Voyage en Corée
4. (Voyage in Corea Section 4)
by
Charles
Varat
Explorer
charged with an ethnographic mission by the
minister of Public Instruction
1888-1889
— previously unpublished text and pictures
Le Tour du Monde, LXIII, 1892
Premier Semestre. Paris : Librairie Hachette et
Cie.
Ascent of the
peak of the central chain. - Great Wall and fortified
gate. - Currency Exchange. - Descent of Song-na-san,
- A stronghold. - The brigands. - Purely scientific
exploration and military expedition. - Coton. -
Peddlers. Scholar’s pole. – As the crow flies. -
Rivers. - Fishing. - Childish anthropology. - Poultry.
- Camp showman. – Half dead. - Memorials. - A suburban
inn. - Taikou. - Reception of the Governor. - The
City. - A Korean feast. - The departure. - Singular
effect of trumpets. - To Chiang. - The wild flower
shines in my buttonhole! - Rain. - Mil-yang
architecture.
After two days
climbing through the foothills of the central chain,
we finally reach the crossroads of the cross, the
King-pang-cha-nadri, a village at the base of the last
climb up the Song-na-san. There I was told we would
have to unload the horses and hire men to carry our
luggage on their backs, as the last peak is difficult
to pass because of the steep slopes and the dreadful
rocks that cover them. I resisted this, the first
disruption of our caravan. But my interpreter provided
alarming information about this pass: never, he
assured me, had a Mandarin crossed here except by
palanquin, and if I made the journey on foot, I would
lose a large part of my prestige in the eyes of my
men, while also depriving of compensation the
villagers, whose only resource, so to speak, this is.
I am obliged
to ride in a sedan chair borne by some very rustic
porters; ten men raise it, and we begin the ascent.
Just as we set off, I understand the insistence of Ni,
seeing him likewise installed in a palanquin. His
dream since the beginning of the journey is finally
realized. But I must admit that we have never had such
a terrible road. I sit at first in European style,
allowing my legs to hang out of the chair, but I am
soon obliged to draw them in and cross them in Korean
style, so that they are not hurt by the many rocks
over which my porters carry me quickly. They
themselves avoid the higher rocks that threaten with
their asperities, emerging in forms as bizarre as
dangerous. Those carrying me are most unhappy,
groaning and dripping with sweat, even though they are
replaced every five minutes by other men. This
continues almost to the top, where the appearance of
the torrent of rocks gradually changes, their number
decreases, a few scattered trees appear; soon these
become more numerous, they begin to afford shelter by
their shade, and the ground finally levels out. I jump
out of my palanquin, upset by all the trouble I have
given, but I laugh at my poor Ni, forced to climb down
when he sees me standing on the ground, although he
would much have preferred to continue the journey in
his chair. As we climb on, the landscape becomes more
charming and the flora changes completely. Firs,
larches disappear to make room for the wonderful
woodland vegetation of Japan. We are in the autumn, I
have never seen nature adorned with such rich colors,
from dark green to golden yellow, a mixture of colors
of the happiest effect. Thus we reach the border gate
of Moun-kiang, which is topped with a pavilion
decorated with paintings, and is fortified with a
Chinese-style long wall, following capriciously the
crest of Song-san-na, which once separated two
powerful kingdoms, that now remain as provinces in
today’s Korea. There we find an inn where we must
change our currency, because it has not the same value
on the other side of the central chain. For 1,350
coppers from Seoul they offer to give me 650 in Taikou
coins. I wonder at this huge difference, but I am told
that living expenses are lower by a half on this side
of the mountain. A strange fact: I leave behind our
Korean coins and am given Chinese cash instead, having
the same shape and differing from each other only by
their larger size and their inscriptions. My
interpreter, who is also my finance minister, operates
this exchange, while our horses and men arrive one by
one, puffing, lame, and tired. I allow all the
climbers to refresh themselves; two hours later, we
replace the packs on our animals and the caravan
reforms. If the climb was difficult, the lovely
descent on the other side of the divide is more
beautiful still, after the beautiful forest that I
described earlier.
Everywhere
ancient trees, especially cedars, extend above our
heads their thick branches, between which the daylight
passes softened and bronzed, giving everything a kind
of mysterious aspect. The silence of the forest is
broken only by the cry of some startled bird or the
sound made by a fawn running away through the leaves
at my approach. I walk down and up the slopes alone,
ahead of the weary caravan, intoxicated by the
exquisite scent of the forest, enjoying the infinite
charm of solitude to the full in this ancient forest
full of freshness. I reach a gullied slope from which
rises on my right a high limestone wall; I admire the
gigantic foundations out of which the cliff rises
vertically in admirable purity, only bristling here
and there with a few brightly colored shrubs clinging
to cracks produced by rain or lightning.
I soon arrive at
a large space surrounded by crenellated walls, home of
some old lord, or rather a borderland fortified city.
Long abandoned and in ruins today, it remains a superb
architectural skeleton. We descend again, and the sky
is blue, the air warmer, with more varied flora, as on
this side of the mountain warm breezes arrive directly
from the Pacific. Then we are soon in a small chain of
hills, very barren and sandy in appearance, and
conical. We leave them to the right and left; they are
called Ching-Chang-tong or “mountains of thieves.”
