IN KOREA
WITH
MARQUIS ITO

Marquis Ito

IN KOREA
WITH
MARQUIS ITO

Part I
A NARRATIVE OF PERSONAL EXPERIENCES

Part II
A CRITICAL AND HISTORICAL INQUIRY

BY
GEORGE TRUMBULL LADD, LL.D.

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
NEW YORK: 1908

Copyright, 1908, by
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS

Published February, 1908

TO THE
DEAR COMPANION
OF ITS EXPERIENCES AND THE
READY SCRIBE OF MUCH OF ITS MANUSCRIPT
THIS BOOK IS GRATEFULLY
AND AFFECTIONATELY
DEDICATED

PREFACE

The contents and purposes of this volume may be conveniently classified under three heads; for here are statements of fact, expressions of opinion, and certain ventures into the realm of conjecture. The statements of fact are, almost without exception, made on grounds of personal observation, or on the authority of the most competent and trustworthy first-hand witnesses. For the earlier periods of the history of the relations, friendly or hostile, between Japan and Korea, these authorities are indeed no longer living, and they cannot be subjected to cross-questioning. But the choice between the truth they told and the mistakes and falsehoods of a contradictory character is in most cases not difficult to make. For events of the present generation the reader will find the statements of the witnesses quoted, and of the documents cited, to be in general unimpeachable. I believe, then, that what is claimed to be truth of fact in this book is as nearly exact and worthy of implicit confidence as it is ordinarily given to human beings to be in matters pertaining to the history of human affairs.

In expressing my own opinions as to the truth or untruth of certain contentions, and as to the merit or demerit of certain transactions, I have uniformly tried to base these opinions upon the fullest obtainable knowledge of the facts. In some cases the judgments at which I have been compelled to arrive contradict those which have been and still are widely current; in some cases they can scarcely fail to be interpreted as an impeachment of other writers who have had either a narrator’s interest only in the same events or even a more substantial concernment. I have no wish to deny the apologetic character of this book. But at every point the charge of being swerved from the truth by prejudice may be met with these replies: First, very unusual opportunities were afforded the author for ascertaining the truth; and, second, in almost every case where the evidence brought forward seems insufficient there is much more of the same sort of evidence already in his possession, and still more to be had for the asking. But in these days one must limit the size of such undertakings. Few readers wish to wade through a long stretch of shoals in order to reach the firm ground of historical verity.

As to the ventures at conjecture which are sparingly put forth, let them be rated at their seeming worth, after the facts have been carefully studied and the opinions weighed, which have called out these ventures. They are confessedly only entitled to a claim for a certain degree, higher or lower, of probability. The status of all things in the Far East—and for the matter of that, all over the civilized world—is just now so unstable and loaded with uncertainties that no human insight can penetrate to the centre of the forces at work, and no human foresight can look far into the future.

The division of the book into two parts may seem at first sight to injure its unity. Such a division has for its result, as a matter of course, a somewhat abrupt change in the character of the material employed and in the style of its handling. The First Part is a narrative of personal observations and experiences. It gives the results, however, of a serious study of a complicated situation; and it pronounces more or less confident judgments upon a number of subordinate questions involved in the general problem of establishing satisfactory relations between two nations which are inseparably bound together—physically, socially, politically—whether for the weal or for the woe of both. In the Second Part the attempt is made to submit these judgments to the tests of history. But what is history? Of no other civilized country than Korea is the truth of the cynical saying more obvious that much of what has been written as history is lies, and that most of real history is unwritten. All of which has tended to make the writer duly appreciate the unspeakable advantage of having access to authentic information which, for diplomatic and other sufficient reasons, has not hitherto been made public.

The underlying literary and logical unity which binds together the two seemingly diverse Parts of the one book is made clear by stating in general terms the problem upon which it aims to throw light. This problem concerns the relations to be established between Japan and Korea—a question which has for centuries been proposed in various imperative and even affective ways to both these nations. It is also a question which has several times disturbed greatly the entire Orient, and the recent phases of which have come near to upsetting the expectations and more deliberate plans of the entire civilized world. To lay the foundations, under greatly and suddenly changed conditions, of a satisfactory and permanent peace, one of the greatest statesmen of the Orient is giving—with all his mind and heart—the later years of his eventful life. I hope that this book may make its readers know somewhat better what the problem has been and is; and what Prince Ito, as Japanese Resident-General in Korea, is trying to accomplish for its solution.

It remains for the Preface only to acknowledge the author’s obligations. These are so special to one person—namely, Mr. D. W. Stevens, who has been for some time official “Adviser to the Korean Council of State and Counsellor to the Resident-General”—that without his generous and painstaking assistance in varied ways the Second Part of the book could never have appeared in its present form. It is hoped that this general acknowledgment will serve to cover many cases where Mr. Stevens’ name is not especially mentioned in connection with the text. Grateful acknowledgment is also made to Mr. Furuya, the private secretary of the Resident-General, for his painstaking translation from the original Japanese or Chinese official documents; to Mr. M. Zumoto, editor of the Seoul Press, for varied information on many subjects; and to Dr. George Heber Jones for facts and suggestions imparted in conversation and embodied in writings of his. My obligations to the Resident-General himself, for the perfectly untrammelled and unprejudiced opportunity, with its complete freedom to ask all manner of questions, which his invitation afforded, are, I trust, sufficiently emphasized in the title of the book. Other debts to writers upon any part of the field are acknowledged in their proper connections.

George Trumbull Ladd.

Hayama, Japan, September, 1907.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

PART I
A NARRATIVE OF PERSONAL EXPERIENCES

CHAPTER I
THE INVITATION

It was in early August of 1906 that I left New Haven for a third visit to Japan. Travelling by the way of the Great Lakes through Duluth and St. Paul, after a stay of two weeks in Seattle, we took the Japanese ship Aki Maru for Yokohama, where we arrived just before the port was closed for the night of September 20. Since this ship was making its first trip after being released from transport service in conveying the Japanese troops home from Manchuria, and was manned by officers who had personal experiences of the war to narrate, the voyage was one of uncommon interest. Captain Yagi had been in command of the transport ship Kinshu Maru when it was sunk by the Russians, off the northeastern coast of Korea. He had then been carried to Vladivostok, and subsequently to Russia, where he remained in prison until the end of the war. Among the various narratives to which I listened with interest were the two following; they are repeated here because they illustrate the code of honor whose spirit so generally pervaded the army and navy of Japan during their contest with their formidable enemy. It is in reliance on the triumph of this code that those who know the nation best are hopeful of its ability to overcome the difficulties which are being encountered in the effort to establish a condition favorable to safety, peace, and prosperity by a Japanese Protectorate over Korea.

At Vladivostok the American Consul pressed upon Captain Yagi a sum of money sufficient to provide a more suitable supply of food during his journey by rail to Russia. This kindly offer was respectfully declined on the sentimental ground that, as an officer of Japan, he could not honorably receive from a stranger a loan which it was altogether likely he would never be able to repay. But when still further urged, although he continued to decline the money, he begged only the Consul’s card, “lest he might himself forget the name or die,” and so his Government would be unable to acknowledge the kindness shown to one of its officers. The card was given, sent to Tokyo, and—as the Captain supposed—the Consul was “thanked officially.” The first officer, an Englishman, who had been in the service of Japan on the Aki Maru, while it was used for transporting troops to Manchuria and prisoners on its return, told this equally significant story. His ship had brought to Japan as prisoner the Russian officer second in command at the battle of Nan-san. Having been wounded in the foot, the Russian was, after his capture, carried for a long distance by Japanese soldiers, to whom, when they reached the hospital tent, he offered a $20 gold-piece. But they all refused to receive money from a wounded foe. “If it had been Russian soldiers,” said this officer of his own countrymen, “they would not only have taken this money but would have gone through my pockets besides.”

Before leaving home only two official invitations had been received, namely, to lecture on Education before the teachers in the Tokyo branch of the Imperial Educational Society; and to give a course in the Imperial University of Kyoto, on a topic which it was afterward decided should be the “Philosophy of Religion.” This university was to open in the following autumn a Department of Philosophy (such a forward movement having been delayed by the war with Russia). Almost immediately on our arrival, a multitude of requests for courses of lectures and public addresses came to the committee in charge of the arrangements, with the result that the six months from October 1, 1906, to April 1, 1907, were crowded full of interesting and enjoyable work. In the intervals of work, however, there was opportunity left for much valuable social intercourse and for meeting with men like Togo, Oyama, Noghi, and others in military and business, as well as educational circles, whose names and deeds are well known all over the civilized world. But it is not the narrative of these six months which is before us at the present time, although doubtless they had a somewhat important influence in securing the opportunity and providing the preparation for the subsequent visit to Korea.

The thought of seeing something of the “Hermit Kingdom” (a title, by the way, which is no longer appropriate) had been in our minds before leaving America, only as a somewhat remote possibility. Not long after our arrival in Japan the hint was several times given by an intimate friend, who is also in the confidence of Marquis Ito, that the latter intended, on his return in mid-winter from Seoul, to invite us to be his guests in his Korean residence. It was not, however, until the afternoon of December 5 that the invitation was first received. This was at the garden-party given by Marquis Nabeshima on his sixty-first birthday. It should be explained that every Japanese is born under one of the twelve signs—corresponding to our signs of the Zodiac. When five of these periods have been completed the total of sixty years corresponds with the end of six periods of ten years each—a reckoning which is, I believe, of Chinese origin. The fortunate man, therefore, may be said to begin life over again; and presents such as are ordinarily appropriate only to childhood are entirely in order on such a festal occasion. While walking in the beautiful garden, which is of Japanese style but much modified by Italian ideals, the private secretary of Marquis Ito, Mr. Furuya, came to us and announced that his chief, who had recently returned from Seoul to Japan, was near and wished to see me. After an exchange of friendly greetings almost immediately the Marquis said: “I am expecting to see you in my own land, which is now Korea”; and when I jestingly asked, “But is it safe to be in Korea?” (implying some fear of a Russian invasion under his protectorate) he shook his fist playfully in the air and answered: “But I will protect you.” To this he added, pointing to his sword: “You see, I am half-military now.” The significance of the last remark will be the better understood when it is remembered that from the days of his young manhood to the present hour, Ito has always stood for the peaceful policy and the cultivation of friendly relations between Japan and all the rest of the world. For this reason he has never been the favorite of the military party; and he is to-day opposed in his administration of Korean affairs by those who would apply to them the mailed hand of punishment and suppression rather than hold out the friendly but firm hand of guidance and help.

Even after this interview the real purpose of the invitation to visit Korea was not evident. A week later, however, it was disclosed by a visit from Mr. Yamada of the Japan Times, who came from Marquis Ito to present his request more fully and to arrange for a subsequent extended conference upon the subject. I was then informed, in a general way, how it was thought by the Resident-General I might be of help to him and to Japan in solving the difficult problem of furthering for the Koreans themselves the benefits which the existing relations of the two countries made it desirable for both to secure. Complaints of various sorts were constantly being made, not only against individual Japanese, but also against the Japanese administration, as unjust and oppressive to the Koreans, and as selfish and exclusive toward other foreigners than its own countrymen. Especially had such complaints of late been propagated by American missionaries, either directly by letters and newspaper articles, or more indirectly by tales told to travellers who, since they were only passing a few days in Korea, had neither desire nor opportunity to investigate their accuracy. In this way, exaggerations and falsehoods were spread abroad as freely as one-sided or half-truths. In the office of Resident-General the Marquis greatly desired to be absolutely just and fair, and to prevent the mistakes, so harmful both to Korea and to Japan, which followed the Japanese occupation of Korea at the close of the Chino-Japan war. But it was difficult, and in most cases impossible, for him even to find out what the complaints were; they came to the public ear in America and England before he was able to get any indication of their existence even. And when his attention was called to them in this roundabout fashion, further difficulties, almost insuperable, intervened between him and the authors of these complaints; for in most cases it turned out that the foreign plaintiffs had no first-hand information regarding the truth of the Korean stories. They would not themselves take the pains to investigate the complaints, much less would they go to the trouble to bring the attention of the Resident-General to the matters complained of in order that he might use his magisterial authority to remedy them. In respect to these, and certain other difficulties, Marquis Ito thought that I might assist his administration if I would spend some time upon the ground as his guest.

The nature of this invitation put upon me the responsibility of answering two questions which were by no means altogether easy of solution; and on which it was, from their very nature, impossible to get much trustworthy advice. The first of these concerned my own fitness for so delicate and difficult but altogether unaccustomed work. The second raised the doubt whether I could in this way be more useful to Japan and to humanity than by carrying out the original plan of spending the spring months lecturing in Kiushu. After consulting with the few friends to whom I could properly mention the subject, and reflecting that the judgment of His Imperial Majesty, with whom Marquis Ito would doubtless confer, as well as of the Resident-General himself, might fairly be considered conclusive, I accepted the invitation; but it was with mingled feelings of pleasure and of somewhat painful hesitation as to how I should be able to succeed.

The illness of Marquis Ito which, though not serious, compelled him to retire from the exciting life of the capital city to the seaside, and then to the hills, prevented my meeting him before I left Tokyo for Kyoto to fulfil my engagements in the latter city. But, by correspondence with a friend, I was kept informed of the Marquis’ plans for his return to Korea, and thus could govern my engagements so as to be in the vicinity of some point on his route thither, at which the meeting with him might take place.

The expected conference followed immediately after our return from one of the most delightful of the many gratifying experiences which came to us during our year in Japan. We had taken a trip to the village of Hiro Mura, where formerly lived Hamaguchi Goryo, the benevolent patron of his village, whose act of self-sacrifice in burning his rice straw in order to guide the bewildered villagers to a place of safety when they were being overwhelmed by a tidal wave in the darkness of midnight, has been made the theme of one of Lafcadio Hearn’s interesting tales. Mr. Hearn, it appears, had never visited the locality; and, indeed, we were assured that we were the first foreigners who had ever been seen in the village streets. A former pupil of mine is at the head of a flourishing school patronized by the Hamaguchi family; and having accepted his invitation, in the name of the entire region, to visit them and speak to the school and to the teachers of the Prefecture, the cordial greeting, hospitable entertainment, and the surpassingly beautiful scenery, afforded a rich reward for the three or four days of time required. For, as to the scenery, not the drive around the Bay of Naples or along the Bosphorus excels in natural beauty the jinrikisha ride that surmounts the cliffs, or clings to their sides, above the bay of Shimidzu (“Clear Water”); while for a certain picturesqueness of human interest it surpasses them both. On the way back to Wakayama—for Hiro Mura is more than twenty miles from the nearest railway station—three men to each jinrikisha, running with scarcely a pause and at a rate that would have gained credit for any horse as a fairly good roadster, brought us to the well-situated tea-house at Waka-no-ura. For centuries the most celebrated of Japanese poets have sung the praises of the scenery of this region—the boats with the women gathering seaweed at low tide, the fishermen in the offing, the storks standing on one leg in the water or flying above the rushes of the salt marsh. Here we were met for tiffin by the Governor of the Prefecture and the mayor of the city, and immediately after escorted to the city hall of Wakayama, where an audience of some eight hundred, officials and teachers, had already assembled. While in the waiting-room of this hall, a telegram from Mr. Yokoi was handed to me, announcing that Marquis Ito had already left Oiso and would reach Kyoto that very evening and arrange to see me the next day.

It was now necessary to change the plan of sight-seeing in the interesting castle-town of Wakayama for an immediate return to Kyoto. Thus we were taken directly from the Hall to the railway station and, on reaching Osaka, hurried across the city in time to catch an evening train; an hour later we found our boys waiting, with their jinrikishas, at the station in Kyoto. From the hotel in Kyoto I sent word at once to Marquis Ito of our arrival and placed myself at his command for the long-deferred interview. The messenger brought back an invitation for luncheon at one o’clock of the next day.

When we reached the “Kyoto Hotel,” at the time appointed we were ushered into the room where Marquis Ito, his aide-de-camp, General Murata, his attending physician, his secretary, and four guests besides ourselves, were already gathered. After leaving the luncheon table, we had scarcely entered the parlor when the Marquis’ secretary said: “The Marquis would like to see you in his room.” I followed to the private parlor, from which the two servants, who were laughing and chatting before the open fire, were dismissed by a wave of the hand, and pointing me to a chair and seating himself, the Marquis began immediately upon the matters for conference about which the interview had been arranged.

