. There are some fine specimens of Japanese art, though they cannot be compared to the buildings of the smaller cities. I come from Nara and Kyoto, and this may be one of the reasons that everything is so far below my expectations. Some of the temples are certainly large, and one or two pagodas quaintly designed, many of the carvings being elaborate. But even the best specimens can only be classed as decorative art. Among them all, the most noteworthy examples of Japanese architecture are the temples dedicated to the memory of the Shōguns. The decoration of the inner halls is sometimes exquisite, the beams and friezes being beautifully worked. Bronzes, finely cast, magnificently finished, make the interiors delightful.I specially admired the specimens of lacquer-work I saw in the course of my rambles. Nearly all the temples had panels, doors, chests, boxes, utensils, and odds and ends of exceptional beauty. It takes a long time for a Western eye to appreciate fully the real qualities of good lacquer; but when once it has been trained it will always put their lacquer-work foremost among the artistic productions of this people next to bronzes, if not before them. The industry still survives in full vigour, and I saw several specimens which came very near those in the carefully guarded collection of Nikko. I also saw many fine bronzes, though their beauty is often depreciated by the too-great elaborateness of the design. Old national armour is to be found in many of the temples and collections of the capital, but, though most beautiful, it is not yet in much demand in the bric-à-brac market.
But I have come to the conclusion that the real charm of ancient Yeddo must have lain more in nature than in art, in its bright suburbs, evergreen groves, wistaria-covered arbours, and chrysanthemum gardens; nature in her exuberance, in her spring bloom, or the varied tints of autumn intermingled with arched bridges, carved balustrades, and flights of steps, relieved by art. Monuments in Japan seem to serve above all as a foreground to a fine view: the most conspicuous towers, ex-voto lanterns,or finest "tories," acquire an artistic value more from their surroundings than from their intrinsic worth. The way in which the monuments are placed, the effect they give to the landscape, and especially the view to be seen from them, are the main points of interest. I am sorry that books written on Japanese art generally fail to perceive its real value, and point out merits it does not possess. It is particularly the imagination that ought to be dwelt on; not merely the handiwork, but the conception of the brain. Shrines, kiosks, pagodas, may sometimes be very primitive, but in the imagination of the artist they represented fairy buildings. It is the same with their tiny little gardens, or dwarf woods. Though they are in reality minute, they grow in the owners' minds to veritable parks or virgin forests. Some of the so-called Imperial palaces around Nikko are most humble abodes, surrounded by a little strip of land. Katsura-no-Rikyu Palace, for instance, consists simply of a few planks nailed together, forming a kind of log house of one storey, a few feet square, and divided in the interior by partitions or the so-called sliding screens. Certainly it is no palace; it can scarcely be called a house. It is literally a shed roofed with bamboo and thatch,—nothing more. And yet the followers of the imaginative school of æsthetics saw it with different eyes. To them it represented whattheir fancy imagined, not what they saw in reality, and the little open space before the building, which, with the best will in the world, can only be called a gravel yard, dotted with unhewn stones, was to them the illimitable surface of the ocean, the scattered blocks so many islands and continents. In the corner stands a little estrade of bamboo, where the Mikado and his chosen friends used to sit in deep contemplation before the elaborate world of their fancy, and enjoy the passive happiness of the Zen doctrine.
It would interest me to treat this subject most explicitly, and to deal with Japanese art from a psychological point of view; to consider not merely the objects it has created, but rather the mind and genius which have been manifested in its different creations; to deal more at length with the founders and pupils of the famous masters' schools of Nara and Kyoto, and to explain where their real value lies. To discuss the paintings, statuary, and architecture, the refinement of their watercolours, which can only be called sketches, small bronzes and jade or stone figures, the netsukes on masks, makimonos, "tories" and pagodas, would afford to our matter-of-fact appreciation an opportunity of realizing more fully the strength of their imagination. The average European generally admires in Japanese work the finish of detail, elaboratenessof execution, and the patience of labour, applied to its object. He pays high prices for the workman's skill and manual dexterity, but seems to be quite indifferent to the artist's idea as such, and the originality of the conception escapes him entirely.