They are now a haven for bandits who have taken
advantage of the famine and are beginning to organize
themselves into bands. Following the middle of the
valley, which is increasingly well cultivated, we come
at nightfall to the small town of Ma-pouang where we
are to sleep. When making my evening meal, I hear far
away, sung by powerful voices, some kind of Korean
anthem of a challenging, warrior character. Soon the
chorus approaches, then stops, only to start again at
the very door of the inn. I go out and see, to my
surprise, all the singers armed to the teeth. Some of
the inhabitants of the locality, I am told, meet fully
armed and sing all night long to warn the bandits who
are ransacking the region that the village is on
standby and they are ready to defend themselves. In
spite of the fatigues of the day, I do not sleep well,
woken a hundred times by this lugubrious chant
accompanied by drums and cymbals; it is the same every
night following, as a result of the terror the bandits
inspire. Yet, strange to say, we soon get used to this
nightly concert and continue our journey without
worrying about a state of things which we can do
nothing about, a caravan being only attacked by bands
more fully armed or ten times greater in number. So
all my defensive system lies in the speed of our
movements, since I count on the surprise caused by our
unexpected arrival and rapid departure, before they
can plan anything against us. These are, I believe,
the best conditions for success when travelling
through an unknown country. The scientific explorer,
messenger of peace and progress, should only bear arms
openly in a country where, since everyone has them,
their absence would result in a real inferiority in
the eyes of all. In all other cases, a visible arsenal
is a provocation. These are the mehods I have used
everywhere and I have always found they work
admirably. As you see, dear reader, it is really quite
elementary.
Naturally, I
am not talking about military explorations, they have
all the advantages but also the dangers of war. How
many of us have succumbed! To cite only the latest
victim, I call to mind the unfortunate Crampel, whose
unexpected death has painfully struck the heart of
all. Alas! why is it that I, who loved him so much,
must throw from so far away a few flowers on his
neglected grave, recalling what a cruel loss for
France this energetic man was, so distinguished in
mind and so delicate of heart! Yet of him and all
those who have died as martyrs of science I will say:
mourn them, console their loved ones, but do not pity
them, because it is beautiful to die for the progress
of humanity.
Since we left
the central chain and began heading towards Taikou,
the capital of Kyeng-to-Syang, by way of Sai-Ouen,
Oul-mori, Poul-tcheouen before entering the valley of
Yong-san-tong, the landscape has much changed and now
vast fields of cotton extend on all sides around us.
Unfortunately it has all been harvested and there
remain on the harvested bushes only a few forgotten
scraps, speckling the plain with their snowy
whiteness, glittering in the sunlight in their
multiple isolation. Everything in the picture is
exquisite, for the weather is wonderful and I know few
countries where the air is purer, more transparent,
more luminous than in Korea. We no longer see women
engaged in harvesting barley or rice: they are busy
with the various operations that cotton is subjected
to before being turned into cloth. The road is alive
with many Koreans bearing on their backs heavy bales
of cotton. These porters, by whom all transportation
is done, because of the poor state of the roads, form
a vast brotherhood, they are administered and judged
by themselves and so escape from the jurisdiction of
the mandarins; if the latter bother them, they
immediately leave for another region: this is their
way of going on strike, and they are soon recalled,
given the impossibility of life without them.
All this is
highly consistent with the broad associations known as
artèles,
that we frequently encountered in Siberia and northern
Russia. It is sometimes said that they have poor
morals, but I think the opposite is true, for the
womenfolk among these peddlers are highly respected,
they punish adultery with death, they are very robust,
hard-working and merry, stand back in respect at the
passage of any Mandarin or Official, and are essential
intermediaries of all trade within Korea, enjoying a
reputation for high integrity. The more I advance in
the country, the more I find myself loving the people,
they are so brave, so industrious, so honest, and at
the same time endowed with all the family virtues. As
we passed through Sol-pay-ky, Pou-chay-Dangy, Tol-ki,
Yetchon, Tol-Ouen, Kain-mal and Ko-chi, sometimes we
found at the entrance of the small towns, a pole ten
meters tall topped by a huge, oddly colored dragon of
wood, which from far off seems to be flying in the
air. To prevent the wind blowing them over, four ropes
descend from the top of the pole and are fixed in the
ground, where they form equal angles. Residents erect
this singular trophy at the entrance to their township
when they have the honor of having among their
citizens a scholar of the first class. The common
people have such confidence in the lights of those who
have passed their exams that I saw, during a
discussion in the field, Koreans take a simple scholar
as referee for their quarrel and submit to his
judgment. This shows the high esteem in which
instruction is held in Korea, where almost everyone
knows how to write, and what rapid progress people
will make once they are aware of our European
sciences. We enter the valley of Haing-tong, heading
toward Han-king-kepy.
Often in
villages my gaze fell on a beam from which was
suspended a huge wicker basket, 3 meters long, in the
shape of a cigar, with in the middle an opening, in
which the hens come to seek refuge against the many
foxes that are not at all frightened by the beautiful
tail, more than one meter long, of the Korean cock or
the two huge white discs, like wafers, that the hens
have around their eyes and give them a family
resemblance to their sisters in Cochin. The exquisite
flesh of these birds often replaced other kinds of
meat for me, their eggs have complemented many times
my usual meals.