His Excellency spoke very slowly but with great distinctness and earnestness; this is, indeed, his habitual manner of speech whether using English or his native language. The manner of speech is characteristic of the mental habit, and the established principles of action. In the very first place he wished it to be made clear that he had no detailed directions, or even suggestions, to offer. I was to feel quite independent as to my plans and movements in co-operating with him to raise out of their present, and indeed historical, low condition the unfortunate Koreans. In all matters affecting the home policy of his government as Resident-General, he was now a Korean himself; he was primarily interested in the welfare, educationally and economically, of these thirteen or fourteen millions of wretched people who had been so long and so badly misgoverned. In their wish to remain independent he sympathized with them. The wish was natural and proper; indeed, one would be compelled to think less highly of them, if they did not have and show this wish. As to foreign relations, and as to those Koreans who were plotting with foreigners against the Japanese, his attitude was of necessity entirely different. He was against these selfish intrigues; he was pledged to this attitude of opposition by loyalty to his own Emperor, to his own country, and, indeed, to the best good fortune for Korea itself. Japan was henceforth bound to protect herself and the Koreans against the evil influence and domination of foreign nations who cared only to exploit the country in their own selfish interests or to the injury of the Japanese. When his own countrymen took part in such selfish schemes, he was against them, too.

Again and again did the Resident-General affirm that the helping of Korea was on his conscience and on his heart; that he cared nothing for criticism or opposition, if only he could bring about this desirable result of good to the Koreans themselves. He then went on to say that diplomatic negotiations between Japan and both Russia and France were so far advanced that a virtual entente cordiale had already been reached. Treaties, formally concluded, would soon, he hoped and believed, secure definite terms for the continuance of peaceful relations. Japan had already received from Russia proposals for such a permanent arrangement; the reply of Japan was so near a rapprochement to the proposals of Russia as to encourage the judgment that actual agreement on the terms of a treaty could not be far away. The situation, indeed, was now such that Russia had invited Japan to make counter proposals. The present Foreign Minister of Russia the Marquis regarded as one of his most trusted friends; the Russian Minister was ready, in the name of the Czar, to affirm his Government’s willingness to abandon the aggressive policy toward Korea and Manchuria, in case Japan would, on her part, pledge herself to be content with her present possessions. The status quo was, then, to be the basis of the new treaties. Great Britain, as Japan’s ally, was not only ready for this, but was approaching Russia with a view to a settlement of the questions in controversy between the two nations, in regard to Persia, Afghanistan, and elsewhere, where they had common interests. France would, as a nation on good terms with both Great Britain and Russia, and as herself the friend of peace, gladly agree. He was, then, hopeful that in the near future a permanent basis of peace for the whole Orient might be secured by concurrence of the four great nations most immediately interested.

To these disclosures of his plans and hopes, so frankly and fully made as to excite my surprise, Marquis Ito then added the wish that I should at this time, or subsequently while on the ground, ask of him any questions whatever, information on which might guide in forming a correct judgment as to the situation there, or assist in the effort toward the improvement educationally, industrially, or morally, of the Koreans themselves. In reply I expressed my satisfaction at the confidences which His Excellency had given me, and my hearty sympathy with his plans for the peaceful development of Korea. Nothing, it seemed to me, could be more important in the interests of humanity than to have the strife of foreign nations for a selfish supremacy in the Far East come to a speedy end. But the perfect freedom of inquiry and action allowed to me was in some sort an embarrassment. It would have been easier to have had a definite work assigned, and a definite method prescribed. However, I should do the best that my inexperience in such matters made possible, in order to justify his favorable judgment.

It was my intention at first to prepare for the work in Korea by much reading of books. But the professional and social demands made upon both time and strength, to the very last hour of our stay in Japan, prevented the carrying out of this intention. When, later on, it became possible to read what had previously been published, I discovered that the deprivation was no hindrance, but perhaps a positive advantage, to the end of success in my task. A story of recent experiences of Korean intrigue which had already been reported to me in detail was of more practical value than the reading of many learned treatises. The story was as follows: Among the several representatives of American Christian and benevolent enterprises who have recently visited that country, for the size of his audiences and the warmth of his greeting, one had been particularly distinguished. At his first public address, some four thousand persons, men and boys (for the Korean women are never seen at such gatherings) had attempted to crowd into “Independence Hall.” Of these, however, nine-tenths came with the vague feeling that it is somehow for the political interest of Koreans to seem friendly to citizens of foreign Christian countries—especially of the United States—in order to secure help for themselves in an appeal to interfere with the Japanese administration. In this case the speaker was at first supposed to have great political influence. But the audience, seeing that the subjects of address were religious rather than political, fell off greatly on the second occasion. Meanwhile, some of the Korean officials, in order to win credit for themselves for procuring the audience, had falsely reported that the Korean Emperor wished to see this distinguished representative from America. But when they learned that application for the audience had been duly made, through the proper Japanese official, they came around again and, with many salaams and circuitous approaches, expressed the regrets of His Majesty that, being indisposed, he was unable to grant the audience which had been applied for. At the very time of this second falsehood, the proper official was in the act of making out the permit to enter the palace. The audience came off. And while the American guest was in the waiting-room, the Minister of the Household, watching his chance to escape observation, with his hand upon his heart, appealed to the distinguished American for his nation’s sympathy against the oppression of the Japanese. During the two months of my own experience with the ways of the Koreans, all this, and much more of the same sort, was abundantly and frequently illustrated. And, indeed, no small portion of the recent movement toward Christianity is more a political than a religious affair. But of this I shall speak in detail later on.

It was the understanding with Marquis Ito at the interview in Kyoto that he should have me informed at Nagasaki, at some time between March 20th and 24th, when he desired us to come to Seoul; and that arrangements should then be made for meeting our Japanese escort at Shimonoseki. On returning to the hotel parlor the Marquis apologized to Mrs. Ladd for keeping her husband away so long, and remarked, playfully, that the diplomatic part of the conference was not to be communicated even to her, until its expectations had become matters of history.

Three days later we started for Nagasaki, where I was to spend somewhat more than a week lecturing to the teachers of the Prefecture, and to the pupils of the Higher Commercial School. As we crossed the straits to Moji, the sun rose gloriously over the mountains and set the sea, the shore, and the ships in the two harbors aglow with its vitalizing fire. The police officer assigned to guard his country’s guests, pointed out to us the battleship waiting to take the Resident-General to his difficult and unappreciated work in Korea; and nearer the other side of the channel we noted with pleasure the Aki Maru, on which six months before we had crossed the Northern Pacific.

It had been in my plans, even before reaching Japan, to spend a month or two in Kiushu, a part of the Empire which is in some respects most interesting, and which I had never visited before. And, indeed, in reliance on a telegram from Tokyo which read: “Fix your own date, telegraph Zumoto” (the gentleman who was to accompany us from Shimonoseki), “Seoul,” arrangements had already been completed for lectures at Fukuoka, and had been begun for a short course also at Kumamoto. But the very next day after these instructions had been followed, a telegram came from Mr. Zumoto himself, who was already waiting at Shimonoseki to accompany us to Seoul, inquiring when we could start, and adding that “the Marquis hoped it would be at once.” All engagements besides the one at Nagasaki were therefore promptly cancelled. On the evening of March 24th, Mr. Akai, who had been our kindly escort in behalf of the friends at Nagasaki, put us into the hands of our escort to Korea, at the station in Moji.

Since the steamer for Fusan did not start until the following evening, we had the daylight hours to renew our acquaintance with Shimonoseki. The historical connections which this region has had with our distinguished host made the time here all the more vividly interesting. At this place, as an obscure young man, Ito had risked his life in the interests of progress by way of peace; and here, too, as the Commissioner of his Emperor, the now celebrated Marquis had concluded the treaty with China through her Commissioner, Li Hung Chang. But what need be said about the story of these enterprises belongs more properly with the biography of the man. At about 8.30 o’clock in the evening of March 25th the harbor launch, with the chief of the harbor police in charge, conveyed the party to the ship Iki Maru. The evening was lovely; bright moonlight, mild breeze, and moderate temperature. After tea, at about eleven, we “turned in” to pass a comfortable night in a well-warmed and well-ventilated cabin.

I have dwelt with what might otherwise seem unnecessary detail upon my invitation to Korea, because it throws needed light upon the nature and opportunity of this visit, as well as upon the character of the man who gave the invitation, and of the administration of which he is the guiding mind and the inspiring spirit. I was to be entirely independent, absolutely free from all orders or even suggestions, to form an opinion as to the sincerity and wisdom of the present Japanese administration, as to the character and needs of the Korean public, and as to the Korean Court. The fullest confidential information on all points was to be freely put at my disposal; but the purpose of the visit was to be in full accord with that of the Residency-General—namely, to help the Koreans, and to convince all reasonable foreigners of the intention to deal justly with them. Suggestions as to any possible improvements were earnestly requested. For I hesitate to say that His Excellency, with a sincerity which could not be doubted, asked that I should advise him whenever I thought best. So far as this understanding properly extends, the unmerited title of “Unofficial Adviser to the Resident-General,” bestowed by some of the foreign and native papers, was not wholly misplaced. But the term is more creditable to the sincerity of Marquis Ito than to my own fitness for any such title. “Adviser,” in any strictly official or political meaning of the term, is a word altogether inappropriate to describe our relations at any time.

CHAPTER II
FIRST GLIMPSES OF KOREA

It was soon after seven on the morning of Tuesday, March 26, 1907, that we had our first sight of Chosen, “The Land of Morning Calm.” The day was superb, fully bearing out the high praise which is almost universally bestowed upon the Korean weather in Spring—the sunshine bright and genial, the air clear and stimulating like wine. Tsushima, the island which for centuries has acted as a sort of bridge between the two countries, was fading in the distance on our port stern. The wardens of Tsushima, under the Tokugawa Shogunate and, as well, much earlier, had a sort of monopoly of the trade with southern Korea. From Tsushima, several centuries ago, came the trees which make conspicuous the one thickly wooded hill in Fusan, now the only public park in the whole country. In front rose the coast; its mountains denuded of trees and rather unsightly when seen nearer at hand, but at a distance, under such a sky, strikingly beautiful for their varied richness of strong coloring. The town of Fusan, as we approached it, had a comfortable look, with its Japanese buildings, many of them obviously new, nestled about the pine-covered hill which has already been noticed as its public park.

From the steamer’s deck our companion pointed out the eminence on which, according to the narrative written by a contemporary in Chinese (the book has never been translated and copies of the original are rare), the Korean Governor of the District, when hunting in the early morning more than three centuries ago, looked out to sea and to his amazement saw myriads of foreign-looking boats filled with armed men approaching the bay. It was the army sent by Hideyoshi for the invasion of the peninsula. The Korean magistrate hastened to his official residence in the town, but scarcely had he arrived when the Japanese forces were upon him and had taken possession of everything. In twenty-one days the invaders were in Seoul. But according to the universal custom of the country when invaded, from whatever quarter and by whomsoever, the cowardly court—a motley horde of king, concubines, eunuchs, sorcerers, and idle officials—had fled; then a Korean mob burned and sacked the deserted palace and did what well could be done toward desolating the city. For seven years the Japanese held Southern Korea, even after their navy had been destroyed, so as to make it impossible to transport reinforcements sufficient to meet the combined forces of the Chinese and the Koreans. It was the fear of a similar experience which, centuries later, made them so careful first to incapacitate the Russian navy as a matter of supreme importance. On another low hill to the right, our attention was directed to the remnants of one of the forts built at the time by the invading Japanese; and further inland, the train ran near to traces of the wall which they erected for the defence of their last hold upon the conquered country. Even then “the people hated them with a hatred which is the legacy of centuries; but could not allege anything against them, admitting that they paid for all they got, molested no one, and were seldom seen outside the yamen gates.”

On the wharf at Fusan there were waiting to welcome us the local Resident, the manager of the Fusan-Seoul Railway, and other Japanese officials—all fine-looking men with an alert air and gentlemanly bearing. The official launch conveyed us to the landing near the railway station, which is now some distance up the bay, but which will soon be brought down to the new wharf that is in process of building, in such good time that we had an hour and a half to spend before leaving for Seoul. Most of this time was improved in visiting a Korean school on the hillside just above. We were not, however, to see this educational institution at work, but only the empty school-rooms and several of the Korean and Japanese teachers. For the one hundred and seventy children of this school, clothed in holiday garments of various shades in green, pink, carmine, purple, yellow, and a few in white or black, were just starting for the station to give a “send-off” to Prince Eui Wha. This Prince is the second living son of the Korean Emperor and, in the event of the death or declared incapacity of the Crown Prince, the legitimate heir to the throne. There was much blowing of small trumpets and many unsuccessful attempts on the part of the teachers to get and keep the line in order, as the brilliantly colored procession moved down the hill.

The teachers who remained behind showed me courteously over the school-rooms and interpreted the “curriculum” of the school which had been posted for my benefit in one of the rooms. I give it below as a good example of the kind of instruction which is afforded in the best of the primary grades of the Korean school system as fostered by the Japanese:

1st Class—Ages, 7-9 years, inclusive:

Chinese classics; morals; penmanship; gymnastics.

2d Class—Ages, 10-11 years, inclusive:

Chinese classics; national literature; penmanship; Korean history; gymnastics.

3d Class—Ages, 12-13 years, inclusive:

Chinese classics; arithmetic; composition; national and universal history; gymnastics.

4th Class—Ages, 14-15 years, inclusive:

Chinese classics; arithmetic; composition; Japanese language; universal history; gymnastics.

5th Class—Ages, 16 years and over:

English; Japanese; geography; national and universal history; Korean law; international law.

It will appear that this scheme of education is based upon a Chinese model, largely modified to meet modern requirements and, in the upper classes, designed to fit those who are able to continue in school for the lower grades of the Korean official appointments.

On returning to the station we found the children in line on one side of the road and on the other a row of Korean men, some in clean and some in dirty-white clothing, waiting for the coming of the Prince. The difference between the mildly disorderly and unenthusiastic behavior of the Korean crowd and the precise and alert enthusiasm of the Japanese on similar occasions was significant. The Japanese policemen treated all the people, especially the children, with conspicuous gentleness. The Prince, who arrived at last in a jinrikisha and took the reserved carriage just back of the one reserved for us, had a languid and somewhat blasé air; but he bowed politely and removed his hat for an instant as he passed by.

Before the train left the station a number of the principal civil officers of Japanese Fusan appeared to bid us a good journey; and so we entered Korea as we had left Japan, reminded that we were among friends and should feel at home. Indeed, at every important station the cards of the leading officials, who had been informed of the arrival of his guests from the office of the Resident-General at Seoul, were handed in; and this was followed by hand-shaking and the interchange of salutations.

The country through which the train passed during the entire day was very monotonous—or perhaps “repetitious” is the better descriptive word. Each mile, while in itself interesting and possessed of a certain beauty due to the rich coloring of the denuded rock of the mountains and of the sand of the valleys, which are deprived of their natural green covering by the neglect to bar out the summer floods, was very like every other of the nearly three hundred miles between Fusan and Seoul. Here, as everywhere in Korea, there was an almost complete absence of any special interests, either natural or human, such as crowd the hills and valleys of Japan. Of roads there appeared to be nothing worthy of the name—only rough and tortuous paths, in parts difficult for the Korean pony or even for the pedestrian to traverse. No considerable evidences of any other industry than the unenlightened and unimproved native forms of agriculture were visible on purely Korean territory. But at Taiden—about 170 miles from Fusan and 106 from Seoul—where the car of the Prince was switched off, and where he remained overnight in order that he might arrive at the Capital in the daylight, something better appeared. This city is situated on a mountainous plateau and is surrounded by extensive rice-fields, some of which, we were told, belong to the son of Marquis Nabeshima, to Count Kabayama, and to other Japanese. In spots, the number of which is increasing, all over Southern Korea, Japanese small farmers are giving object-lessons in improved agriculture; and grouped around all the stations of the railway, the neat houses and tidy gardens of the same immigrants are teaching the natives to aspire after better homes. Our escort believes that the process of amalgamation, which has already begun, will in time settle all race differences, at least in this part of the country.

At ten o’clock our train arrived at the South-Gate station of Seoul, where we were met by General Murata, Marquis Ito’s aide-de-camp, Mr. Miura, the Seoul Resident, Mr. Ichihara, manager of the Japanese banks established in Korea, a friend of years’ standing, and others, both gentlemen and ladies. The dimly lighted streets through which the jinrikishas passed afforded no glimpses, even, into the character of the city where were to be spent somewhat more than two exceedingly interesting and rather exciting months. But less than an hour later we were lodged in comfortable quarters at Miss Sontag’s house, and were having a first experience of the almost alarming stillness of a Korean night. Even in the midst of a multitude of more than two hundred thousand souls, the occasional bark of a dog and the unceasing rat-tat of the ironing-sticks of some diligent housewife, getting her lord’s clothing of a dazzling whiteness for next day’s parade, are the only sounds that are sure to strike the ear and soothe to sleep brains which must be prevented from working on things inward, if they sleep soundly at all. But this is the place to speak in well-merited praise of the unwearied kindness and generosity of our hostess. Miss Sontag not only makes the physical comforts of those visiting Seoul, who are fortunate enough to be her guests, far different from what they could be without her friendly help, but is also able to afford much insight into Korean customs, of which her experience has been most intimate and intelligently derived.