Yet in the most famous creations of the celebrated æsthetes we are more struck by the force of their imagination than by the actual work itself. Thecha-no-yustyle consisted, as mentioned above with reference to the Katsura-no-Rikyu Palace, of a few planks, bamboo beams, and thatched roof, and Kobori Enshu, Nippon's Le Notre, designed his gardens to offer a panoramic effect more than a place of recreation. It was not the house nor the grounds in their real grandeur which effected the impression desired; in fact, it was not reality at all that was before them in its crude and sometimes primitive material; but the suggestiveness of log house and gravel yard, which developed in their vivid fantasy into enchanted palace and fairy land. Men retiring from active life; generals crowned with many victories; distinguished, even abdicating Mikados, secluded themselves in different rural retreats to enjoy, after the struggles of life, perfect peace. They led a life of their own, an existence not so much of active reality as of passive contemplation, in which they discusseddifferent ideas and strove for new ideals. They invented an artificial life of artistic refinement, admiring for days together a single work of art or a flower in full bloom, inhaling choice aromas and smelling exquisite perfumes. And stately processions were organized to go and partake of afternoon tea in a summer-house, where every movement was prescribed by strict etiquette, and where the handing and receiving of the cup were attended by fastidious courtesies, and the making of the beverage of a special green leaf, pounded to powder, and poured out of a black earthen pot, was an occupation requiring several hours. The tea ceremonies have often been described; there is a whole literature at our disposal, in which the regulations respecting these proceedings are put down with the authority of a code. But what is far more interesting than the description of the elaborate ceremonies is the problem of how the mind of the people could have manifested itself in such a complex and, to us, incomprehensible way. We shall never fully realize how these men could have sat on theTsuki-mi-dai, the bamboo dais, for hours, watching the moon rising behind the meadows, gazing at the scene before them, lost in the intricacy of their contemplation. And we shall never understand their thoughts as we shall never realize the world as seen from a Tsuki-mi-dai.
Is it astonishing if, in their imagination,reality and fiction became "confusion worse confounded," huts grew to palaces, the single stones to islands, and, finally, they built up a world of their own? As children gazing at clouds give full play to their fancy, so did they see in the external world what really existed only in their inner consciousness. The explanation of many of those vagaries lies in the strength of their fantasy, the vividness of their illusions; but we might go even further and justly say that one of the strongest qualities of the nation is the strength of their imagination. With them fiction almost becomes reality, fancies acquire positive values, and subjective sensations are allowed to act upon the objective world. Any one who is interested in metaphysical questions will be struck by this trait, not only in their art, but in every incident of their existence. Whether in the past or present, it will strike us as one of the main characteristics of the Japanese, and, turning over the pages of their long history, it is one of the prevailing features. It was a potent factor, which gave strength to their convictions and endurance to their arms. In fact, their whole ancient moral code and their laws of chivalry were based on the same principle. The two qualities which inspire sincere admiration all over the world—their great loyalty to the sovereign and boundless patriotism—are emanations of the same disposition. In facttheir greatest achievements were carried out under the influence of some abstract conception and brought to success by a national or ethical ideal.
II
If the artistic colouring of Tokio has faded away for ever, its present aspect is marked by the evidences of practical life, and if one's first impression is one of general disappointment, the second is one of deep interest. We soon realize that the capital of Japan has ceased to be a mere bazaar, full of glitter, where all the toys and fancies of the East have been stored to make a pleasant resort for the Western traveller. It is a place of hard work, for the accomplishment of serious aims.
Though my expectations in visiting the old monuments were not fulfilled, and, as I said before, from an antiquarian and artistic standpoint the town failed to satisfy me, I became daily more deeply interested in the busy life and commercial enterprise of modern Nippon. Workshops, manufactories, banks, insurance offices, are increasing rapidly in number. The electric and steam companies, railways and shipping, telegraph and telephone companies, have developed in a most astounding manner.If we consider that the railway was only introduced into the country in 1872, for the short distance from Tokio to Yokohama, which was followed by another short line in 1876 from Kobe to Kyoto, and the first long line connecting the two capitals was opened in 1890, it is even more astonishing to see what has been done in the succeeding ten years. To-day railways have been laid all over the country, and all the main cities are connected by direct lines. To give an idea of this rapid development, I may refer to the fact that in 1887 there were 580 miles open for traffic, and in 1899 there were 3421 miles. Besides the Government railways a great many private companies have been formed. About thirty years after the commencement of Japan's new era, the Government lines extended to 833 miles, including 60 miles in Formosa, and the routes still under construction 1250. There were forty-four private companies as well, with a capital of 228 million yen. The rolling stock of the Government railways amounted to about 1500 locomotives, 5000 cars, and 18,000 goods wagons. Among private lines the Nippon Tetsudo is the most important; it is about 1000 miles long. The next in importance are the Kiushiu and Sanyo railways. To-day it is possible to go from the north end of the country to the south, a distance of 1400 miles. The only interruption on the wholetrack is the Straits of Moji, where there is still a ferry, but this, it is said, will probably be replaced by a steel bridge, such as that over the Forth. The greater part of the rolling stock is manufactured at home, only wheels and axles being imported to any great extent from abroad.