The road
leading us to Taikou is still long: therefore, fearing
to abuse the reader's patience, we will move as the
crow flies, that will be even better since we have to
pass not only the Nak-tong-kang, but some of its
tributaries, the names of which, however, are almost
as unknown as those of the places we are going to pass
through.
We enter the
Haing-tong valley and cross a tributary of the
Nak-tong-kang, the Tong-kang-tchou, flowing quiet and
peaceful. Here and there we find some noble but poor
Koreans indulging in the pleasures of fishing, which
they enjoy in a quite special way.
All the fish
they catch are immediately stripped of their scales,
immersed still alive in an excellent soy sauce and
eaten raw by the fisherman, who continues
philosophically for hours his fishing and his lunch.
In the Far East
the fish are exquisite; I myself have eaten some in
Japan, and the pleasant memory still delights my
palate.
We then
continue by way of Smo-tang, Oung-Ouen-y, Tol-Kokai,
Chon-Ouen, Hai-ping, Thai Chiang, Chang-nai, Savane,
Mal-sai-chang-chang, where we cross a second tributary
of the Nak-tong-kang, the Tong-kang-soul, which, like
all rivers and streams in Korea, is not navigable,
owing to the lack of depth and very dangerous rocks
creating impassable rapids. Therefore navigation with
freight does not exist: only small boats engage in
fishing by frightening the fish and forcing them to
flee into nets prepared in advance. River fishing,
excellent and abundant, feeds a large portion of the
Korean people, who mainly eat fish, either fresh, dry
or preserved in some other way. Then we reach a third
tributary of the Nak-tong-kang, the Tong-kang-kol;
this river, like almost all the rivers and streams of
Korea freezes completely in winter. To engage in
fishing, they make holes in the ice, surround them
partly with nets, then, running and hitting
everywhere, they drive the frightened fish into the
nets. The ice is always of a great thickness, the
maximum of heat or cold are about +35° to -35°.
Therefore, in Korea, especially in the north, sleighs
and snow-shoes are used during the winter, and the
Koreans are very proud because they owe to them one of
their great victories over the Chinese. We leave the
river and go on through Ka-chang-mou, where, after
crossing the hills of Kong-tek-y, Song-tong, and of
Tchin-san, we finally return to the Nak-tong-kang.
The river
stretches before us, about 400 meters wide, but not
deep. We proceed to cross, loading our horses and our
luggage onto boats under the eyes of a crowd of naked
children curiously following developments. I take some
anthropological notes, which I will summarize here
briefly: all these boys and girls are slender and
beautifully proportioned. Brachycephalic head, medium
sized, slightly raised supported by a very elegant
back and neck, the hair, very dark brown, has a red
tinge, the eyes are black and shiny, sparkling with
gaiety, the nose and chin are small, likewise hands
and feet, including wrists and ankles of a rare
distinction, arms and legs are exquisitely
proportioned, the body is beautifully arched, the
chest projecting forward and the small of the back
very graceful curved. The build of all these small
bodies is of a rare aesthetic perfection, especially
there is a little girl about ten years old whose body,
warmly colored by the sun, appears to be a miniature
version of the Diana
by Houdon.
This
anthropological study of the children seems to me to
establish that the children, like the majority of the
middle classes, approach exactly the Tungusic type,
very different, as I will show in my book, from the
type of the higher social classes and that, no less
characteristic, of the lower classes.
After crossing
the river safely, we continue on our way and soon
reach a series of hills rising steeply on either side
of the river, which we follow mid-way up the slope.
Sometimes the river rolls at our feet calm and quiet,
sometimes it breaks tumultuously through rocks
detached from the hillsides. Night comes, and it is
lit by torches that we follow the narrow path, where
the slightest misstep would precipitate us into the
river. Fortunately, after an hour of this perilous
journey we finally leave the Mak-tong-kang to regain
the plain and under a shower of sparks we reach the
village where we spend the night.
The next day
and the following days, we pass successively through
Morai-tong-y, Tong-hai, Chang-na-y, Nam-chang-mo-ran,
De-nai and Kam-tong, along a valley which leads us to
Ho-kong-nai and Sam-thang then Mam-tong, where we
continue over a plain bounded by the hills that I have
already described, finally reaching the city of Hiran,
where we see a large number of small sheds in wood, a
cubic meter in size, thatched and supported by a pole
two meters high. A multitude of small primitive stoves
are dug in the earth for the use of rural folk, who,
attracted to this place by a monthly market, can not,
because of their large number, all find lodging with
their neighbors and brothers in the Korean family
whose father is the king.
As we are
advancing slowly because of our previous fatigues, I
send one of my soldiers and a groom ahead of the
caravan to bring my card to the Taikou governor,
asking him to let us enter the city after the closing
of the gates if we are late.
Alas! An hour
later, we find our soldier with his clothes torn, his
companion lying on the ground, seemingly dead, and
some Koreans gathered around him trying to revive him.