With the morning light of March 27th began first observations of the physical conditions and more obvious social peculiarities of Seoul—the place which has been fitly styled “an encyclopædia of most of the features of Korean so-called city life.” It is impossible to describe Seoul, however, in any such fashion as to satisfy the conflicting opinions of all—whether transient foreign observer or old-time resident. The former will base his estimate upon the particular aspects or incidents concerning which his missionary or diplomatic friend has given him presumably, but by no means always actually, trustworthy information; or upon what his own uninstructed eye and untrained ear may happen to see and hear; while the more permanent indweller in Seoul is pretty sure to conceive of it, and of its inhabitants, according to the success or the failure of his schemes for promoting his own commercial, political, or religious interests. This difference is apt to become emphatic, whenever any of the patent relations of the two peoples chiefly interested, the Koreans and the Japanese, are directly or even more remotely concerned. The point of view taken for comparison also determines much. Approached from Peking or from any one of scores of places in China, Seoul seems no filthier than the visitor’s accustomed surroundings have been. But he who comes from Old or New England, or from Japan, will observe many things, greatly to his disgust. The missionary who compares his own method in conducting a prayer-meeting with that pursued by the guard in clearing the way at the railway station, or with that to which the policeman or the jinrikisha-runner on the street is compelled by the crowd of idle and stately stepping pedestrians, will doubtless complain of the rudeness shown to the Koreans by the invading Japanese. And if he is disposed to overlook the conduct of the roughs in San Francisco, or to minimize the accounts of the behavior of American soldiers in the Philippines, or has forgotten his own experiences at the Brooklyn Bridge, he may send home letters deprecating the inferior civilization of the Far East. On the other hand, he who knows the practice of Korean robbers, official and unofficial, toward their own countrymen, or who recalls the sight of a Korean mob tearing their victim limb from limb, or who credits the reports of the unutterable cruelties that have for centuries gone on behind the palace walls, will, of course, take a widely divergent point of view. But let us—laying aside prejudice—glance at the externals of the capital city of Korea, as they appeared during the months of April and May, 1907.

The word Seoul,[1] coined by the Shilla Kingdom in Southeastern Korea and originally pronounced So-ra-pul, means “national capital”; and Hanyang (“Sun of the Han”), the real name of the present capital, is only one of a succession of “Seouls,” of which Song-do and Pyeng-yang were the most notable. To the imagination of the ignorant populace of Korea, who can have no conception of what real civic beauty and decency are in these modern days, and who are accustomed to express themselves with Oriental hyperbole, Hanyang is the “Observation of all Nations,” “the King’s city in the clouds,” “a city that spirits regard and ghosts conceal”; and to be hailed as the “Coiled Dragon and the Crouching Tiger.” When the town came down from the mountain retreat of Puk Han (to be described later) and spread over the plain in order to utilize the Han River, it took the river’s name; but it was only some five hundred and twenty years ago made “Seoul” by the founder of the present dynasty selecting it as his capital city.

The situation of the chief city of modern Korea becomes more and more impressive and, in every important respect, satisfactory, the greater the frequency of one’s reflective observation from any one of numerous favorable points of view. There is no natural reason why, under the governmental reforms and material improvements which are now being put into effect, Seoul should not become as healthy, prosperous, and beautiful a place of residence as can be shown anywhere in the Far East. While its lower level is only some 120 feet above tide-water, and within easy reach of the sea by the river, the city is, with the exception of the side which opens toward and stretches down to this waterway, completely surrounded by mountains. On the north these guardian peaks rise to the height of 2,500 feet, from the tops of which magnificent views can be obtained, not only of the town nestled at their feet but of the surrounding land and of the ocean, far away. It is not necessary, however, to climb so high in order to discover the geographical peculiarities of Seoul. “To secure the best view of the city and its surroundings,” says Dr. Jones, “one should ascend the lower slopes of Nam-san” (a mountain almost wholly within the walls) “on a bright sunny day in Spring. Taking a position on one of the many spurs jutting out from this mountain a really notable scene greets the eye. The stone screen of mountains enclosing the city begins at the left, with Signal Peak distinguished by a lone pine-tree on its top. In former years there was a beacon fire-station here, which formed one of the termini of the long line of fire-stations that in pre-telegraph days signalled to the authorities the weal or woe of the people.”

Bird’s-Eye View of the Capital City.

Attention should again be called—at least for all lovers of natural beauty—to the intensity and changeable character of the colors of the surrounding mountains and hills, and of the city enclosed by them in its plain, or in places where a few houses, mostly foreign, climb their sides. These colors are often very intense; but they change in a remarkable way, according to the brilliancy and direction of the sunlight, and the varying mixtures of sunshine and shadow. From such a point of view, the city itself, which is for the most part mean and filthy when seen from the streets, appears as a sort of grayish carpet, with dark-green spots made by the pines, for the plain beneath one’s feet. As has already been indicated, the hillsides, both within and around the walls, are uninhabited. They are devoted—and thus wasted—to the mounds that cover the long-forgotten dead. By calculation, upon a basis of counting, it is estimated that one of these burial grounds in the vicinity of Seoul has no fewer than 750,000 of these graves. It is neither reverence nor any other worthy feeling, however, which is the chief factor in fostering a custom so expensive of comfort to the living; it is superstitious fear, akin to that spirit-worship, which is largely devil-worship, and which is really the only effective religion of the non-Christian Korean people. Foreign residents upon the hillsides find it difficult to keep their Korean servants during the night, so dominated are they by their fear. In this respect, as well as others, there is an important difference between so-called ancestor-worship, as in Korea, and ancestor-worship in Japan.

The most obvious thing of interest in Seoul is the city wall. Its construction was begun early in 1396, four years after the present dynasty came to the throne; it was finished in about nine months by the forced labor of men aggregating in number 198,000. According to the legendary account, the course of the wall was marked out by a Buddhist monk, who had the help of a miraculous fall of snow that indicated the line which should be taken in order to avoid a dangerous mixture of the “tiger” influence and the “dragon” influence. To this day the Koreans, like the Chinese, whose pernicious domination they have followed in this as in many other respects, are firm believers in geomancy. The fact is, however, that the wall surrounding Seoul wanders, without any assignable reason, some twelve miles, as recent surveys have settled the long dispute about its length, over hills and along valleys, enclosing a vast amount of uninhabitable as well as inhabited space. It is built of partially dressed stone, with large blocks laid lengthwise at the base, and the superstructure formed of layers of smaller stone—the whole surmounted by battlements about five feet high and pierced with loop-holes for archery adapted to the varying distances of an approaching foe. In height it ranges from twenty to forty feet; it is banked by an embankment of earth from twelve to fifteen feet thick. Various attempts have been made at patching up this decaying structure, but it can never have had the solidity and impregnability against attack by the methods of mediæval warfare which were given to fortifications of the same era in Japan. Moreover, the Korean defenders of the wall customarily ran away as the foe approached; and this the Japanese seldom or never did. Thus Seoul was easily captured by the warriors of Hideyoshi in 1592, and nearly a half century later by a Manchu invading army. The wall is, of course, useless for purposes of defence against modern warfare; and its continuance in existence, at least in large part, depends upon the length of time during which the sentiment of pride triumphs over more utilitarian considerations.

It is the Gates of Seoul which emphasize the visitor’s interest in the city wall and which give most of character to its picturesque features. In themselves, they are mere “tunnels pierced in the wall”; but they are rendered architecturally interesting by the wide-spreading eaves and graceful curvature and, in some cases, striking ornamentation of their roofs. They are, in all, eight in number, one of which is the “concealed.” They bear the names of the points of the compass—South, Little West, West, Northwest, East, Little East, and East Water; this is not, however, because they face true to these points, but because in the main they form the principal avenues of communication between the inside of the wall and the outlying regions situated in these general directions. Each of the gates has, besides, another name characterized by the customary Korean hyperbole. There are, for example, the “Gate of Exalted Ceremony,” the “Gate of Effulgent Righteousness” (or, in two other cases, different kinds of righteousness), the “Gate of Brilliant Splendor,” etc. But in and out of these gates, for one-half of a thousand years, far more of corruption, cruelty, and darkness, has crept, or trailed, or strutted, than of the qualities fitly called by their high-sounding names. It was over them that the late “lamented queen” festooned more than a score of heads freshly taken from her political enemies in order to signify to the Tai-won-kun that she retained control of His Majesty, in spite of the fact that his father had obtained permission to re-enter the city through that same gateway. But why disturb our admiration of a point of structural interest by recalling one of the long list of doings in and around Seoul, no less distinctive of the character of its government? In those older days, when the Great Bell of the city rang the curfew, the gates were at once locked for the night; and any inquirer may hear from missionaries and travellers how they have climbed the wall in order not to sleep outside—thus incurring the death penalty, which was not, however, at all likely to be enforced upon the protected foreigner. The gates themselves, and the devices for locking them, are very similar to those so frequently met with as the relics of mediæval Europe. But the clay manikins (or Son-o-gong) which sit astride the ridges of the roof, are designed to warn and ward off all evil spirits that may attempt to enter the city. The old-fashioned guards, with their dreadful array of big knives and swords, have now given place to the modern policeman, whose principal duty is to keep the gateway clear for traffic. This service is needed, for it is said that no fewer than 20,000 foot-passengers, besides a stream of laden ponies and bullocks, and a tolerably frequent schedule of electric cars, sometimes pass through the South Gate in a single day. And the Koreans in the streets are a slow-moving, stubborn, and stupid crowd.

To the ordinary traveller, after the first strangeness of its more obvious aspects is over, not much remains of particular interest in the capital city of Korea. Of fine buildings, of museums, picture-galleries, temples, theatres, parks, and public gardens, there is little or nothing to compare with any European or Japanese city of the same size. There is, however, here as everywhere in the peninsula, no little of antiquarian and historical interest which awaits the researches of those trained and enthusiastic in such pursuits. Of those sights which the city of Seoul within the walls can show, there are three principal classes—the so-called palaces, the shrines, and the monuments. Even these are interesting, not for their intrinsic grandeur or beauty, but chiefly for their connection with the legends or historical incidents of the country.

To quote again from the articles of Dr. Jones: “The Koreans apply the term Kung or palace to all residences of royalty, and to them Seoul is a city of palaces, for there are eighteen Kung of varying sizes and degrees of importance in and about the city.” Among the eighteen, however, “there are several which are to-day a name and nothing more.” Of these minor palaces the most interesting is that called the “Special South Palace,” which was erected nearly five hundred years ago by one of the kings for his favorite daughter and her consort. But the latter made it such a “veritable den of infamy” that it was abandoned as a house haunted by evil spirits and unsafe for habitation. The mixture of fawning malice and hypocritical servility characteristic of Korean officialdom was at one time humorously exhibited in a way to deceive even the Chinese; for when the Mings were overthrown by the Manchus, the hated envoys of the latter were assigned to this House, “for their entertainment and as a covert derogation to their dignity.” Thus, too, with the so-called “Mulberry Palace,” known by the Koreans as the “Palace of Splendid Happiness.” It was erected by the tyrant Lord Kwanghai who was here dethroned, and from here sent into exile, where he died a prisoner. From it also his successor was driven out by the usurping “Three Days, King.” It was in this palace, also, that the King Suk-jong, having surprised his favorite concubine in practising magic rites to accomplish the death of the Queen whom she had already caused to be divorced and banished, turned upon the concubine herself, sentenced her to drink poison, and when she in revenge mutilated the Crown Prince, had her torn in pieces. Its present name is derived from one of the many fruitless experiments which the present Government of Korea, left to itself, is constantly making. The “mulberry” plantation remains only as a name to adorn, or degrade, the ruins of the palace. But if any visitor to Seoul thinks that such violence, lust, and thriftlessness, must of necessity belong to the ancient history of Korea, let him learn his mistake. Were the firm, strong hand of the Japanese Resident-General withdrawn, there is not one of these horrid deeds which might not be reproduced at any hour.

These are not, however, the “Major Palaces,” through which the foreign visitor is usually conducted, after having obtained a permit from the proper authorities. The palace, known to the Koreans as the Kyung-pok, or “Palace of Beautiful Blessing,” and to foreigners as the “Summer Palace,” dates from 1394, and was occupied by the present Emperor until 1896. Nowhere else have I seen so large a space (it is estimated that the principal enclosure containing only the buildings deemed necessary for his Korean Majesty’s comfort, contains one hundred acres, besides which there are other enclosures running up the slopes of the mountains and designed for defence) strewn over with desolated and half-ruined barbaric splendor. The main Gateway, through whose central arch no other person than His Majesty and his bearers may pass, is an impressive structure and is still in fairly good repair. It is guarded by stone effigies of the Hai-tai, or mythical sea-monsters, who are prepared to spout water against the mysterious influences stored in the “fire mountain,” some ten miles away to the southward. They are therefore called “Fire Dogs.” Once inside the enclosure, one is presented with a melancholy picture of neglect, swiftly oncoming decay, and advancing ruin. All this is the more melancholy, because the present palace buildings are only about fifty years old, were erected by the Prince-parent of the present Emperor, almost to the financial ruin of the country, and were abandoned only after the assassination of the Queen, October 8, 1895.

Amidst this crowded waste where formerly three thousand persons lived in attendance upon the separate establishments for the King, Queen, Crown Prince, and the Dowagers, there are only two buildings which, architecturally considered, are worthy of note. One of these is the old “Audience Hall.” Its columns, although many are cracked for a considerable part of their length, and none of them ever possessed anything like the beauty or finish of the noble wooden pillars of the Nishi Hongwanji in Kyoto (which, however, they resemble in style and effect), seem to have been made of entire stately trees. There are really no galleries, but the appearance is that of a two-galleried hall. The strong colors of red, black, green, and blue, with which the carved and panelled ceiling is decorated, in a manner similar to that of the castles in the Tokugawa period in Japan, seem to find their way through one’s upturned eyes to the base of the brain. In some of its structural features this Audience Hall resembles the audience halls of the Muhammadan monarchs in Northern India more than anything to be found in Japan. This is especially true of the high platform on which the throne was placed. The decoration central over it, and that central in the ceiling of the whole hall, is golden dragons, with clouds and flames, in bas-reliefs; it is in an excellent state of preservation.

The other really fine building in the entire collection is the so-called “Hall of Congratulations,” whose upper floor is supported by forty-eight granite monoliths—six rows of eight each in a row. These pillars are about sixteen feet high and three feet square. The lotus pond surrounding the building is oblong and faced with masonry; while miniature islands rise here and there above the surface of the water. This Hall was intended for state social functions of the out-of-door character.

By going still further back of the sleeping apartments of the King, which consisted of nine rooms arranged in a square, so that the eight surrounding the central room could guard it from intrusion or attack, we come in front of the wall behind whose screen are the apartments in one of which the brilliant and attractive but cruel Queen met her own most tragic and cruel death. All are now forbidden to enter there. But some twelve years before, our escort had seen the dark bloodstains on the floor—perhaps hers, perhaps those of her chamberlain who met his death in trying to protect his queen. And one has only to look a little way over to the right in order to see the now peaceful pine-grove where her body was dragged and burned. Such was the deed which terminated the royal habitation of another, and this the most splendid, of the palaces of Seoul!

It is the grounds, rather than the buildings, of the East Palace, especially when the azaleas and cherry bushes and apricot-trees are in full bloom, which constitute its beauty. Here the diplomatic corps and the other invited guests of the Emperor are accustomed to have picnics and afternoon teas. The apartments, which were united into one so-called palace in the reign of Suk-jong (1694-1720) appear to be most distinctively Korean and are unlike any other buildings which I have ever seen. The rooms are small and rambling; and the screens between them are decorated with those geometrical patterns which are so ancient and so nearly universal wherever architecture has reached a certain stage of development. The ceilings are low and devoid of decoration, but are made pleasing by being everywhere “beamed-over.” This palace, too, has not escaped its history of violence and its bath of blood. Here it was that, in 1884, the party of Progressives, headed by Mr. Kim Ok-kiun, tried to enforce reforms by capturing the person of the King. But the conservative party of Koreans, helped by eight hundred Chinese soldiers under the leadership of the Major Yuan, who afterward became Li Hung Chang’s successor, and is even to-day cutting an important figure in the complicated politics of China, finally drove out the Progressives and the one hundred and forty Japanese who were defending them.