The first telegraph line was installed in 1869 by English engineers. In 1877 all the foreign employés had been replaced by natives, and ten years later Japan joined the International Telegraph Union. In 1891 the Government purchased from the Great Northern Telegraph Company, with great strategical foresight, and took into its own hands, all the cables forming a direct connexion with Korea. The telegraph offices are not far off 2000 in number, and the length of the wires is close on 30,000 kilometres. The number of internal messages amounts to 16 millions, and of international messages to about 300,000. The longest main line is from Tokio to Nagasaki—877 kilometres. There are several thousands of employés, and in many places bicycles are used for delivering the telegrams.
The telephone in Japan is more common than in any other country in the world, except perhaps Norway. Besides the Government and public telephone offices, nearly every large commercial house, and most private homes, have telephones.
The establishment of the electric system ofillumination has become most popular in the smallest villages, and forlorn hamlets are lighted by electricity.
Steam navigation companies are numerous. Besides local companies running small steamers in the larger bays and inland seas, there are several companies for international commerce. Among all these companies the most important is the Nippon Yusen Kaisha. It is the pride of modern Japan, and I quite agree that there are very few enterprises in the shipping line which could surpass it in size and excellence of organization. To quote from their annual report, which will be of interest as giving an idea of the success they have achieved: "With a capital of 22 million yen, establishing regular steamship services all over the world, and with a fleet of 70 steamers aggregating 200,000 tons gross, the majority of them new and provided with every resource for contributing to the comfort of passengers and every modern facility for the carrying trade, the Nippon Yusen Kaisha now ranks among the greatest enterprises of the kind in the world. The regular services maintained by it, independently of its lines between all the principal ports in Japan, are with China, Asiatic Russia, the Straits Settlements, India, the Red and Mediterranean Seas, Europe, Canada, America, and Australia. The Japanese Diet in 1899 resolved to grant subsidies to the company'sEuropean and American Lines, and thus all foreign and home lines, with but a few exceptions, have been ordered to run under the mail contract of the Imperial Japanese Government. The Head Office is in Tokio, and Branch Offices and Agencies to the number of over seventy, particulars of which are given elsewhere, are situated at all the ports of call and other important points. The total number of the Company's employés is about 1200, in addition to about 3500 of crews, firemen, etc."
This synopsis grows in interest, and is even more surprising when we consider that the first enterprise in steam navigation was started only in 1868 between Osaka and Tokio, and in 1880 the Company possessed a fleet comprising about fifty boats. Skippers, engineers, and all the chief officers, were Westerners, and nearly all Englishmen. But the Japanese proved to be apt pupils, and every year a greater number of foreigners were replaced by natives. To-day there are only the captains and a few other officers on the international lines who are still foreigners, but even their days are numbered.
During my lengthened stay in the Far East, I travelled a great deal on their lines, crossed the Yellow Sea in several directions, went down once to Shanghai and once to Hong Kong, made an expedition to the Philippines and the neighbouring islands, and, finally, made a journeyin one of their largest boats to Australasia; and I can speak of them with high praise in every respect. Of course, a great many of the boats are built in England, with all the latest improvements. They have electric light and ventilators. And if people who are hard to please sometimes find fault with thechef'sdepartment, I think they are epicures who would make the same objections on all other lines. But every one unites in praising the general cleanliness on board.