Here is what happened: the groom, being inebriated
refused to obey the soldier and they began fighting
there, and our man, knowing the severe punishment that
his revolt against the army deserved, was now feigning
death to escape. I take his pulse, and as I find
nothing wrong, I immediately order the caravan to move
ahead, to general approval, noting once again how
readily legal authority is respected Korea. What am I
saying? it is everywhere honored, as evidenced by the
many monuments erected by the people at the entrance
of towns and villages in honor of mandarins who have
distinguished themselves through their virtuous
administration.
Some are small
monuments, with roofs and powerful buttresses, forming
a small open chapel, others are simple headstones in
cast iron 60 centimeters high by 20, with raised
characters. Many of them are very old and show the
high degree to which at one time the metal arts had
developed in Korea: this is likewise shown by the
ruins of iron towers of which the Chinese ambassador
speaks in the narrative of his journey through Korea,
dating from so many years before the Eiffel Tower.
We are
increasingly delayed as a result of our unfortunate
incident, and after crossing the Kornou-kan, a
tributary of the Nak-tong-kang, night surprises us,
and since the governor had not been contacted, we find
Taikou closed. We must spend the night at the very
gates of the city, in a miserable suburban inn. My
room is the most horrible I have ever inhabited; a
mere detail, the ceiling beams are completely
invisible behind a thick covering of cobwebs. When I
propose to make it disappear, I am very strongly
opposed and I finally prefer to leave the brown
weavers quiet, rather than expose myself to their
vengeance. Nobody insists, because all my men are worn
out with fatigue. As for the horses, they are so weary
that once they arrive, for the first time ever they
refuse all food and collapse as if about to die. I
find them the next morning still in the same state of
prostration, and my companions too; for both it was a
painful journey, especially crossing the mountains,
although they were not 3000 meters high. I allow
everyone to stay lying down the whole day and send my
official card to the governor. He immediately sends an
honor guard and a letter, apologizing for not having
opened the gates at night; he invites me to a solemn
reception during the day, tells me he has prepared for
me apartments in the yamen, and offers me hospitality.
I immediately write by my interpreter thanking His
Excellency for his kind attention, and saying I will
be honored to accept his gracious invitation to go and
offer my respects. I sign the letter, send it off, and
quickly extract from my suitcase my evening dress.
Alas! coat, waistcoat, trousers, following various
soakings, have taken the most unexpected shapes; yet I
absolutely must wear them, since the governor has
attended official receptions of Europeans in Seoul as
Minister. I therefore hasten to dress and inspect my
costume using a mirror the size of my hand and see
with distress that the legs of my trousers and the
sleeves of my coat are like corkscrews, while the
tails of my dress coat are fleeing from one another
like two irreconcilable enemies, but fortunately my
cuffs and my celluloid shirt front are shiny bright. I
count on them absolutely to save the situation, and
leave my room, head held high, my folding top hat
under my arm. At the sight of my strange black suit
two hundred people manifest signs of stupefaction,
which suddenly changes into awe when I suddenly open
my hat with a clack to shelter me from the sun, but
once I have it on head a general murmur of admiration
is heard. Because although Korea has hundreds of
modelsof hats, pf different materials and shapes,
never, never, had anything been imagined similar to
mine. O Gibus! sleep happy. . . I hasten to escape
from public admiration by sitting down inside my
official palanquin; eight strong men lift it
immediately, and, preceded by my two soldiers,
followed by my servants, surrounded by the escort of
the Governor, I am soon in Taikou, where no European
has yet penetrated. Great curiosity followed me along
my way, but without the slightest sign of hostility.
We thus arrive at the yamen at the same time as a
local mandarin emerges with his retinue, whose
guttural cry opens a passage for him through the
crowds. I enter the first chamber of the palace,
gladly climb down from my palanquin, where my crossed
legs are in agony, and enter the palace. I am
ceremoniously led to the state room, a reduced model
of the palace in Seoul .
The governor,
sitting on his throne, surrounded by his brilliant
court, rises as I approach. I salute him in European
style, he does the same, and after the usual
compliments, when we repeat what we said in our
letters, His Excellency invites me to sit on large
cushions and enjoy a collation with him.
No sooner have
we taken place that each of us is brought four small
tables crowded with the strangest dishes. They are
served in elegant porcelain vases, much larger than
those used in China and Japan. I do not fail to rave
like a true oriental about the beauty of the service,
the perfect seasoning for the meat and fish, so
deliciously dressed, and then praise the pastries,
sweets, fruit and especially the delicious rice wine,
with which I drink a toast to His Majesty the King and
to Korea. The governor replies with a toast to France.
And as the rice wine really is exquisite, I ventured
to offer another toast to His Excellency and to the
province where he has become a truly revered father.
He in turn drinks to the health of his guest and
wishes me a happy trip. The collation once finished,
there follows a conversation between us. My
interpreter, translating each of our successive
sentences, first tells the Governor how very touched I
am by the high courtesy with which he has deigned to
receive me. He says he is pleased to welcome as a man
of high science, appointed by the French Government,
and congratulates me on my journey which, despite the
present circumstances, I have dared to undertake, the
first European to do so.
Humble thanks
follow on my part, after which I explained how I was
struck by the friendliness of the inhabitants of the
kingdom, its rustic beauty and especially the splendid
agricultural development, which, when it comes to
irrigation sets Korea at the head of all the peoples
of Asia.
“Unfortunately
the weather was against us this year, and despite our
efforts we have, as you saw, the beginnings of a
famine.”