Little else of the mildly exciting “sights” of Seoul remains besides the Great Bell and the Marble Pagoda. The former bears witness to an art in which the Koreans once excelled, but which is now, like all the other arts, either lost or neglected. At Nikko, it will be remembered, there is a Korean bell which was presented to one of the Japanese Shoguns. Setting aside all legends as to the time and incidents of its manufacture and hanging, a recently deciphered inscription on its own side tells the date as 1469 and gives the names of the prominent men connected with the undertaking. The report of a Chinese envoy of 1489, who says of the bell, “It calls all men to rest, to rise, to work, to play,” taken in conjunction with the fact that, to avoid the troubles of faction and violence, men were forbidden on the streets after dark, probably gave rise to the report that women only were allowed to go abroad at night. And this is believed by natives and travellers until the present hour. But the bell, which once rung to open and close the massive city gates, now rings only to tell of midnight and midday. And, although it is about eight feet in diameter and ten feet high, it is no great sight as looked at by peeking through the bars of its surrounding cage. It does, however, like many other things else in Seoul, bear witness to the life of the past and the changes of the present.

The marble pagoda is at the same time the most notable existing monument of Buddhism in Korea and the most interesting art-object in Seoul. It came, however, from abroad; tradition connects its gift with a Mongol princess who, after the death of Kublai Khan, came to Korea in 1310 to become the queen-consort of King Chung-sun. It was brought in a junk from China and at first erected in the grounds of a temple in the little town of Hanyang—the predecessor of Seoul on the same site; for the capital of the present dynasty was not then built. The temple grounds were beautified in its honor; roads were constructed leading to it; and a bridge was built over a stream running near by. But the Korean inevitable happened to it—the fate meted out to all that shows signs of order, industry, or art, when not of immediate selfish interest to the rulers of Korea. The roads, encroached upon by surrounding hovels, became foul and narrow alleys; a squatter built his straw-thatched hut about it; and the stream became the main sewer of the city, which is cleaned only by the downpour of the summer rains. Thus, as says our chronicler: “The gift to Korea of one of the mighty Mongol Khans, whose arms had literally shaken the world, became the impedimenta of a Korean coolie’s backyard, sixteen by twenty feet square!” What wonder, however, in a land where court officials and palace hangers-on do not hesitate to-day to steal the screens, and other presents from foreign monarchs and plutocrats, out from under His Majesty’s very eyes.[2]

The pagoda itself, which has now been cleared from the clutter of huts and made the central object in Seoul’s first attempt at the beginnings of a public park, deserves a brief description. It is of white marble, much stained by time, war, and neglect, and was originally thirteen stories in height; although only ten of these are now standing, while the upper three have been removed and rest beside it on the ground. The base and first six stories have twenty sides; the remainder are squares. Each story is symmetrically diminished in size; some have galleries with curved eaves and upturned corners. The ornamentation is exceedingly complicated and abstruse in its symbolism and suggestiveness. There are sculptured upon the flat surfaces processions of tigers, dragons, men on foot and on horseback, teachers discoursing in groves, pictures taken from the traditional life of Buddha, and various bas-reliefs of different Buddhas. The lower stories are composed of several blocks of carved stone, but the smaller and upper stories are monoliths.

Near the pagoda stands the Tortoise Tablet, a very ancient structure; the tablet is said originally to have been brought from the Southern Kingdom of Scilla, and erected upon the ledge of granite which outcropped in this place, after the rock had itself been carved into the shape of a tortoise. It was designed to memorialize the building of a temple which dates back to the eleventh century A. D. The tablet is probably more than one thousand years old.

Within the small enclosure surrounding these relics, Mr. Megata, the Japanese financial adviser to the Korean Government, is trying to encourage the public spirit of the natives and entertain the resident foreigners by providing band concerts on Saturday afternoons. Thus this spot also offers a study in epitome of the history, present changes, and future prospects of the capital city of Korea.

Of the few shrines which the royal prohibition of Buddhism and the low and decaying interest in all religious conceptions rising above the level of spirit-worship—and this mostly devil-worship—have allowed to remain in Seoul, the only ones of any particular importance are the Imperial Ancestral Shrines and the so-called “Temple to Heaven.” But even the guests of Marquis Ito did not think it wise to ask for permission to visit these shrines, or to exhibit any more curiosity respecting them than to glance by the guard, through the open doors of the gateway, while passing along the street. As to the New Palace, which is a stone building of modified Doric architecture, and is so far finished externally that it can be seen to have decided claims to beauty, if only the superstitions of the monarch and of his counsellors among the blind-men and the sorcerers had permitted it to be well placed—this was ever before our eyes from the windows of Miss Sontag’s house. And what was seen of the buildings occupied at the time of our visit by His Majesty and the Court, so far as it is worth a word, will be described in another place.

The Seoul seen from the surrounding mountain-sides, and the Seoul of so-called palaces, is not the city in which the people live. Apart from a few of its inhabitants—such as the missionaries, certain foreign business men and diplomatic agents, together with a small number of native officials who have acquired a taste for foreign ways—the Seoul of the people is disgustingly filthy and abjectly squalid. It is, indeed, not so filthy and miserable, and lacking in all the comforts and decencies of respectable Western life, as it was a generation, or even a few years ago. Several of the streets have now been—not only occasionally when the King was going a “processioning” through them, but habitually and to the benefit of the populace—cleared of their encroachments of squatter hovels, huts, and booths. The gutters along the sides of these streets do not quite so much as formerly disturb the eyes and nostrils of the pedestrian, especially if he walks in the middle of the thoroughfare; their use for vile purposes is not so much in evidence as was the case before any of the natives had even a glimmering sense of decency about such matters. In spite of the increased business activity of the city there is not to-day quite the same stream of white-robed saunterers, stately in gait but low in character, to give a semi-holiday aspect to the “Broadways” of Seoul; for electric cars transport the multitudes back and forth in several directions. Besides, there is the neat, attractive Japanese quarter. Here, according to my observation, the Koreans themselves were doing more sight-seeing and more trading than in their own quarters; for here the cheaper products of the new and hitherto unknown world are skilfully displayed. But otherwise and elsewhere in the city, the same unsanitary conditions and indecent habits, in all respects, prevail. The narrow, winding alleys are flanked with shallow, open ditches, that are not only the drains and sewers but the latrines of the dwellers in the low earth-walled houses on either side. Cowardly and lean dogs, naked children, and rows of men squatting and sucking their long pipes or lying flat upon the ground, crowd and obstruct these alleys. And from them the wide-spreading Korean roofs cut off the purifying and enlivening sunlight. Many of the most wretched and unsanitary of these hovels squat under the shadow of the stately city wall. May its stones sometime be used to build a better and healthier city!

There are, however, yet more notable changes and improvements than those already accomplished, which seem destined surely and speedily to follow. A water-supply, for which the surveys and contracts have already been completed and for which, during our visit, the pipes were beginning to be laid, will not only diminish the dangers that lurk in the cans of the professional water-carriers and in the private wells, but will assist the summer rains in their formidable task of washing clean the open sewers. More of these foul, winding alleys, and huddles of hovels, will be abolished. The increase in the interests of life, and the enjoyment of the rewards of protected industry, will diminish the drunkenness and gluttony, varied by enforced periods of starvation, which now distress the people. The new hospital and medical school—the former of which will immediately relieve much suffering and the latter of which will perform the yet more important service of educating a native medical class—are among the most cherished projects of the Resident-General. And when to these more essential matters there is added the cultivation of the native love of nature and taste for flowers, it is not an extravagant hope to picture Seoul as becoming, in many respects, a not undesirable place for residence, before many years are past. Even now, with the spring covering of bloom from plum, apricot, apple, and cherry, and with the profusion of flowering shrubs which adorns the valleys and the mountain-sides, one feels inclined to overlook, at least for the months of April and May, the foul sights of the gutters and the surrounding hovels. But all this was, as it were, only background and theatre for the work I wished to do and the observations I wished to make.

CHAPTER III
LIFE IN SEOUL

After accepting Marquis Ito’s formal invitation to attempt a special kind of service in Korea, the first problem to be solved concerned the choice of ways for approaching that service. Its solution was by no means obvious. In Japan there were more of urgent requests for public addresses and lectures of various kinds than could possibly be accepted. And everywhere that the speaker went, influential and large organizations of an educational and public character, to whose support the governors, of the Kens and the mayors of the cities were officially committed, could be relied upon to make all necessary arrangements and to carry the arrangements through effectively. More important still, there was the most eager interest in the subjects upon which the prospective audiences wished to be addressed, and the attitude of an open mind and even of warm personal attachment toward “the friend of Japan.” In Korea, however, all the influences would be of precisely the opposite character—indifference, deficiencies, hindrances, if not active opposition, so far as the native attitude was concerned. In Korea there were no educational associations; and, outside of a very small circle in a few cities, there was little or no interest in education. The local magistrates were, almost without exception, devoted to “squeezes” rather than to the increase of intelligence and the moral improvement of their districts. The teachers of the few existing schools were, in general, without any modern culture; they were even without the most rudimentary ideas on the subjects of pedagogy, ethics, and religion. Only in a small number of places were there any halls that could accommodate an audience, should one be gathered by an appeal to curiosity and to the Korean thirst for “look-see”; while to be known as a “friend of Japan” and a guest of Marquis Ito was to erect an almost insuperable obstacle in the way of reaching the ears of the Korean upper and middle classes, to say nothing of convincing their minds or touching their hearts. Addressing the lower classes on any scholastic topic was impossible. Through what organ, then, could a stranger help the Resident-General in his benevolent plans for the welfare of the people of Korea?

Reflection upon this problem of a means of approach to the Koreans ended in the fortunate choice of the Young Men’s Christian Association at Seoul. To be sure, the direct influence of this association is at present wisely limited to the capital city. The illicit organization of branch associations, which was undertaken for political purposes by the Koreans themselves, has made it necessary to check, rather than encourage, all efforts to multiply Y. M. C. A. societies in places beyond the immediate and unceasingly watchful control of the foreign secretaries. The same hypocritical and unscrupulous use of the name of religion for purposes of political intrigue compelled the Methodist Mission in Korea to break up the “Epworth League.” A letter to a friend in Tokyo, explaining my purposes and my embarrassment, resulted in the following telegram, which was received in Shimonoseki late in the evening of the day before sailing for Fusan:

Secretary Seoul telegraphs Seoul Association platform gladly open. Indications other cities will extend same courtesy, especially after tenth.

These words illumined to no small degree the prospect of establishing relations favorable to the success of the proposed plans.

In this connection it is pertinent to say that I had been advised to seek especially the counsel and assistance of Bishop Turner of the Church of England, and of the Korean, Mr. Yun Chi-ho. The Bishop was the president of the Young Men’s Association; and the Korean gentleman is of good family, has a well-merited reputation for honesty, and has been prominent in religious work among his own people. As the history of my experiences will show, I was disappointed with respect to both these sources of information and help. Bishop Turner was either absent or ill during nearly the entire time of my stay in Korea; and Mr. Yun Chi-ho exhibited so persistently and adroitly the qualities which I had heard described as “a pessimistic disposition,” and which in the opinion of all who knew him, both natives and foreigners, unfitted him for incurring any of the responsibilities of leadership, as to somewhat hamper rather than assist any efforts in behalf of his own people. It was not, of course, to be expected that a Korean Yang-ban should willingly confess the demonstrated incapacity of the Korean nation for self-government; even less, perhaps, that he should himself assist the Japanese in doing for his own people what they never have done, and never could do, for themselves. But that intelligent native Christians should take an attitude of passive opposition to offers of assistance on matters of education, morality and religion from a friendly foreigner of another nation, simply because that foreigner was the guest of the Japanese Resident-General, shows how characteristic and deep-seated are the obstacles which the official class are opposing to the redemption of Korea. But I was to witness the manifestation of the extreme form of the same feeling toward the association of those of their own countrymen who were co-operating with the Japanese in plans for reform.

The morning after our arrival in Seoul, at about 10.30 o’clock, Marquis Ito sent Mr. Zumoto to conduct me to his private office in the Residency House. The official residence is one of a group of buildings belonging to the Japanese Government and situated upon a succession of spurs from the mountain Nam-san, in a portion of the city which lies beyond the Japanese quarters. The surrounding grounds, especially from points above the house, command fine views of the city, and are being constantly improved and beautified in accordance with Japanese taste. So lonely are the mountainous heights above the grounds that numerous wild-cats have descended upon the chicken-yard of the Residency, and more than a dozen of these pests have been caught in traps and are now caged as part of a small menagerie or private “Zoo.” There are persons now living in Seoul, not of advanced age, who have encountered tigers of the “man-eating” species, to say nothing of less formidable wild beasts, such as leopards and foxes, within the city walls.

At this morning’s interview the Marquis was the first to speak, after a few minutes of silence which followed the exchange of greetings. But it was only to say that, of course, he could procure me invitations from the Japanese to give public addresses, and even, he presumed, from the Koreans; this, however—especially in the latter case—would probably embarrass my work, since it would subject it to suspicion. After these words he paused in a way to suggest an invitation for me to speak freely of my plans. I began by saying that I had no training or experience in matters of diplomacy; but I believed that, for me at least, the best course of action would conform to these two rules: to be entirely frank and good-tempered when you had anything to say; and to know when and how to hold your tongue if silence seemed the proper policy. At this the Marquis laughed—it seemed approvingly. In brief, the plans, as far as formed at present, were as follows. As to Mission:—Public: I was here as the guest of Marquis Ito, to speak to the Koreans in a sincerely friendly way, on matters of education, morals, and religion, especially as these matters concerned their national welfare; private: to discover what I could which might assist the Resident-General in dealing with his difficult problem and to assure all, whom I could reach, that he sincerely wished to serve the real interests of the Koreans and to secure for them the administration of justice and an increased prosperity. As to Message:—Public: that the real prosperity of the individual and of society can be secured only by developing a character which deserves it; and private, as already defined by the private mission. As to Means:—Since there are in Korea no Teachers’ Associations, I hoped to work through the Young Men’s Christian Association and through such other connected agencies as they might secure; and especially to get opportunities to address Missionary Schools and Christian congregations in the churches. I also hoped to form friendly relations with the missionaries and with some of the diplomats and foreign business men in order to learn their views of the situation and to gain from them information and suggestions for its improvement. Especially did it seem to me desirable that the spiritual forces wielded by the missionaries should co-operate for the good of Korea with the political forces wielded by the Resident-General.

At this first interview, as at all subsequent interviews during my stay in Korea, the Resident-General uniformly replied in the negative to every request for criticism of my plans, or even for suggestions as to their improvement. On one particular occasion when I ventured to repeat the question: “But has the Marquis no suggestions to make?” the same answer, “No, I have no suggestions to offer,” was returned. When I afterwards asked the only third person who was ever present at any of these interviews whether after my departure some comments had not been made which might assist in deciding upon the best course of action, the reply again was an unqualified negative. And upon surprise being expressed at this, the remark followed: “It is the custom of the Marquis, when he trusts any one, to trust him completely.” And, indeed, the promise to leave me absolutely independent, which had been made in private and which was soon made public, was, throughout, most strictly kept.

The same day, after tiffin, one of the under-secretaries of the Y. M. C. A., in the absence of Mr. Gillett, the Chief Secretary, called upon me for the discussion of plans and topics for the lectures in Korea. It then became evident that the manner of coming would, as had been suspected, prejudice the Koreans against the speaker and his words. Secretary Brockman, indeed, agreed with me in thinking that a large measure of frankness was desirable. But the Korean officers and members of the Association were timid. It appeared that the Korean Daily News had already reminded its readers, with a sinister warning, that Professor Ladd did not come from America, but from Tokyo, to Korea. The effect of this, with all it implied, will soon appear. Any more definite decision as to ways of procedure was, therefore, deferred until further consultation could be had with those chiefly interested in the affairs of the Association and the moral and religious welfare of the Korean people.