One of the suburbs of Tokio is almost entirely devoted to shipbuilding, and on the strand of the large inner bay there are numberless boats in course of construction, though the most important shipbuilding yards are in Nagasaki. Tokio itself is the central point of all the most important commercial enterprises. The national and other banks, railway and shipping companies, all have their headquarters here. Next the modest, old-fashioned wooden houses, huge palaces of brick and steel tower aloft, built on the newest principles of American skyscrapers. I must confess I don't admire them, and I was sadly disappointed to find such commonplace and up-to-date erections in the Mikado's capital, where I expected to be delighted with mysterious pagodas of a romantic age.
Every day I passed several hours in these hugeblocks, and steadily became more and more interested in Japan's commercial activity. In fact, since the reorganization of the country on Western principles the questions of education and commerce are the most pressing of all the problems with which they are confronted. Since the establishment of the new era, which opened their once secluded country to the outer world, transformed their patriarchal system of government into a parliamentary constitution, and reformed the whole army and effected a complete change in the juridical system, the national economics and the education of the rising generation are the riddles to be solved in the future. All the commercial life gave me a great opportunity of realizing the exceptional physical capabilities, diligence, and capacity for hard work, displayed by this people. The number of hours of work an average man can do in the fields or in the factories greatly exceeds that of the Western races. And what is even more striking is the great manual skill shown. The dexterity of a Japanese artisan is too well known to need description, but what I cannot omit to mention is the rapidity with which they execute their work; this faculty seems almost instinctive or innate, and one glance at a model is enough to enable the workman to reproduce the object with absolute accuracy. Another great advantage possessed by them is that thenecessaries of life are so restricted. The frugal meals consist merely of a little rice or raw fish; for luxury they have half a cup ofsakkior rice wine, and for recreation and pleasure an afternoon walk in the flowering orchards or cherry-groves. And if they have a superfluous coin, they can go to the theatres, where national epics are performed in the old-fashioned fascinating style, and where a penny gives admittance from morning to night. Their physical endurance and freshness of mind are two qualities which contribute to the great success they have achieved. How long will they be able to preserve them unspoilt? How long will they be able to guard them from corruption? It is evident that with a different manner of life they are bound to undergo a change; with an increase of daily needs, dissatisfaction is certain to grow.
Baron Ivasaki, one of Japan's principal financiers, and the leader of many social enterprises, after his return from a voyage of investigation round the world, wrote a most interesting paper, not only dealing with his personal experiences but pointing out possibilities, both of financial and moral crises that might occur if the country did not unite to promote, not only commercial and financial endeavour, but a high moral tone. All good patriots and friends of Japan agree with the author in this respect. Unquestionably, there is always a great danger when a nation'sideals become merely material. It is even more disastrous if its spiritual life threatens to become extinct. One of the causes of Japan's strength has been her firm belief in her religious, national, and domestic codes. The great rapidity with which she has adopted Western civilization might easily have resulted in her acceptance, not only of our good points, but also of our bad ones. Considering her marvellous gift of adaptation, the question arises whether this does not happen sometimes, to the detriment of better judgment. In her great zeal to advance and to use all Western means, some of her deeper thinkers begin to realize the dangers which might beset her. The rapid transformation of the old social order must develop by gradation to avoid fresh revolutions, and to spread over the whole country. It is not enough for her to accept merely the technical side of Western civilization, she must understand and be fully convinced by its moral and spiritual principles. The nations of Europe may belong to different denominations, but their mind and soul are imbued by the higher laws of Christianity. Baron Ivasaki, in his articles, points out with great foresight that it is not enough for his countrymen's future greatness and happiness to improve materially, if there is not a corresponding moral elevation.
It becomes evident that the most importantquestion of the day is that of education. During my prolonged stay in the capital I visited a great many schools and colleges. Besides the well-equipped Government Primary Schools I saw many Grammar and High Schools, Public and Private Colleges, and Missionary Establishments. Public instruction, as a rule, is very satisfactory. The teaching of foreign languages, and especially of technical knowledge, is quite surprising, and the examinations in these subjects have the best results. Education, as such, is less successfully carried out; the chief defect of our Western system of devoting itself exclusively to the imparting of knowledge, to the detriment of the formation of character and the arming of the child for the battle of life, more from a moral than from a material standpoint, is also the drawback of this country. Among Tokio's scholastic foundations the University is the most important. To give an epitome of its history:—