—The day that
Your Excellency wishes, you will, as in Europe, be
able to avert this scourge.
A
great clamor of astonishment rises among the three
hundred people who comprise the governor’s suite.
“Have you no
famine in Europe?
—We had in
ancient times, but now we are sure to escape.
A new movement
of surprise among those listening.
“Do you have
such power over the sun and the clouds of heaven, and
the winds that blow?”
—Alas! No,
Excellency, but famine cannot extend everywhere at
once, and the speed of our transportation allows us to
inexpensively bring the abundant harvest of distant
countries where it is needed.
—I know that you
have immense palanquins driven by steam, carrying
everything very quickly, but as you were passing
through our terrible mountains, you had a chance to
judge the impossibility for us to build similar
vehicles here.
And the entire
audience expressed its approval by flattering murmurs.
“I apologize to
your Excellency but I do not share your opinion,
because the many obstacles which you mention will
easily be overcome the day we charge our French
engineers to perform the necessary work.”
Amazement.
“What! the thing
is possible?”
—Very easy, and
if your revered king and father is willing, we will
soon cross the country in a few hours, passing, as he
wishes, either above or below the mountains.”
Exclamations of
admiration from all who surround me.
“But I will not
deny it would be much cheaper to go over rather than
under them.”
General
approval.
“We will look
all examine the matter, because we know that in Europe
you are the masters of science.
“But you can
also acquire the same skills.”
And as everyone
smiled doubtfully:
“Do as Japan
does, Excellency; send us the elite of your brilliant
youth, and soon they will spread here all those
sciences that you know of, helping to strengthen the
ties of friendship recently contracted between our two
countries” .
And the
governor, who seems delighted, absolutely wants me to
stay at the yamen, and puts several rooms at my
disposal. I appologize that I am unable to accept his
offer, eager as I am to leave the next day, and not
wanting to cause such trouble in his palace. He
insists, I continue to thank him a thousand times for
his generous hospitality; then His Excellency rises,
the audience is over. When I go back in my palanquin,
my escort of honor is doubled. I have become at least
Mandarin first class!
In this
pompous procession we make a long tour through the
inner city, and I will describe the view from the top
of the walls. My palanquin follows the path round the
walls, which remind me very much, though smaller in
proportions, of the walls of Beijing.
The walls form
a vast paved parallelogram surrounding the city. In
the middle of each side rises a magnificent fortified
gate, surmounted by an elegant pavilion. Each is
decorated inside with many paintings and inscriptions
recalling past events. From there I admire the
Kornou-kan winding through beautiful countryside, the
strongly colored russet tones of autumn in the
distance, and all around us unfolds a half-circle of
hills melting into a blue sky, lit by the rays of a
bright sun whose warmth contrasts pleasantly with the
bitter cold we endured in the central chain of hills.
At my feet lies
the great city with its streets, squares and
monuments; in the popular neighborhoods the houses are
thatched, but in the center of the city, home to the
aristocracy, rise elegant roofs whose tiles and ridges
form a blend of straight lines and curves of a
beautiful harmony. We admire in the same style two
temples, a large school for the study of the Chinese
language, and finally the yamen, completely walled,
which contains multiple buildings among which the
reception hall exceeds all others with its broad
polychrome roof, from which emerges a mast with at its
top the huge red banner of the governor, floating in
the air overlooking the city.
Such is Taikou.
Back at hotel Spiders, I find a delegate sent byHis
Excellency asking me again in his name to go and stay
at the yamen. I send a letter of apology, and avoid,
wrongly perhaps, all the demands of Korean étiquette
in order to live in my own way after so many fatigues.
The same evening I receive many gifts sent by the
Governor: chickens, eggs, pastries, candies, khaki,
etc.. A new thank-you card, which is answered by one
wishing me goodnight. After addressing the same vows I
can finally think of my horses, about which I am very
concerned. To my delight, I find all our horses
standing up, chewing in the most joyous way the famous
hot bean soup.
We will be able
to leave the next morning early, because my servants,
who have grown attached to me, now say they are
willing to accompany me all the way to Fousan. I then
review my guard of honor, who are stationeded in full
costume in the courtyard, at the gate, everywhere, and
then reture to my room, quite delighted with my stay
in Taikou.
I confess that
if the Seoul court were not in mourning, I would,
notwithstanding the obligations of the court, have
accepted the hospitality of the governor, to enjoy all
the festivities he would probably have offered in
ordinary times. They usually consist of a concert of
Korean music, acrobatic exercises, dances performed by
young girls and women specially trained for the task,
finally a theatrical performance. Not to deprive the
reader of all these distractions, I will give here a
few sketches complemented by the amusing story of a
party of this kind roughly translated into French from
a very interesting volume about the city of Seoul,
published by Ticknor and Company in Boston under the
title of Choson,
the Land of the Morning Calm, by Mr. Percival
Lowell, secretary of the legation of the United States
in Korea.
The very witty
author says that during his stay in Seoul, he
organized a picnic with several European colleagues at
the nearest temple in order to hold a little party in
the style of high-class Koreans.