The next morning a committee of three, representing the Association and the two principal Missions doing work in Seoul, called, and two hours of friendly discussion followed over the wisest method of solving this problem: How to employ the American guest of the Japanese Resident-General as a teacher of education, morals, and religion, under existing conditions, to Korean audiences. A complex problem truly! From the first, the lecturer himself insisted upon a continuance of the open and frank policy of approach; any attempt at concealment of his relations to Marquis Ito and of his confidence in the Marquis’ plans for helping Korea would only result in an increase of prejudice, suspicion, and in other invitations to failure. It was during the course of this discussion that one of the missionary members of the committee frankly declared his continued unwillingness, previously expressed, to have anything to do with a plan for “smoothing the way” for the Japanese. In case this was Professor Ladd’s purpose, “let him go ahead and smooth the way, if he could; for his own part he wished to be counted out.” The conference, however, ended in the harmonious agreement that three lectures should be given within the next week, under the auspices of the Young Men’s Association. These were to have dates as follows; for the next Saturday evening, upon the subject, “Education and the Social Welfare”; for Sunday afternoon, upon the subject, “Religion and Social Reform”; and for Monday evening, upon “Education as Related to the Stability and Progress of the Nation.” It was originally intended that the address of Sunday should be given in “Independence Hall,” the largest public room in Seoul, which, however, stands outside of the city walls near “Independence Arch”—a structure erected to commemorate the formal renunciation of the suzerainty of China. The other lectures were to be given in the Association Hall, a temporary building of bare boards, situated in a more central location. Application, however, for the use of Independence Hall was met by the information that it was already engaged for next Sunday. It was then suspected that this was only an indirect and insincere method of refusal; I am not even now sure as to whether or not the suspicion was correct.

On the next day a cordial invitation came from the missionaries of both missions in Pyeng-yang to visit them and speak there as many times as I might be able. The narrative of this interesting visit is to be told elsewhere. But the difference between the attitude of the Koreans toward me in places outside of the capital, where the corruption, fears, and prejudices of the Yang-bans (or ruling class) are less dominant—although some of these places have really suffered more from the Japanese than has Seoul—shows in what motives and interests the anti-Japanese feeling is chiefly seated. It is in Seoul, especially, that many of the missionaries seem not to have kept themselves altogether free from the same unworthy Court influences.

It was on Saturday, March 30, at 3.30 P.M., according to a notice sent the day before, that I was received in audience by the Korean Emperor. Under the escort of the Marquis’ secretary, Mr. Kurachi, and a Korean aide-de-camp, I went in a jinrikisha to the small gate of the palace which is very near to Miss Sontag’s house, and dismounting there, passed through rather irregular and intermittent lines of palace guards to the building where the audience was to take place. The rooms used for such functions, while the new palace is still in process of erection, are far enough from anything approaching royal magnificence. The aspect and furnishings of the entrance hall would scarcely rival a third-class hotel in Europe or the United States. The same thing is true of the waiting-room and of the audience-chamber itself. On arrival I was shown into the former apartment, where were already gathered some of the prominent Korean officials, including the Prime Minister, the Master of Ceremonies, and several officers of high rank in the Korean army. The entrance of Marquis Ito with his suite soon after filled the small room with men whose gorgeous apparel contrasted strongly with the cheap woodwork, which was painted light-pink and trimmed in light-green; and with its tawdry European furnishings. Almost immediately the little Prince, son of Lady Om, entered, and with an amusing air of boyish dignity, made more effective by the mannish costume of topknot and crinoline hat with which he had recently been invested, came straight up to me and gravely held out his hand. The young Prince has bright eyes, an intelligent but almost completely full-moon-shaped face, and a protruding abdomen suggestive of over-indulgence in sweets and other fattening foods. At the mature age of eleven years he had just secured the coveted honor of the man’s investiture, as described above. And seven maidens of suitable rank and age had already been selected, one of whom would subsequently sustain the ordeal of being chosen as his consort and future wife. After the hand-shaking and an interchange of courteous salutations, the boy disappeared. While waiting, I was being introduced to one official, Korean or Japanese, after another; but so often as I rose for this purpose, I was politely requested by the Korean aide-de-camp to be seated again.

The Resident-General and some of his suite went to the audience-room some minutes before I was summoned to follow. It was my conjecture, from what His Majesty subsequently said, that he was being told something about me and about the work which I was to attempt in Korea. In a still later interview with Marquis Ito I learned the truth of this conjecture. The Emperor had been assured that the visitor’s purposes were not political; but the Resident-General, believing that his lectures on matters educational and ethical had been of service in Japan, had invited him to come to Korea to assist in contributing to the same important interests here.

On being invited to do so by the Court interpreter, I followed him to the audience-room. Any expectation of being conducted through stately corridors to a splendid throne-room was speedily disappointed. The audience-room was as near the waiting-room as two small rooms can well be. It was itself so small that there was difficulty in making the requisite three bows before standing face to face with His Majesty, separated only by a round table of the most ordinary sort. At his right side stood, not the Crown Prince, the son of the late Queen, but the son of Lady Om. Before I had come near enough to take it, and indeed before I had made my third bow, the Emperor held out his hand. He is in appearance a quite ordinary man, of the Korean type; and there was nothing worthy of notice about his plain Korean dress. His face wore the pleasant smile with which he is said to greet all foreigners (for, as our hostess says: “Il est très gentil, très aimable”); although its æsthetical effect is somewhat hindered by a bad set of teeth.

His Majesty expressed the hope that I had a pleasant trip and was very comfortable and enjoying myself. A favorable answer, and especially an expression of pleasure at Korea’s beautiful mountain scenery and delightful climate, elicited the remark—he still smiling, while the young Prince looked as solemn as an owl—that, “besides the climate and the mountains, there was nothing else of interest in Korea.” “I cannot quite agree with Your Majesty,” was the response, “for I find the people and the country very interesting and I am sure that my interest will increase the longer I stay.” The Emperor then went on to say that he was glad to learn I had come to instruct his people in right ways; that he hoped they would open their minds to enlightenment and to modern ideas; and that my addresses would contribute to their progress. I answered that I should sincerely endeavor, by speaking on the same subjects on which I had been accustomed to speak in my own country, in England, India, Japan, and elsewhere, to contribute some little help to the same good cause in Korea. Up to this time, no sign of permission had been given to take my dismissal, and, indeed, once when a movement to withdraw had been made, a half-gesture had prevented it; but now His Majesty held out his hand. After taking it, I bowed and backed out safely over the threshold—a manœuvre made the easier by the small size of the room.

On returning to the waiting-room the question was asked whether the Crown Prince was present with his father; and no little surprise seemed to be excited by the fact that Lady Om’s son had on this occasion taken the place on the Emperor’s right hand customarily occupied by the older half-brother. After the entrance again of the Marquis Ito with his suite, and of the Korean officials, to the room for waiting, light refreshments were served; the ceremony was then considered at an end.

My first experience of lecturing to a Korean audience came on the evening of the same day. While waiting in the small, dingy rooms of the Korean building, then used for offices by the Young Men’s Christian Association of Seoul, I was introduced to several prominent Korean Christians. The most interesting of these was the pastor of one of the Korean churches, a member of a high-class family and one of the very few of his countrymen who combines a truly manly native character with a profession of the foreign faith. This man had been chosen by the Crown Prince to assist at the obsequies of his mother, the murdered Queen. The struggles with his conscience, which forbade him either to take part in heathenish rites, or escape with a lie, by feigning illness, or crawl out of the dilemma by resigning the official position he then held, made an interesting story. This man solved his problem of conscience in truly loyal style. And when the Christian pastor told his heathen prince that he could not go, and, as well, the reason why, instead of ordering him punished the latter said: “Why did you not let me know beforehand that you are a Christian, and then I should not have asked you? Go in peace.”

The lecture began late. The hall was crowded with some 600 Koreans, seated on the floor, standing in the open space about the door, and perched in the windows. Besides the native audience, a few missionaries and three or four Japanese friends were the only foreigners present. The arrangements for enforcing order were unusual and interesting. A number of young men, designated by badges, were posted near the door or distributed about the hall. Their office resembled, apparently, that of the tithing-man in the Puritan churches of a century gone by. Boys who became too restless were admonished and sometimes even gently rapped or pulled into place; and those who wished to leave the hall were prevented from doing so unless they could give peremptory reasons for the wish. It was deemed complimentary to the speaker that he did not develop any considerable number of this class of hearers; and, indeed, this particular audience was called attentive. It was, in truth, fairly so; although not after the pattern of the altogether respectful and quiet manners of the Japanese audiences. Indeed, there was always considerable restlessness and undoubted evidence of that kind of applause which imitates what the French call claque, in the Korean audiences at Seoul. On the one hand there was a lack of that intelligent and serious interest in the discussion of questions of education, morals, and religion which one meets everywhere in Japan; while, on the other hand, there was response by clapping of hands to any remarks which touched one’s hearers on the side of sentiment in an appeal to their personal or national experiences of injustice, pride, and weakness mingled with a certain form of ambition. These different characteristics may safely be interpreted as marking essential differences between the present attitudes and prospective developments of the two peoples.

This lecture, as were all the lectures delivered to the Koreans (since they were without exception given under the auspices of either the Y. M. C. A. or of the missionaries), was opened by religious exercises. Dr. Jones introduced the speaker; and Mr. Reynolds, whose reputation for a knowledge of the Korean language has secured him a prominent place in the work of translating the Scriptures, interpreted. The speaker availed himself of the words which the Emperor had that afternoon spoken in commendation of his purpose in visiting the country, to propitiate his first Korean audience. At the end of the two hours the foreigners present expressed themselves as well satisfied with the beginning which had been made.

On the afternoon of the next day, which was Sunday, the audience was equally large, and the attention about equally good; although the drizzle of rain which came on during the hours of meeting made some of the Korean men as nervous about the damage threatening their best-wear crinoline hats as American women are wont to be about their bonnets, under similar circumstances, on an Easter Sunday. As we entered the hall, Dr. Avison was leading the audience in singing. The quality of the song was not high, but it was perhaps equal to that attainable in Japan, outside of the Greek Cathedral at the time of my first visit fifteen years ago. The Koreans are probably more fond of music, and more apt at learning, than are the Japanese. Already, under the training of their German teacher, Professor Eckert, a Korean band is giving to Seoul fairly creditable music. This service of song continued for about one-half hour and ended with the performance of a quartette by Korean young men, one of whom is Chamberlain to the Crown Prince and a nephew of the Emperor. This Sunday’s audience was almost exclusively Christian.

The next evening’s audience was not quite so large as the others had been, but was obviously of much higher intellectual quality. More of the prominent men of the official class, apparently attracted by the nature of the theme, were present. They responded with increasing enthusiasm to Dr. Jones’ clear and vigorous interpretation of my remarks upon the dangers to the national life which grow out of superstition, lawlessness, partisanship, selfish ambition and avarice, and a frivolous, irreverent spirit. At the close of the lecture the audience rose to their feet and waved toward me their uplifted hands as a greeting, equivalent to the Japanese banzai—thus making an encouraging ending to the first series of lectures in Seoul.

On our return from Pyeng-yang it was arranged that a course of three lectures should be given in the hall of the Young Men’s Association to the teachers, and one or more popular addresses in Independence Hall, if this larger building could be obtained. To secure an audience for the teachers’ course, some 400 tickets of invitation were issued and distributed by Korean helpers. The report of the eagerness with which these tickets were sought led the secretary of the association to predict that three hundred at least would gather to hear discussed such topics as the following: “The Work of the Teacher,” “The Preparation of the Teacher,” “The Ideals of the Teacher.” The lecturer himself estimated that an audience of as many as fifty would be entirely satisfactory. As a matter of fact, somewhat more than one hundred appeared at the appointed hour. The Korean helpers who had distributed the tickets accounted for the discrepancy between the fact and their anticipations by the persistence of the rumor that I had come to Korea to take a permanent official position under the Japanese Government. [Indeed, this was the prevalent opinion in Korean official circles—and even among some of the foreigners—until the date of our leaving the country.] But the same question arose again: Had the Korean Christian helpers really told the truth and had they been faithful to their work; or had they dealt with their commission treacherously and brought back a false report? In either case it was obvious that the teachers of the public schools had diplomatically refrained from attendance, under circumstances which might indicate a relaxing of their anti-Japanese sentiments. However, certain of the Government officers now promised to send out word that attendance was commanded; and a large increase was expected at the next lecture. Whatever was the real cause of the first disappointment, the audiences were, in fact, about doubled at the following two lectures. They were also officially dignified by the presence of the Vice-Minister of Education, who, alas! soon afterward was arrested for contributing 1,200 yen to a conspiracy of assassination involving his own chief; he confessed to this intensity of his patriotism, underwent, according to current report, the preliminary examination by being beaten with rods, and was still in prison when we left Korea. As touching the moral efficiency of the lectures, however, it is only fair to say that the evil deed had been done some time previous to the culprit’s opportunity for benefiting by their influence.

At the close of this course on educational topics to the Korean teachers of Seoul, one of the officials in the Department of Education detained the audience by a long and somewhat impassioned address. In this he heartily thanked the lecturer and exhorted the teachers to a better fulfilment of their duties—at the same time lamenting bitterly the sad condition of educational interests in their native land. Then one of the Korean secretaries of the Y. M. C. A. complimented the audience on their excellent behavior while in the hall. This conduct of themselves had been in accordance with their profession as teachers. They had not yawned, or belched, or interrupted the speaker by leaving the room while he was speaking, after the customary behavior of Korean audiences of the uneducated classes. It should be said, however, that one of the many minor indirect benefits to the Korean people which are largely due to Christian missions is this: discipline in remaining fairly quiet and attentive while listening to others speaking. The unregenerate native manners in public meetings are most abominable.

Finally, after several disappointments and rebuffs, Mr. Gillett succeeded in obtaining Independence Hall for Sunday afternoon of April 21st. On our way out to the meeting and back again he revealed the fact that, on account of the opposition to me as the guest of Marquis Ito, he had been unable to get the meeting advertised as widely and effectively as he desired. Whether this was due to the unwillingness and unfaithfulness of his Korean helpers, or to the determination of the native edition of the Korean Daily News to oppose and traduce everything even remotely connected with Japan, I did not inquire. But I decided, and asked the secretary to communicate my decision to his native helpers, that this should be my last address to the Koreans in Seoul, unless invited by the Koreans themselves. Was there not here, I asked, a small body of leading Christian helpers with courage and manliness enough to set themselves against the prejudices of their countrymen by expressing spontaneously their willingness to hear truths about education, morals, and religion, from one who was the friend of the Japanese as well as their own nation’s friend?

In spite of the insufficient advertising, Independence Hall was fairly well filled. Some 1,500 to 1,600 were present; although perhaps 500 or 600 of the audience were boys, some of whom were not more than ten or twelve years of age. Much time was consumed in settling upon the floor in the front part of the hall these school-children as they arrived in groups, one after the other; and the exercises began more than an hour later than the time announced. The topic had been advertised as “The Five Conditions of National Prosperity”—these being, Industry, Art, Education, Morals, and Religion. Partly on account of somewhat heated feeling, and partly on account of cooler judgment as to what are the needs of the hour for Korea, I spoke with audacious plainness and with unaccustomed energy. Dr. Jones, who was acting as interpreter—moved, I think, by somewhat the same emotions—quite surpassed himself in vigor and in clearness, in a fine mingling of robustness with felicity of expression. The foreign auditors, including the interpreter himself, were inclined to be enthusiastic over the success of the meeting. For myself, there intervened a considerable period of distrust, both of the Koreans and of my ability to judge them fairly. Of one thing, however, I was becoming reasonably sure: the prophetic voice, exalting righteousness and openly condemning the vices of cowardice, lying, injustice, and cruel prejudice and race-hatred, is needed above all else in speech to the Koreans. I asked myself, and was unable to answer: Are the Christian agencies at work in Korea furnishing that voice, in a manner and measure to meet the need?

Going to the Lecture at Independence Hall.

The next morning, on returning from a walk with one of the foreign secretaries of the Young Men’s Association, we stood for some time upon the steps of Miss Sontag’s house discussing the decision of the day before. All the excuses for the Korean attitude toward any endeavors to help them which could, even in the remotest way, be connected with their anti-Japanese prejudices, were admitted; they were indeed “natural” (in the much-abused meaning of the word), but they were neither reasonable nor Christian. Besides, they were rendered particularly unmanly by the fact that these same Koreans were ready enough to profit, individually and collectively, by Japanese money and influence; and they were eager and crafty to use the religious institutions afforded them by Christian money, for the furthering of heathenish purposes and even criminal designs. The best thing which the “guest of Marquis Ito” could, therefore, do for the Koreans themselves was to let them know how, in his judgment, they were to be measured by the standards of morals and religion which they had professed to adopt. On going in to tiffin, somewhat late from this discussion, I found by my plate the cards of five Korean gentlemen, prominent in Christian circles, who had called in my absence. The next day information was received that these gentlemen had come to thank me for my previous work in their country’s behalf and to suggest their wish to have the work continued.

