Empires and Emperors of Russia, China, Korea, and Japan Part 17

The gates, which are wide open, lead into a large inner courtyard, where there are a number of ordinary and state sedan-chairs. Crowds of servants, attendants, and coolies, are warming themselves in the sun, others are playing at ball, which they kick off and catch with their legs.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 cla.s.s 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 n.o.ble 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 the costume.

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 j.a.panese 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 b.u.t.terflies.

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 flane." 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 a.s.sociations 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 his countrymen.

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 Hotel 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 circ.u.mstances 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 circ.u.mstances.

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 same as we find it in the houses of the well-to-do cla.s.ses, 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 pa.s.sed on the way the Temple of Heaven--a paG.o.da 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 repet.i.tion 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 p.r.o.nounce 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 jacka.s.s."

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 regime does not quite realize the commercial interests which it might promote, and follows strictly the advice of the late Secretary of Foreign Affairs, Ct. Kalnoky, 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 jamais en disgrace pour ce qu'on n'a pas fait.'" He is very courteous, and talks a good deal of j.a.pan, 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 s.p.a.cious 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 the morning. 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 bra.s.s 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 in front of which were wearing, not only red collars, but also red dolmans. Here the cavalry are garrisoned, and a little sc.r.a.p 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 impression that I intended to encroach on his domain. His att.i.tude 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 growl or 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.