“We leave early
in the morning, accompanied by servants responsible
for everything we need to live in European style, some
geishas, Korean musicians and actors, to say nothing
of the horses needed for the expedition. We happily
cross a part of the lovely countryside around Seoul
and make the ascent of the mountain where the
monastery lies. It contains, in addition to
substantial outbuildings, two unremarkable pagodas. At
the time of our arrival the bells are being rung in
the Chinese way, that is to say by letting the hammer
fall hard on the motionless bell. Finally, three
widely spaced strokes indicate that the service will
soon start in the temples.
“We enter the
main hall, which contains images, drums, artificial
flowers, strange incense sticks and a huge wooden fish
hanging from the ceiling. When we enter, twelve monks
dressed in solemn robes march in procession in an
endless spiral, and singing while a novice crouched
near the altar beats the drum. The litany is in
Sanskrit, a language that these poor monks do not
understand, which excuses their smiles when they pass
near us. The ceremony ends soon with the usual
offering at the altar of rice, fruit and finally the
lotus flower. We go out to the refectory, where we
have dinner served by friendly geishas who, like
gazelles, have gradually grown tame. Blatant Iris even
whispers softly in my ear a few Japanese words she
knows under the impression,touching but mistaken, that
they are the language of the heart. Such charming
coquetry forms a contrast with the figures of the
monks, who are watching with amazement and say
nothing. She is really charming, this girl: I have
already forgetten in her smile that I am a stranger
and two thousand miles from my home when we are
invited after dinner to leave our seats to make room
for the performance. In an instant we were moved to
the end of the large room on mats, cushions, etc.; in
front of us, musicians are set in a circle and prepare
their instruments, and later they will be playing
other roles, thus combining two professions. A dense
crowd gathers around them, like a sea of human faces,
each of which expresses emotion, curiosity,
anticipation and contentment. Others stand along the
walls because the room is filled and even the doorways
are packed with curious spectators. They are strangely
lit by three large polychrome lanterns casting their
rays through an atmosphere charged with tobacco smoke,
giving a special color to the odd sight. At the back
of the room, the Buddhist monks with their heads
shaved, their brown cassocks, their belts of hemp,
their rosaries placed around the neck or hung from
their belts etc., look on with amazement and close
attention. Young novices, their faces shining in
admiration, contemplate the scene eagerly, forgetting
who they are and where they are. Our own servants are
mingled with them their clothes in various shades and
black felt hats are a strange contrast with the simple
garb of the monks. In this compact, varied crowd,
curiosity makes everyone forget rank: none would give
place to any other, not the servants, who in Korea
always have the privilege of seeing everything, and
not these great monks, who, despite their profession,
are keen to attend the show.
“It finally
starts. We have first the performers of music, they
draw from their instruments the most discordant
sounds, harmony does not exist whistles, flutes and
violins with two strings only agree in that they play
against the rhythm and only drums, cymbals and gongs,
because of their neutral tone, are in harmony with
everyone else.
“The concert
over, we are served tea, then comes the dramatic
rcprésentation.
“The theater in
Korea is composed entirely of single scenes. They are
almost always a monologue delivered by a single actor,
although one or two others may sometimes lend their
assistance, but they are shadows serving to better
highlight the star. There is no stage, no scenery: the
actor is in front of us with whatever costume he could
improvise to meet his needs: a little more or a little
less clothing, that's all. He skillfully captures some
features of Korean customs or usages and presents very
well their comic aspects; foreigners and natives are
all delighted. For example, here is a peasant trying
to get an interview with a noble to submit a
long-overdue request. He employs every artifice to
persuade the guard to let him, in a mixture of
impudence and blarney capable of moving everyone
except a guard dog. Finally the Cerberus is persuaded
and the rustic is now in the presence of the great
man. He suddenly becomes as respectful as you would
wish. Simple but eloquent, a model of perfect
subservience, he is obviously a man who knows what he
wants and how to get it. All this is represented by
the artist without any accessories, he does not even
have the imagined nobleman before him to whom he
speaks, everything thus relies on his talent.
“We have before
us a most remarkable artist, Here he plays a false
blind man, trying, under that disguise, to walk
through Seoul by night despite the curfew. The patrol
arrives and is deceived by all the blunders of his
pretended blindness, to the delight of the audience,
including some who have themselves sometimes
benefitted from playing the role of the clear-seeing
blind. Now comes the tragedy. A solitary traveler in
the mountains is brought face to face with a tiger.
Terrified, his mimicry gives us goosebumps and when he
suddenly becomes the tiger, emits hoarse and terrible
meowing, our blood freezes in our veins, we all
instinctively shudder. The show ends happily with the
embarrassment of a tobacconist who forms perhaps the
best part of the show. The poor devil tries
desperately to sell his goods and fails every time; he
has almost convinced someone against their own will,
when misunderstanding occurs, and finally here he is
involved in a quarrel, gets rather beaten up, then
rubbing his bruised limbs, he sits there wretched as
he raises again his inimitable cry: “Tobacco for
sale!” between each very comical scene. So, as we
return to our cells, we all repeat with the voice and
automatic gesture of the artist: “Tobacco, tobacco for
sale!” (nb. this
text is rather shorter than that in Lowell’s book)
The next day
begins with exchanges with the governor of multiple
cards, where we send each other according to the rites
a host of morning greetings. I finally sent him a
farewell letter expressing my thanks for his gracious
hospitality. In turn, he wishes me a good journey,
puts at my disposal a magnificent escort and tells me
that my lunch is prepared by him at the next stop. One
cannot be kinder, and while very thankful for princely
kindness of His Excellency, I attribute less to myself
than to France his desire to honor her modest
scientific representative. But regarding the exquisite
politeness of Koreans, I should add that the amiable
Governor and the Minister of Foreign Affairs, in
response to the souvenirs that I sent them from Paris
in return for the services they had rendered, both
sent me with perfect grace very pretty and charming
letters. Here is the translation of one of them, a
very curious specimen of the Korean epistolary style.