As a consequence of this implied invitation, one more public address was advertised for a Korean audience in Seoul. It was to be in the Association Hall, and its topic—“The Seven Cardinal Virtues.” On the evening of Friday, May 3d, some four hundred were present, including the Roman Catholic Archbishop, whose acquaintance I had made only two days before. Either because of the hot weather, or of the character of the address, or of the audience, the interest seemed less than at any of the previous lectures. The time to terminate the series of talks on topics so little stimulating and satisfying to the desire for “look-see,” and for emotional excitement, had plainly arrived. Probably, eight addresses on such serious topics, with an attendance averaging perhaps 500 to 600 each, ought at the present time in Korea to be gratifying to any speaker. However this may be, the address of May 3d was the last of my experiences with Korean audiences in Seoul.

Meantime, however, other invitations to speak in the capital city of Korea had been received and were waiting for their turn. Soon after our arrival, one of the Japanese pastors called to say that it had been arranged for me, by one of the teachers, to address the patronesses of a school for Korean girls bearing the name, and profiting by the favors, of Lady Om. Although other plans had previously been made, in order to save her reputation with the “leading lady” of Korea, a rebuke was sent to this teacher for engaging her speaker without first consulting him; but the invitation was accepted. [In justice to the Koreans, it should be said that the person guilty of this indiscretion was a Japanese. Indeed, to pledge the speaker, and even to select his time and topic for him, is a sort of morally doubtful enterprise, out of which even the New Japan has not as yet wholly emerged]. The talk at Lady Om’s School was in no respect a success. Although both substance and style were made as simple as possible, the Korean girl who had studied abroad and was, therefore, thought competent to interpret, completely failed in this office. And when the Japanese pastor, who had mediated the invitation, followed with an address in his native language which was to convey the substance of the same thought to the Japanese teachers and patronesses of the school, he delivered so prolonged and brilliant an oration that the speaker whose few simple words served as a text for it all, was obliged to commit a breach of etiquette by leaving before the customary sequence of cakes.

In addressing Japanese audiences in Seoul, as elsewhere in Korea and all over Japan, I felt entirely at home. It was characteristic of them in this foreign land, as it was in the home country at the same time, that they were, above all, desirous to hear the subjects discussed about which I most desired to speak. The day when the nation had expected a full salvation from “science” and military prowess, without morals, has happily gone by. Its leaders, whether in educational circles or in the army and navy, in civil service, and largely, too, in business, are becoming convinced that the “spirit” of Japan must be revived, retained, made more comprehensive, purified, elevated; if the triumphs of war are to be followed by the wished-for successes in the ensuing peace. Thus in Korea, as everywhere from Nagasaki to Sapporo, in primary schools, commercial schools, and in the university, I found the interest of the Japanese in ethical subjects supreme.

When, then, an invitation was received to be present at a banquet given by the “Economics Club,” of which Mr. Ichihara (manager of the Dai-Ichi Ginko or branches of the First Bank of Japan in Seoul) is president, and to speak there, I was glad of the opportunity—not only to meet friends, but also to express certain cherished thoughts on the relations of ethics and economics. The Marquis Ito was present at this meeting of the club for the first time. In a lengthy address, spoken with his usual careful “picking of words,” the Marquis emphasized the need that the Japanese should set before the Koreans an example of honesty and fairness in their economic relations. He dwelt upon the thought that the one hundred and seventy who were present, and who represented the principal Japanese business interests in Korea, should show how the Japanese national policy is based upon the principle of unselfishness; and how Japan has declared for, and means to stand for, “the open door.” In welcoming me he repeated, on this public occasion, what he had said in the privacy of the interview at Kyoto, with the following words: “Taking advantage of his visit to Japan, I have invited Professor Ladd, whom I have the honor and the pleasure of considering as a friend of several years standing, to come over here and favor me with his frank and independent views on the situation. What I want is independent views. I trust he knows this very well. I trust his observations will be of great help to me.”

In replying to the address of His Excellency, after apologizing to President Ichihara for criticising the school of economics in which he had been trained (Mr. Ichihara studied this subject in the United States), for failure to emphasize the important and unalterable relations which exist between moral principles and economical policy, I expressed my gratification at the triumph of the newer school which builds on history, psychology, and ethics. I then spoke of the importance of regarding moral principles as fundamental in all practical ways, for the most successful handling of the delicate political and economical, as well as social interests, of both Japan and Korea. The observations of both speakers to the same effect were seriously listened to and heartily commended by this influential group of Japanese financiers in Korea. Between these gentlemen and the unscrupulous and mischievous rabble of their countrymen, who poured into Korea at the close of the war with Russia, a grave distinction must constantly be made by those who would understand the situation there.

The Japanese ladies in Seoul have formed themselves into several flourishing societies, the most important of which, perhaps, is the “Ladies’ Patriotic Association.” This Association is not only useful as an organ for benevolent work among the widows and orphans of the Japanese soldiers, and among the soldiers now on service in Korea, but it has already done much to break down the barriers which exclude Korean women of the upper classes from similar offices, as well as those which separate the women of the two nationalities. It is, therefore, admirably adapted to further indirectly the purposes of the Resident-General in maintaining the honor and welfare of Japan by promoting the good of Korea. On Wednesday of the week following the address before the Economics Club, I spoke to some sixty Japanese ladies, and about the same number of gentlemen, under the auspices of this Association. The theme was the importance and value of relations of friendship between the two countries, as an appeal to the patriotism of those who must be relied upon to bring about these relations. A few Korean ladies also were present at this gathering. And when, at a collation which followed in the Japanese Club-House of Seoul, Mrs. Ladd made a short address to the ladies, a response in few words was made in Japanese by Mrs. Megata, the wife of the Financial Adviser to the Korean Government, and a yet longer one, in the same language, by Mrs. Yi Chi-yung, the wife of the then acting Korean Minister for Home Affairs. Such incidents as these may seem trivial, but they are really noteworthy as the beginnings of what may well grow into a satisfactory practical solution of the difficult problem of establishing a Japanese Protectorate over Korea in a way to secure the honor and welfare of both nations.

The remaining two addresses to Japanese audiences in Seoul were not particularly significant as bearing upon the interests I was trying to serve. They were, however, suggestive as to certain changes going on in Korea which are destined to assist in the redemption of the country. These were an address on an educational topic to about sixty teachers who met in the fine, large brick school-building which marks conspicuously the Japanese ideal in this matter; and a talk on the relation of religion to social reform, given in one of the Japanese churches to an audience of a union character, representing the Christian work among their own countrymen by pastors imported from Japan. An address at the annual meeting of the Bible Society, an address at a meeting of the Asiatic Society, and one or two other talks, completed my work of this character, so far as the city of Seoul was concerned.

It will be remembered that the more important work in which the Japanese Resident-General in Korea hoped I might be of some assistance could not be done merely by making public addresses, however well received by the Koreans themselves. It was evident that his plans for uplifting by pacific measures the economical and educational condition of the Korean people were being misunderstood and hindered, not only by those foreigners who had selfish interests to promote, but also by some who ought to co-operate in every unselfish way. These “anti-Japanese” foreigners were of several nationalities (so far as the diplomats and business men were concerned); but the missionaries were, for the most part, my own countrymen. In the complaint of Marquis Ito, there was never at any time the least trace of bitterness, although the fact was obvious that he felt the credit of his nation, as well as of his own administration, to be deeply concerned. But surely, if both Marquis Ito and the missionaries were striving to promote what was best for the cause of the Korean nation and of humanity in the Far East, the disclosure of this fact ought to make more easy the adjustment of the delicate relations involved in the different kinds and methods of their benevolent work. I knew that the Marquis desired this friendly understanding and cordial co-operation. I thought it right that foreign missionaries should be not less moved than was the Resident-General by the same desire. Union and sympathy, rather than opposition or indifference, ought to prevail between the industrial and educational interests and the more definitively moral and religious.

The larger aspects of the missionary problem in Korea will be briefly treated in another connection. At present it is enough to describe the conclusions on this subject at which I was forced to arrive, and to tell something of my personal experiences. There had, doubtless, been much provocation to form a poor opinion of the character and intentions of the Japanese populace which had crowded into the cities of Seoul and Pyeng-yang during and after the war with Russia. They had cheated and maltreated the Koreans and had brought suspicion and, in some instances, disgrace upon the fair fame of Japan. None of the other foreigners were readier to make accusation of this than were the reputable Japanese to confess and deplore the same thing. But all the robbery and oppression by these unfriendly foreigners was as nothing compared with what the Koreans had suffered from their own countrymen through hundreds of years. Moreover, at this very time, almost without exception, a Korean was to be found back of, or associated with, a Japanese in each scheme for swindling and in each act of injustice or oppression.

On the other hand, the conduct of some of the missionaries had not been altogether judicious or even fair and just. As a body they seemed inclined to be over-credulous and easy to deceive by the falsehoods and exaggerations of their own converts. Not unnaturally, but it would seem unwisely, they had been somewhat too extravagant in praise of the negative virtues of the Koreans, and somewhat too sparing in demanding the more manly moral qualities of sincerity, courage, veracity, and sturdy loyalty to justice and to truth. And—to quote expressions heard from the lips of some of the ladies—there had been too much talk with foreigners and before the natives, about the “dear Koreans”; and “We do not love the Japanese.” That certain letters home—in part private and not designed for publication by the writer, and in part written by missionaries themselves for the press, or by chance visitors or newspaper correspondents to make public stories told to them by the missionaries—had created strong impressions unfavorable to the success of the Japanese Protectorate, was not a matter of merely private information. Moreover, the connection, both implicit and obvious, between these workers in the moral and religious interests of Korea and the enterprises of Mr. Homer B. Hulbert and his colleagues in the alleged political interests of the Korean Court, could not fail to be interpreted by both foreigners and Koreans as hostile to the policy of the Japanese Government. Even as late as August, 1907, an open letter—than which anything more insulting or abusive of the Japanese nation has seldom been published—was written by a Church of England missionary.

Dr. Jones and I had talked over the situation and the policy of the missionary body, as touching the real and lasting advance of morals and religion in Korea, many times before the hour when the point of turning was reached. I had found him always frank, fair, and sympathetic with the difficult and complicated interests of both peoples. He had assured me that, personally, Marquis Ito was steadily gaining in the confidence of all the foreigners, including the missionaries, and even of the Koreans themselves. But the prejudice and bitterness of feeling toward the Japanese generally remained unchanged; and every one seemed to be doubting whether the policy of the Resident-General could win its way. I had steadily maintained the position that, whatever might have been true in the past, the welfare of Korea and the success of missions there, depended upon a positive and hearty co-operation of all the factors common to both forms of good influence. I had previously told Marquis Ito that, in my judgment, the Christian movement now in progress would be the most important help toward the success of his policy in uplifting the Korean people. His Excellency, I had said to Dr. Jones, had held out the hand to the missionaries; for them, through fear of losing influence among the Koreans, or especially at the Korean Court, to refuse to take this hand, seemed to me not only unwise but in a measure un-Christian. Without the success of the powerful influence wielded by the Resident-General for the economical and educational improvement of Korea—for developing its industries, founding schools and hospitals, making the conditions of life more comfortable and sanitary, purging the corrupt court, and securing law, order, and the administration of justice in the country magistracies—preaching, Bible-teaching, and colporteurage, must remain forever relatively unavailing. Moreover, I was becoming convinced that a large proportion of the present interest of the Koreans in the missionary movement had, either in pure or mixed form, political motives behind it.

It was on Thursday, May 2d, that the Korean Daily News—the paper whose most obvious purpose seemed to be, in its English edition, to foster prejudice against the Japanese and to obstruct the policy of the Resident-General, and in its native edition to mislead the Koreans and excite them to sedition—published the following “telegrams about Korea from American papers” as likely to “prove of local interest” (sic). [It should be remembered that this date was only some ten days after the assassination of the Minister of the Household Department, Mr. Pak Yong-wha, and somewhat more than a month after the attempted assassination of the Minister of War.] “American missionaries writing from Korea recently tell of a most intolerable state of affairs in that country where the Japanese have been acting in such a high-handed manner as to cause even the humble native to revolt. The Emperor is held a prisoner and appears to be in daily terror of his life. Nor have the aggressions of the Japanese been confined to the natives of Korea. Americans, engaged chiefly in mining enterprises, had it plainly demonstrated that Korea is no place for them and that they would better move out. A representative of these mining interests” (the true story of this ‘mining representative’ will be told elsewhere) “is now either at or on his way to Washington to see if they cannot obtain redress from their government. This latest development in the Korean situation, the boycott, will doubtless precipitate matters in Korea.”

These “telegrams,” published May 2d in Seoul, bore date of San Francisco, April 1st. It so happened that Dr. Jones came to my office on the early morning of the date of this publication. Finding that he had not read the article in the Korean Daily News, I called his attention to it; and I then spoke more plainly about the urgent necessity of a change of attitude on the part of the missionaries than I had ever spoken before. It was apparent, I urged, that the negative, non-committal position would no longer suffice. Instead of its being justifiable under the plea of not engaging in politics, the very reverse was true. The missionaries in Korea, either unwittingly or half-willingly, were being used, both in Korea and in the United States, to foster anti-Japanese feeling as supported by exaggerations, falsehoods, and only half-truths. They were thus, I feared, helping to encourage the very worst and most dangerous elements in both countries. There was real danger that, if this course was persisted in, the peaceful policy of Marquis Ito, with its patient and generous effort to promote the development of the Korean people, might be discouraged. And if the mailed fist were invited, or seemed necessary, to maintain the reasonable and unalterable intention of Japan never again to leave Korea to be a prey to foreign intrigues against herself and to the degradation of its own corrupt government, the cause of Christian missions in Korea surely would not fare better than it easily could by establishing friendly relations of co-operation with the existing Protectorate. The events of October, 1895, and of the following years, ought not to be so easily forgotten.

Two days later the following, under the heading of “Marquis Ito and Christian Missionaries,” appeared in the Seoul Press. “His Excellency Marquis Ito received Dr. George Heber Jones and Dr. W. B. Scranton on Thursday afternoon. The work of the churches in Korea was discussed and the visitors assured His Excellency that the reports, reproduced from American papers, claiming that the Christian missionaries were antagonistic to the Resident-General and his policy in Korea, neither represented their personal sentiments nor those of their colleagues; that His Excellency might feel assured of their sincere sympathy and co-operation in all measures looking toward the betterment of the Korean people. The missionaries make it a rule to stand aloof from political matters, finding in the moral and spiritual uplift of the Korean people full scope for activity.”

“His Excellency assured the visitors that he gave no credence to the reports thus circulated, and that he entertained no suspicion nor doubt of the missionaries in Korea. He fully recognized the value of the work they were doing for the moral and spiritual betterment of the Koreans, and wished them every success.”

This public announcement of the establishment of friendly relations between the Marquis Ito and an influential portion of the missionary body in Korea was drawn up in semi-official fashion. The gentlemen who undertook the duty of making the advances toward the Resident-General were convicted—as is every one who comes into anything approaching familiar relations with him—of the complete sincerity of his purpose toward the people of Korea, and of his frank and fair-minded policy toward all foreign interests. The Marquis himself, after the interview, requested that the substance of it might be made known to the public. Each party prepared with care the few words which declared this unselfish alliance between the representative of His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor of Japan, in Korea and these representative teachers of religion, in the common effort to promote the industrial, educational, moral, and religious welfare of a hitherto unhappy nation. Such an alliance—as we may reasonably hope—will contribute to the reputation for wisdom and unselfishness of both parties to it. At any rate, as soon appeared, the immediate results were in the direction of an enlarged future good.

CHAPTER IV
LIFE IN SEOUL (CONTINUED)

The winter and spring of 1907 in Korea were, from the point of view of one interested in this kind of politics, a very lively period, even for a country traditionally accustomed to similar performances. Four attempts at assassination of the Ministry—one of which was successful; daily disclosures of intrigue, plot and counter-plot; revolts against the country magistrates which took the form of refusal to pay taxes, of attacks upon the police, and of highway robbery; plans for plundering the resources of the nation under plausible pretence of schemes for “promoting” the nation’s resources; foolish excitements selfishly fostered by writers for the press who had their own interests to secure; and quite as foolish, but less selfish, endeavors for increase of public welfare, by those benevolently inclined; secret arrangements for the despatch of the unfortunate delegation to the Hague, accompanied by stealings from the impoverished royal treasury to the extent of several hundred thousand yen; and, finally, a change, not only in the personnel of the Ministry but in its very constitution and mode of procedure, which amounted to a bloodless revolution—these and other like events were crowded into this one half-year. Meantime, especially after the return of the Resident-General, the foundations of a new industrial and educational development were being laid; and the arrangements for a systematic administration of law and justice were quietly made ready. An extensive religious revival was in progress—with phenomena corresponding to those familiar to students of such subjects, when the moral power of a higher religion first makes itself felt among a people who are ignorant devil- and spirit-worshippers and are habitually negligent or corrupt in respect of the manliest virtues. All this ferment was both caused, and pervaded in its characteristics, by the Korean national hatred of the race that was destined to subdue and, as we hope, redeem them.