“Reply of Kim
Chin-Kiang, Governor of the province of Kyeung Sang,
to Mr. Collin Plancy, 4th day of the second
month of the year Keuctchouk (26 December 1889).
“Last year, Mr.
Varat, who was accomplishing his journey around the
world, did me the honor of passing through my city; we
talked long together and became friends during our
first interview and this visit caused me so much
pleasure that I have not forgotten it to this day.
“Now the amiable
explorer has sent me a present of two carpets: this
gift comes from his heart, and is so precious to me
that I can not help but have it continuously under my
eyes.
“Politeness
requires that benefit be returned for benefit: I have
therefore chosen four very fine bamboo blinds that I
am happy to send Mr. Varat.
“I hope that
Your Excellency will send these items to the recipient
and transmit to him the expression of my gratitude.
“(I conclude
this letter) also thanking Your Excellency for the
compliments that you have sent me and the praises with
which you gratified me.”
Alas! I regret
to report that the next year, I learned not only of
the death of this amiable governor, but also that of
Bishop White and the sister from Senegal who so
graciously welcomed me in Seoul.
I resume my
travelling clothes, and this time set myself at the
head of the column, that is to say the place
determined by official rites, because I now have a
more solemn procession. A hundred servants of the
Governor accompany me in their brilliant costumes,
which are of the richest silk, bright blue, pink or
green, covered with black gauze or white. All that
shines in the gay morning sun and our ponies are
distraught amid all the luxurious clothing in rich
colors, which their eyes are not accustomed to. So we
cross the city majestically in the midst of large
crowds that flock from all parts to witness our
departure. We win the battle, and a few kilometers
later, as we descend a hill in this beautiful order, a
fanfare suddenly rings out in the air, a terrible
cacophony, so unexpected, strident and fantastic that
it sounds like the last judgment. Our horses rear up,
terrified, my four horsemen fall, and one of them, his
foot unfortunately caught in the stirrup, is pulled
along by his mount. A general confusion occurs in my
valiant escort. I spur my horse to catch up with my
soldier in distress, and when I lean down to help him
my saddle turns, and I am on the ground in my turn,
proving once again how near the Tarpeian rock is to
the Capitol. I am not hurt, get up immediately,
shouting and make a sign to my people to calm the
panicked ponies, they finally master them and I am
glad that nobody is injured. So, to overcome my loss
of dignity caused by my fall, I put my arm between the
strap and the horse's belly to show them all that the
groom, amazed byour brilliant procession, had
forgotten to strap tight my saddle. After
administering the obligatory scolding, to restore my
prestige completely, I let my pony see me, and at the
sight of my costume, which he can not get used to, he
rears up on his hind legs, and wants to start all over
again, but in vain, because this time I am firmly set
in the saddle. The Koreans are very poor riders,
especially official figures, who never mount on
horseback unless accompanied by four grooms each
holding a long strap attached to the jaws and tail of
the animal, with which they direct or stop it at the
slightest movement. A mounted Mandarin therefore can
bask comfortably in the sweetest peace.
The caravan
reform, and my interpreter asked me whether to ban the
fanfares.
“Are they
usual?”
Yes, I was told.
—Tell the
trumpeteers, instead of standing at the rear of the
caravan, to go on ahead and play according to the
rites. “
Indeed, now
there is nothing to fear since the trumpets, the cause
of our accident, consist of three parts that stand out
from each other, reaching 1.2 meters in length at
their full development, so with them placed before us,
we have time, on seeing them lifted, to tighten the
reins and keep our horses under firm control. We thus
arrive with all the pomp and harmony desirable at the
village where we enjoy the wonderful lunch of His
Excellency, then my fine escort receives a final card
addressed to the governor and turns back, thanking me
for my generosity, to return by the evening to the
yarnen.
We now resume
our usual order of march in the direction of the
south-east through a landscape similar to what I
described before reaching Taikou.
We meet on the
way a young orphan of a dozen years old, absolutely
destitute as this region is beginning to suffer
famine: thus we take him to replace the groom who
rebelled. As he has a small, lively face and is
endowed with great energy, I let him take care of my
horse.
Soon we are
crossing vast expanses of sandy soil that sometimes
forms small hills, on which the rain has produced
heavy erosion. Here, as everywhere, thanks to clever
irrigation, it has been possible to make the once
sterile land productive and the people are growing soy
beans, string beans and other vegetables, all kinds of
fruit, especially khaki, precious kinds of wood, and
finally the mulberry, which has everywhere led to the
breeding of silkworms.