During Marquis Ito’s absence in Japan those opposed to the workings of the recently established Japanese Protectorate over Korea were indeed busily engaged. Their various enterprises took the several forms mentioned above. As to assassination, one unsuccessful attempt had been made some time before the Marquis’ return to Korea. A beautiful box of nickel was sent as a present to acting Prime Minister Pak. No one of the Korean Court, being wise in their generation, ventured to examine its contents or even to raise the lid of the box. Subsequently the Resident-General examined it himself. It proved to be an ingenious contrivance by which the turning of the key and lifting the lid would pull the trigger of a pistol and explode the powder with which the box was filled. Both box and pistol were of American manufacture. The intention of the pretended present, which it was doubtless hoped would be the more eagerly accepted and naïvely dealt with, since it ostensibly came from so “friendly” a country, needs no investigation. The precise source of the murderous gift will perhaps never be accurately known.

The day but one before our arrival in Seoul another unsuccessful attempt at political murder was made—this time in daylight and upon one of the principal thoroughfares. The object of attack was Mr. Kwon, the Minister of War, who was riding in a jinrikisha surrounded by his official guard. The following account is taken from the Seoul Press of Friday, March 29th:

The Korean Minister of War had a narrow escape on Monday from a daring attempt on his life. The would-be assassins—there were two or probably more—succeeded in getting away from the Japanese policeman in the Korean service, who seems to have had a most desperate struggle with them and some people who came to their assistance (that is, the assistance of the assassins). He, however, succeeded in taking the pistol, which had been fired twice upon the Minister, happily without any effect. One of the accomplices was shortly after arrested by another Japanese policeman in the Korean service in the vicinity of the Minister’s residence. According to a statement made by this prisoner, he belongs to a band of eighteen men from South Korea, who are alleged to have recently entered Seoul for the purpose of assassinating the Cabinet Ministers. These men are further alleged to be the remnants of the so-called “volunteer” insurgents of last year. There seems, however, reason to suspect the truth of this statement; it is not unlikely that motives of a political character have been adduced to cover a crime prompted by personal enmity or rivalry. Such things have constantly occurred in this country in recent years. Rumors are rife as to the true origination of the dastardly attempt on Mr. Kwon’s life, but we do not consider it necessary to take any notice of them; they are mostly of such an extraordinary character that they will certainly be dismissed as utterly inconceivable by anybody not accustomed to the peculiar ways of politics in Seoul.

One remark should be added to complete this public account; and one other to enable the observer to read between the lines. There were Korean body-guards and policemen and citizens at hand; but only one Japanese policeman made any attempt to save the Minister’s life or to arrest the assassins. The rumors rife, so inconceivable to “anybody not accustomed” to the “politics” of Seoul, suggested, as usual, that it would be well not to examine too closely into the plot, lest some one might be uncovered who stood “higher up” in the court circles of Korea.

The third attempt at assassination was limited to the discovery and immediate flight of the intruder as he was trying to climb the wall of the enclosure of acting Prime Minister Pak. But the fourth attempt did not terminate so harmlessly. In brief, the history of this political murder was as follows (its date was April 21st):

On Sunday evening, Mr. Pak Yong-hwa, Director of the Audit Bureau of the Imperial Household Department, was assassinated at his house. On that evening Mr. Pak had nearly a dozen visitors, and while he was conversing with them shortly after ten o’clock, the card of another visitor, not known to him, was brought in. Mr. Pak saw the man in a separate room, and no sooner had he begun to talk with him than another man rushed into the room through a window and stabbed Mr. Pak in the right breast, inflicting a wound four inches deep. Seeing their victim drop mortally wounded, the assassins hurriedly left, discharging a few shots from their revolvers to prevent pursuit. They are said to have been attired in foreign dress, and from their accent it is inferred that they are most probably from Keng-Sang-do.

The unfortunate Minister died from his wound while in the palanquin on the way to the Japanese hospital. Marquis Ito, supposing from the news received by telephone that acting Prime Minister Pak was the victim, started at once for the hospital; but learning, before reaching there, of the real name of the victim, and of his death, he returned to the Residency. The next day H. M. the Emperor caused a chamberlain to pay a visit of condolence to Mr. Pak’s residence; but the city of Seoul and the country of Korea went about its business of intrigue or its work of tilling the fields, as though nothing unusual had happened. The distinction between such events here and in Russia should be borne in mind by one trying to estimate their significance. In Korea there is no immediate tangible interest, affecting life, liberty, or property, for the individual, at stake, to justify violence. Where the real reasons are not thoroughly selfish and corrupt—as indeed in most cases they are—a misguided patriotism, with a large mixture of hypocritical sentimentality, is the motive for the political murders of Korea. The real patriots, if their feeling is intense enough and their courage sufficient, commit suicide; and those of less degree of intensity refuse to accept office under a foreign protectorate!

In general, it had hitherto been only the court officials themselves who much cared as to what persons were selected by the Emperor for the different high offices in Seoul itself. They, too, had been chiefly interested in the more serious question as to who it is of these officials that gets himself assassinated. The peasants and pedlers, who are the travelling merchants in the country districts, care only about the local magistrates and about the bearable amount of their “squeezes.” But under the administration of Marquis Ito assassination of officers whose character and official acts sustain such important relations to the vital interests of both Japan and Korea, cannot now be allowed its traditional impunity. Investigation into the authors and promoters of this plot, therefore, quietly began and was carried as far upward as seemed desirable or necessary. According to the Korean Daily News, the three Koreans—La In-yung, Aw Ki-ho, and Kim In-sik—who on April 1st “went to the Supreme Court in Seoul and gave themselves up, stating that they were the ones who had tried to kill the Minister of War,” “seem to have been actuated by no selfish impulses.” The same paper calls attention to the claim that the plan was to kill all the five Cabinet Ministers “who signed the last treaty with Japan”; and also to the fact that these same men had been to Japan to memorialize the Japanese Emperor with reference to the condition of Korea under the protectorate of the empire whose head was His Majesty himself. This is as far as the paper cared to go at this time in apologizing for the attempt at wholesale murder; but there is no doubt that the attempt itself was not at all displeasing to the court officials of the other party than the one in power or to the people generally.

The truer story is as follows: The searchings of the police after those who attempted the assassination of the Minister of War resulted in picking up a number of them from various quarters. These rascals were cross-questioned and one of them confessed and implicated as back of the plot financially, no less important a personage than the ex-Minister of the Imperial Household, Yi Yong-tai. This is the man who was once prevented by foreign influence, on account of his thoroughly evil reputation, from going to Washington as Minister from Korea. He is known as a past-master in all kinds of craft and corruption, thoroughly untrustworthy; although he had formerly been elevated by the Emperor to the position of Minister of the Interior. Now, it so happened that at the very time of the examination of the assassins, this same gentleman was in an adjoining room where he and those with him could easily hear everything said in answer to the cross-questioning. It is no wonder, then, that Mr. Yi Yong-tai confessed that he himself was indeed one of the band of patriots who had attempted the gallant measure of paying hired assassins to make way with their political rivals—as I have already said, a recognized, legitimate political measure throughout Korean history.

The progress and result of the investigations into this plot of assassination are so significant that this summary account from the Seoul Press is well worthy of reflective consideration:

The authors of the late unsuccessful attempt on the life of Mr. Kwon, the War Minister, have at last been established. The plot is of much greater magnitude than originally supposed, and more than thirty men are now under arrest. The leaders of the conspiracy are two South Chul-la-do men, La In-yung and Aw Ki-ho by name. It is stated that they are men of learning and command some respect among their neighbors. Some days ago they surrendered themselves to the Supreme Court and confessed all that had happened. From their own statements it appears that the events which led them to the dastardly attempt are rather historical than temporary. Since the days of the Japan-China war they have been imbued with the idea that the peace of Korea could be preserved only through the separate independence of Japan, China, and Korea. Guided by this idea they did all things in their power to prevent Russia from gaining ascendancy in this country after that war; and on the outbreak of the Russo-Japanese war they prayed, so they say, for the victory of Japan, as her Imperial declaration of war made reference to the maintenance of the territorial integrity of the peninsula. In June, 1905, the two men, with one Yi, a school teacher, went over to Tokyo and made representations to the Household Department and Cabinet Ministers, petitioning for Korea’s independence. On learning from the Japanese press that the conclusion of a treaty was on the tapis between Japan and Korea, which would transfer the conduct of Korean foreign affairs into the hands of the former, they immediately wired to Mr. Pak, the Premier, requesting him not to sign the Convention, even if his life were threatened. The Convention, however, soon became an accomplished fact in November, 1905, and the three left Tokyo for home in the next month. But they soon found it impossible to enjoy tranquillity at home. Japan began steadily to perform that which the Convention of November, 1905, provided for, and they again crossed to Japan, in April, 1906. They vainly attempted to persuade some Japanese politicians to start a movement for the realization of their cherished ideal. Discouraged by another failure, they once more returned to Seoul, and on the initiative of La In-yung, they came to the terrible decision that the Premier and four Ministers of State, who were responsible for the conclusion of the Convention, should be assassinated in order to admit of the present Government being replaced by a new administration, composed of men of greater ability and capable of forcing Japan to restore to Korea the conduct of her own affairs. They were thus awaiting the advent of a good opportunity.

On the other hand, a survivor of the Chi Ik-hyun rebellion, named Pak Tai-ha, with Kim Tong-pil, arrested on Tuesday, and a few others discontented with the present régime, were conspiring here to raise another rebellion; and La and Aw, happening to come in contact with these men, a special friendship was soon contracted between them. Pak and his associates were prevailed upon by La and Aw to abandon their own plan and join the plot against the Government in power. Here stepped in another person, by name Kim In-sik, hailing from North Chul-la-do. Having many acquaintances among the officials of the Government, especially among those now out of power, Kim was asked to raise a fund necessary for the achievement of their common cause; and he succeeded in drawing a sufficient sum from the discontents. Yi Yong-tai, ex-Minister of the Imperial Household, now under arrest, headed the subscription list by contributing 1,700 yen, and this was followed by 1,200 yen by Min Hyung-sik, Vice-Minister of Education, who was arrested on Thursday night, through the medium of Chi Ik-chin, Chief of the Accounts Section of the Imperial Guards Bureau in the Household Department, who, in turn, was also arrested on Thursday night. A few minor contributions were made by ex-officials, making a total of 3,400 yen.

The date originally fixed for the assassination of the five Ministers was the 1st of the first moon, when all the high dignitaries proceed to the Palace to offer their congratulations to the Emperor. They hired a number of men in Chul-la-do and Kyöng-sang-do for the purpose; but the plan miscarried owing to the belated arrival of these men. The 25th of May was then chosen. Some fifty men came up to town in time from the above two provinces, and five bands, each under the command of a leader, were posted along the roads leading to the Palace from the respective residences of the Premier, Ministers of the Interior, War, Education and Justice, and Mr. Yi Kun-tak. The company commanded by Aw Ki-ho, which was to do away with Mr. Pak, failed through the hesitation of the hired men; but Yi Hong-tai’s company, charged with the killing of the War Minister, had courage enough to make an attempt. Their efforts, however, proved abortive, and led to the detection of the plot.

An analysis of this group of Korean officials and commoners, bent on wholesale political murder of their own countrymen in office, because the latter were avowedly committed to a reform of the economical and judicial condition of Korea, without distinction as to the ill success, or even, in certain particular cases, the unfaithfulness of these “reformers” shows it to have been composed of three classes of persons. There were, first, the high-class officials who, with one exception, were themselves at the time among the party of the “outs”; and who undoubtedly found in this fact the chief crime of the Japanese administration against themselves. There were, second, the misguided patriots who, beginning with an honorable but vain unwillingness to admit the incapacity of their country to manage its own affairs, had sunken to the condition of prejudice and hatred which made them plan to murder their own cabinet ministers, because the latter had, however reluctantly, admitted this incapacity and acted accordingly. And there was, third, that basest of all criminals, the cold-blooded, unprincipled, hired assassin.

The administration of justice in an even-handed manner is peculiarly difficult in Korea; and, indeed, until recently no serious attempt at such a thing has ever been made. In the case of this complicated plot for assassinating the entire Korean Cabinet, it should be borne in mind that several of its chief promoters were very highly connected; they were, indeed, connected well up towards His Imperial Majesty on his throne. Considering this fact, the issue when reached showed a marked improvement already established in judicial affairs. It was indeed rumored—and perhaps correctly—that Mr. Min Hyung-sik, the Vice-Minister of Education, underwent preliminary examination, in the old-fashioned Korean style, by being cruelly beaten. And the anti-Japanese press tried to make it count against Marquis Ito’s measures for judicial reform that he had not prevented the traditional Korean mode of torturing suspects! But this way of examining criminals was still legal in Korea. It was also said that Mr. Yi Yon-yung, chief of the Supreme Court, sent in his resignation, on the ground that, as his younger brother was one of the five ministers who were doomed to death by the assassins, it would not be fair for him to try the case.

At the time of our leaving Seoul the trial of these conspirators was not finished. But on Wednesday, July 3d, at 4 P. M., the Supreme Court returned judgment upon twenty-nine persons who had been tried and convicted of connection with the plot to assassinate those Korean officials who took part in the Japanese-Korean Convention of November, 1905. Three of the hired murderers who, besides this crime, were found to have been previously guilty of armed robbery, were sentenced to death. The others received sentences of exile (a penalty feared more than death by many Korean officials), for periods of from five to ten years. Among those to whom the longest sentence of exile was measured out, were the notable names of Yi Yong-tai, ex-Minister of the Imperial Household; Soh Chang-sik, ex-Minister Resident, and my auditor at the lectures on education, Min Hyung-sik, Vice-Minister of Education.

Even while the examination of this group of assassins was going on, and after the change in the Ministry had been effected, another plot against the lives of the same men was discovered. This conspiracy was, however, less important as respects the rank of the persons involved and less extensive in the number of those participating. Most of the ten Koreans thought to be concerned in it belonged to the Yang-ban class, or the “gentry,” and all were followers of Confucianism. The opinion prevailed that the motive of these conspirators was scarcely to any degree patriotic; but that their principal object was to collect money from the disappointed political groups of the capital. At all events, seven of the criminals were arrested, the plot broken up thoroughly, and another lesson given to Korean officialdom that assassination is no longer to be so sure a path to official promotion and Imperial influence as it has too often been in the past history of the country.

An amusing but significant incident illustrative of Korean official procedure came under my own observation. Prince Tokugawa, who had been staying somewhat more than a week at Miss Sontag’s, before leaving Korea, gave an “at home” to about one hundred and fifty invited guests. Soon after the company had assembled, and while the ladies were in the drawing-room and the gentlemen in the large outer, enclosed verandah, suddenly the electric lights went out and the company were left in total darkness. The gentleman with whom I was conversing at the moment and I looked through the glass doors of the verandah and observed that the electric lights outside were still burning. At this discovery my companion, who had had some experience in the ways of Seoul diplomacy, became somewhat disturbed, and remarked: “Such things sometimes happen by previous arrangement.” Almost immediately after the sudden darkness came on, a servant emerged from the dining-hall with a lighted taper, and crossing to the drawing-room proceeded to light the numerous candelabra. At the heels of the servant followed Prince Eui Wha, pale with fright, on his way from the verandah to the drawing-room, where he slipped behind a barricade of ladies and planted himself against the wall. It should be remembered in explanation of so singular behavior that this Prince, although he is the Emperor’s son by a concubine, is hated by no fewer than three different parties; these are the Min family, who favor the succession of the son of the Queen; the party of Lady Om, who would gladly see her young son come to the throne; and the violently anti-Japanese crowd who believe that Prince Eui Wha is too much under Japanese influences. It had been rumored previously that a letter had threatened him with assassination. However this may be, the present was not the expected occasion; for examination showed that the burning-out of a fuse was the real cause of the sudden darkness: and a servant repaired the connection so that, just as a workman hastily summoned from the electric plant, entered the front door, the lights as suddenly came on again.