After crossing
the Tcha-kine-oune-san by a high pass, we arrive at
nightfall before the town of Tchangto with its
crenellated walls. The double-walled gate is wide
open, but to my great surprise, we do not see any
guardians, or bystanders, or merchants, the people
generally seen in these kinds of places. We enter the
city: here we find the same solitude, the same
silence, grass is growing in the streets, and despite
the noise made by our horses, no one comes running as
we pass, no door opens for us, it is worse than the
castle of Sleeping Beauty, where at least the sleeping
figures were visible. Here, nothing, not even a human
shadow, and I would have thought the city uninhabited
if we had not met one or two stray dogs and seen in
the midst of the evening mist, vague lights shining
through the opaque paper frames of a few windows. We
go through the gate opposite the one we came in by and
remain silent for a long time, as if the silence of
the city had been contagious. I turn to take a last
look at this strange city, and see the heavy gates
close quietly all alone, as if they had been pushed
shut by the spirits of the dead. I learn at the next
village, where we spend the night, that the city was
almost completely abandoned as a result of a terrible
cholera epidemic. This terrible scourge frequently
decimate villages throughout the country.
We have seen how
Koreans seek to disarm the spirit of smallpox, they
use a system similar for almost all diseases: for this
purpose, a small rectangular table is garnished with
food, two vases of flowers are placed at each end, and
a drum is suspended above, then the husband and wife
who have someone in their house who is sick sit on the
ground beside the table and call the spirit of the
disease, striking the drum and ringing a bell to
invite him to the dinner thusoffered and thereby
hoping to divert his anger; but to keep away the
spirit of cholera, there is a special preventive
method: it is simply to fix the door a painting
representing a cat. Here is why, it is ultra-logical:
The bite of the rat gives cramps, as too does cholera.
What is it that the rat fears? The cat. So it will be
the same for cholera. QED, if I remember my math.
The next day,
for the first time, the weather is really cloudy and I
have to insist to get the caravan moving, but the sky
soon clears, my men sheer up, and one of them soon
brings me my morning bouquet. Here is how this
practice was begun. My principle when explorating, as
I have already said, is to show myself initially very
demanding for all that concerns the discipline of the
convoy, sure that everyone will submit easily, feeling
close to authority; then, as good habits are soon
taken, after that we only have to show ourselves kind
to all. So my men, delighted with me, every day
endeavor to respond to the care I take of them and
their horses. Thus one afternoon, I made a sign to me
grooms to pick an unknown flower; after having admired
it and not wishing to despise the poor thing, I put it
in my buttonhole, and from that moment on, every
morning I am offered a small bouquet, which I fix in
the same way to my clothes.
So, reader, if
you ever undertake an exploration and want to be loved
by your companions, do like me and you will be offered
flowers every day by a trousered Isabelle.
Next comes a new
ascension of Tcha-kine-oune-san, which, after making a
half-circle, now presents itself under the form of a
mere hill.
The rain that
has been threatening us from morning finally falls, I
immediately put on my rubber sheet, and all my men
wrap themselves in huge coats of oiled paper that
cover the entire body, while the head disappears
beneath a large triangular cap of the same material.
These sheets of paper, before becoming coats, poor
devils, have played a much more glorious role; because
of the Chinese characters with which they are covered,
my interpreter recognizes them as the exam papers of
aspiring scholars. Nothing more curious than to see
these venerable theses walking through the
countryside. If there is one thing in the world that
Koreans hate it is the rain. When a drop surprises us,
all my people ask to stop at the next village, and
though I jokingly call them sissies, they, who are
usually so merry, remain downcast. This is not only on
account of the miserable straw shoes that protect
their feet very imperfectly, but is mostly based on a
religious custom of public prayer to obtain water from
the sky. The Mandarin responsible for making the
request on behalf of the people, must, if the prayer
is granted, stay out in the rain until nightfall, and
my men fear that if they receive a drop of rain
stoically then the powers above will believe that they
desire to be wet in perpetuity.
So that day,
after walking for more than two hours in the pouring
rain, I finally yield to the repeated requests of all
and stop at Mil-yang, which we suddenly see, together
with the great river. The city rises in an
amphitheater on a hill, something exceptional in
Korea, because we have seen that people generally live
at the foot of hills, probably a survival of some
ancient custom, of which it would be good to seek the
origin. This ancient city presented itself to us in a
most picturesque manner. Atop the hill is the yamen in
ruins, of which remains only the elegant, magnificent
roof supported by huge columns between which you can
see the sky. Two or three temples and a few public
buildings covered with multicolored tiles stand among
many thatched roofs, beneath which lie the
half-destroyed walls covered with moss. They dominate
a magnificent plain, where here and there grow
picturesque groves of trees of all kinds, around
which, thanks to a resurgence of greenery, thousands
of wild flowers grow; the river crosses the plain
lazily, its sleeping waters shining with a white
metallic glint. The interior of the old city is of the
greatest archaeological interest: its streets,
monuments and even houses, especially those of the
nobles, mostly in ruins, have a personal nature in
their outlines; their delicate and whimsical
sculptures prove that here a truly native
architectural art is seeking to liberate itself from
Chinese influences.
Several artistic eras are represented
here in such a happy way that Mil-yang for me is like
the Nuremberg of Korea.