The plots for assassination undoubtedly contributed to the causes which had already for some time been at work to make necessary a change in the Ministry. In spite of the enmity which the existing Cabinet had excited on account of its unwilling part in the Convention of November, 1905, it had held together for a remarkably long period of time. Not all its members, however, were equally sincere or efficient in carrying out the reforms to which they had pledged themselves; at least one of its members had been accused of a notable attempt at the old-time manner of corrupt administration of office. The Il Chin-hoi people, or members of a numerous so-called “Independence Society,” had been “heckling the Cabinet Ministers” by accusing them of venality and incapacity. In a memorial forwarded to the Government by its committee, the beginning read: “We herewith write you and enumerate your faults”; the memorial ended with the amusingly frank declaration: “The only thing for you Cabinet Ministers to do is to resign your posts and retire into private life. Your armed body-guards are entirely useless. If you do your duties assiduously and honestly, every one will love you; but if you pursue idle and vicious courses, every man’s hand will be against you.” Moreover, the acting Prime Minister Pak, although of good intentions, had not developed the ability to lead and control his colleagues, and he was probably acting wisely when he insisted on having his resignation accepted. The resignation of their chief involved the resignations of all and the formation of a new Ministry—although not necessarily of a Ministry composed wholly of new members.

On returning to “Maison Sontag” about ten o’clock (Wednesday, May 22d) from dining out we found our hostess rather worn in body and mentally disturbed; she had herself just reached home after some seven hours of continuous service in the Palace. Mademoiselle also appeared anxious about the comfort and health of the Marquis Ito, who had himself been there during a similar long period, and who had eaten and drunk nothing except a sandwich and a glass of claret sent in by her to His Excellency. The resignation of Premier Pak had been tendered on the Monday previous. The next morning but one, the Seoul Press, published the following announcement:

Marquis Ito’s audience with the Emperor of Korea on Wednesday was a protracted one, it being nearly ten o’clock in the evening before His Excellency left the palace. During the five hours that he was with His Majesty, the old cabinet was dismissed and a new one called into existence. The new Ministry thus formed is composed as follows:

As the same paper subsequently remarked, this change of government, which had taken place with a quite unequalled promptitude and quiet, followed upon a conversation in which the “Resident-General spoke to the Emperor on the general situation in a remarkably frank and outspoken manner.”

The substance of this conversation between Marquis Ito and the Korean Emperor in this memorable interview was probably somewhat as follows: His Majesty was reminded of the Marquis’ regret that a change of Ministry had become necessary; for under existing circumstances it was desirable to avoid as much as possible the friction likely to accompany such a change. But Minister Pak insisted on resigning and the others, of course, must follow his example. Now the history of the country showed, as the Emperor well knew, that changes in the Cabinet were a signal for all manner of confusion in the Government, caused by the intrigue of parties contending for the control. Promptness of action would alone prevent this. His Excellency wished to remain in the palace until the new Ministry was constituted. Under existing circumstances it was most desirable that the new Prime Minister should be a man who could be trusted; and that, in order to secure internal harmony and freedom from intrigue within the Cabinet itself, he should have a choice in the selection of his colleagues. He should also have a policy, should explain it to the others, and thus secure their intelligent and hearty co-operation and support. In His Excellency’s opinion, Mr. Yi Wan-yong, the then acting Minister of Education, was the man, of all others, most suitable for the position of Premier. This advice—accompanied, as it doubtless was, by words of plain but friendly warning as to the consequences of continuing the old-time policy of intrigue, deceit, and submission to the counsels of base-born and unscrupulous fellows, who were always planning to deceive and rob the Emperor in order to profit themselves—was finally followed.

The Ministry of Agriculture, Commerce and Industry, which for practical importance stood next to that of the Prime Minister, and which had been rather unworthily filled by its previous occupant, was for the time being combined with the Prime Minister’s. Soon after, the Minister of Justice and the Minister of Finance of the new Cabinet insisted upon resigning, and Mr. Cho Chung-yung and Mr. Ko Yong-hui were appointed to the vacant positions. At the same time the vacant portfolio which had been temporarily left in the hands of the Prime Minister was given to Mr. Song Pyong-chun. With these changes and this additional appointment a new Cabinet was arranged in the briefest possible time, without popular excitement, and without opportunity for corrupt intrigue.

An analysis of the personnel of the new Ministry shows that it was composed of comparatively young men and of men who had, on the whole, previously sustained a fair reputation. It also was much more obviously a reform Cabinet; its material was both more mouldable and more homogeneous. The Home Minister had been the President of “Song-kyun College” (a Confucian institution); the War Minister, who was speedily made a Major-General, had received a thorough military education in Japan and had been director of the Korean Military Academy. The new Minister of Education had at one time been Vice-Minister in the same department.

Almost immediately the new Cabinet, in accordance with the significant decision to hold a Council every Tuesday at the official residence of the Resident-General, met to shape a more definite public policy. A full report of the speech made to them on this occasion by Marquis Ito, and of the response made by Premier Yi, was published for Korea, Japan, and all the world to read. In this address the Marquis claimed that he had now, since his arrival one year ago, acted in perfect good faith, with the immovable intention to do all in his power to cement friendship between Japan and Korea, and to develop the latter’s resources. The most urgent need for Korea at present was a reformed administration. Reviewing the history of the past thirty years in the Far East, with which his own experiences had made him particularly familiar, he recalled before them his persistent advocacy of peaceful measures as opposed to those of a punitive war. But it was for Korea herself to say whether such measures should prevail as would insure her independence in home affairs and peaceful self-development, or not. If the present Cabinet did not agree with him, let them frankly and bravely say, No! If they concurred in his opinion, let them free themselves of selfish motives and unite in bringing about the common good. To this address of Marquis Ito, Mr. Yi, the Premier, replied in behalf of his colleagues. After thanking the Resident-General for his advice, he promised that the new Ministry would unite under his guidance, and “despite all obstacles and in the face of any dangers that might lie in the way, would endeavor to attain their object—the best good of their country.”

Other measures followed rapidly, all of which tended to constitute a Cabinet which should be a really effective administrative body, relatively free from court intrigue and from the fear of internal treachery. These measures, taken together, secured a new official system, the beginnings of real government for the first time in the history of Korea, as the following quotation will show:

According to the new system the present Council of State is to be called hereafter the Cabinet, and the President of the Council of State the Prime Minister. The respective Ministers of State shall give their advice to the Emperor, and be responsible for the management of important matters of State. All laws, imperial edicts, the budget, the final account, any and all expenditure that is not provided for in the budget, the appointment, dismissal and promotion of Government officials and officers, amnesty and pardon, and other affairs of State, shall require the deliberation and consent of all the Ministers of State as well as the counter-signature of them all. In short, the new system aims at the enlargement of the power of the Government in order to enable it to stand independent of outward influence.

How complete a bloodless revolution was accomplished in this quiet and almost unnoticed way will be made more apparent later on when it can be viewed in its larger historical and political settings. That His Majesty the Korean Emperor did not like the change, needs scarcely to be said. The enlargement of the power of the Government meant the diminishing of the Imperial power to dispose of the offices, the possessions, not only of the Crown but also of individuals and of the nation, and the lives of the subjects, without regard to law, order, justice, or the semblance of equity. There is equally little need to say that the Yang-bans and the corrupt courtiers and local magistrates, as well as the court-eunuchs and sorceresses, were in the opposition. But only by such changes is to be constituted the true “Passing of Korea,” in a manner to commend itself to every genuine patriot and to all foreigners who honestly care for the good of the Koreans and for the welfare of the Far East.

The Emperor at first was reported to have attacks of being “indisposed,” which prevented his seeing the Ministers when they came for consultation, or for the imperial sanction to their acts under the new régime. But, on the whole, his health gradually so improved that he was able to accept the situation with more apparent acquiescence, if not inner complacency. And the fright which soon arose over the serious consequences that were to follow his alleged Commission of Koreans and their “foreign friend” to enter formal protest against Japan at The Hague Peace Conference, at least for the time being made the humiliations suffered from his own subjects at home the easier to be borne.

According to unfailing Korean custom, it was to be expected that the ex-Ministers would become at once opponents of their successors in office and powerful factors in the intrigues designed to destroy the influence of the latter with the Emperor. The success of the new Ministry, especially in the matter of those reforms which made Marquis Ito’s administration so obnoxious to the ruling classes, was therefore in peril from the Ministry that had resigned. But influence of a private and suspicious character with His Majesty had become, under the new régime, less important and less likely to be profitable; and the ex-Ministers were not only to be rendered innocuous, even if any of them might at any time be disposed to do harm, but were also themselves to be committed by motives of personal interest to a more responsible, relatively reformed mode of administering national affairs. The new Korean Government decided to “create” the office of “Councillor in the Privy Council”; the ex-Ministers were themselves promptly appointed to this office. They were given comfortable salaries, and three of them—including the one who had been publicly reported as having put on a coat-of-mail and secreted himself in his own house, through fear of assassination, at the time of his resignation—were sent on a tour of inspection to Japan. Here they were received in audience by His Imperial Majesty the Emperor of Japan, and so well treated that they might reasonably be expected to return to their own country with a spirit of hearty co-operation in measures for reforming the condition of their own country after the Japanese model.

Among the other events of the spring months of 1907 was one which, while in itself considered, was relatively unimportant, was destined to become of no small political influence upon the Japanese policy in Korea and upon the relation of the Emperor and the court circle to that policy. This was the sudden departure, after selling his effects at auction, of Mr. Homer B. Hulbert. It does not belong to the story we have to tell, to speak of the previous history of this gentleman in Korea, or of his views on historical subjects when involving the character of the Japanese, except so far as the statement of the facts and truths of history makes such reference—mostly indirect—indispensable. But on this particular occasion what transpired of Mr. Hulbert’s transactions with the Emperor is so intimately connected with the political events of the period that some special mention of them cannot properly be omitted.

Immediately on my return from Chemulpo, Wednesday, May 8th, I found the excitement of the day was over the following questions: “What was Mr. Hulbert’s motive for leaving Seoul so suddenly? Where is he going? and What is his business?” Now the Korean Daily News, the violently anti-Japanese paper which was currently believed to receive the support of Mr. Hulbert, in the forms of friendship with its editor, writing some of its editorials, and interest in its receiving subsidies, had just published as a despatch from Paris (dated May 3d) the following illuminating statements: “Korea will also participate in The Hague Peace Conference”; but then again: “It is reported that Japan will represent Korea at the Conference.” The conjecture, therefore, was very promptly made by those in the diplomatic service in Seoul that the Emperor had again given another large sum of money to the same hands, with the same hope, as formerly, of procuring foreign assistance or even intervention. This was, however, hard to credit even by those most suspicious; for, from the Japanese point of view, such a transaction would have been on the recipient’s part very like “obtaining money under false pretences,” and on the giver’s part, a breach of the compact with Japan which might seriously impair, or even endanger, the imperial interests. That such a commission was a breach of treaty-obligations will be made perfectly clear when we come to narrate the true history of the compact made in November, 1905.

Inquiry resulted only in finding that Mr. Hulbert’s real plans in going, and even his reasons for going at all, had not been confided to any of his most intimate friends. His Korean associates, outside of the very few higher officials that might be in the secret, held the absurd opinion that he had been bought off from his devotion to them by the Marquis Ito, to whose official residence he had resorted for a conference and an agreement as to terms. To the other foreigners he had assigned the condition of his family affairs as the reason for his removal. To one of his more intimate friends among the missionaries he had claimed that, having heard of a wealthy American who might be induced to give a large sum of money to found an educational institution in Korea, he was going to try to secure the gift. The only points of agreement were that the journey was to be made over the Siberian Railway, and that there was to be a considerable stop in St. Petersburg. In a quite unexpected but entirely authentic way it became known to me within a few hours that Mr. Hulbert had indeed gone from Seoul with a large gift of money from His Majesty and with an important commission to execute. Although the precise amount of the imperial gift continued for some time to be variously estimated and reported, and although its precise uses may never be inquired into—not to say made public; that a Commission appeared at The Hague, and its fate, are now matters of the world’s political history. As such, it will be referred to elsewhere.[3]

It would be a great mistake, however, to suppose that Seoul had no other charms for us as visitors than the opportunity for delivering lectures and for witnessing, from outside and inside points of view, the human puppets which suppose themselves to be defeating the plans of that Supreme Ethical Spirit who shapes the destiny of nations, in partnership with those who partake of the spirit with which He inspires the “men of good-will.” The Court intrigues, and even the assassination of the Ministry, had little disturbing effect upon foreign business or foreign social life in the capital of Korea. With the former it made no difference of practical importance beyond the temporary check, perhaps, to some promoting scheme which depended upon the personality of the Court favorites for its Imperial support. There was no particular reason why society should heed such familiar occurrences. The weather was fine; the luxuriant bloom of the Korean spring and the vivid and changeful coloring of the mountains surrounding Seoul, invited to out-of-doors entertainments; and no foreigner’s life was then in any danger. For, as to the last feature favoring open-air sociability, the foreign visitor or resident need have little fear within the city walls, so long as the mob is not aroused and in control. Aside from one or two articles in the Seoul Press, and the grave rebukes of the Resident-General, I neither heard, nor heard of, any voice raised against the immorality and crime of political intrigue and political assassination. There was at the time no Savonarola or Martin Luther in Korea. But, then, in what part of America, or country of Europe, is such a prophet now to be found? In Korea, as elsewhere, politics and morals seemed only remotely related, even in the minds of the teachers of religion.

The foreign society of Seoul, including, of course, the Japanese, is small, but homogeneous and agreeable. It is, indeed, composed of several nationalities and of varied occupations—from that of the shrewd and hardened diplomat to the unsuspecting but devout missionary. But whatever differences of views and habits, or more important oppositions, lie hidden beneath, when the gathering is social, there is a cordial interchange of courtesies and an appearance of good-will. There can be no doubt that much of this socially-uniting influence has its source in the will of the Japanese Resident-General; and just as little doubt that the Japanese Imperial treasury is somewhat heavily drawn upon for the expenses. But it is worth for Korea all that it costs—and more. Especially true is this, when we consider the effect which is had in this way upon the Korean upper classes themselves. Indeed, it is foreign social amenities and decencies, under the brave and efficient leadership of the lady in whose house we stayed, that have made the Korean court functions half-way tolerable, and that to this hour prevent the housekeeping of the Palace from relapsing into an intolerable condition of filth and disorder. But what the social functions that are now encouraged by the Resident-General are in a measure doing is chiefly valuable by way of bringing the Korean upper classes into apparently—and as, I believe, the event will prove, genuinely—friendly relations with the Japanese. This effect has already showed itself to a considerable extent in the case of the Korean gentlemen. Not only those who have been abroad, and those who are now going abroad (for the most part, to Japan), but even the others are coming to appreciate the value of more cleanly and elegant ways of enjoying one’s self socially than were conceivable by their ancestors. Gluttony, drunkenness, filthy habits and surroundings, seem less natural and attractive by comparison with a few degrees of higher social refinement. The hardest crust to break will doubtless be that which encompasses and crushes the Korean lady. In Japan there has never been anything quite comparable to the still present degrading influences bearing upon the womanhood of the upper classes in Korea. But while we were in Seoul, for the first time so far as known in its history, a Korean lady walked upon the streets, and after making several calls in this fashion, rode home in the electric car! Her companion was a Japanese lady, and the two were selling tickets to a public entertainment given in behalf of a benevolent enterprise. Being present ourselves at this same entertainment, we saw to our surprise quite one hundred Korean women, dressed in their native costume, enter the theatre, and seat themselves among the Japanese of their own sex. If this thing goes on, racial hatred is doomed. For soon it is to be hoped, or feared, according to one’s point of view, that Korean ladies will attend garden parties and, perhaps, finally, frequent afternoon teas and evening receptions, at which foreigners of both sexes are present. And this, I am sure, is a sight never as yet beheld by mortal eyes; at least my eyes saw no sign of its beginning as yet in the now half-opened “Hermit Kingdom.”

A few days after our arrival our host gave us an afternoon reception at the Residency House. It was a beautiful day; and the grounds, which had been decorated as it is difficult for other than the Japanese professionals to do, were beautiful as was the day. The first two hours were spent upon the hill above the Residence, from which there are fine and extensive views of Seoul and its environing mountains. There, in the several well-situated booths and tea-houses, light refreshments were served. There, too, we were introduced to the whole of Seoul “society,” some of whom we were glad to call our “friends,” when we parted from them nearly two months later. The Japanese officials, the foreign Consuls, with their wives and daughters, the Korean officials without their families, the Roman Catholic Archbishop and the Protestant missionaries, and a few of the leading business people, made up that sort of a gathering which is most thoroughly human and most interesting. A collation, with chatting and hand-shaking, in the Marquis’ apartments closed a delightful afternoon.

Of the various garden parties, luncheons, dinners, and receptions, which followed and not only enlivened the otherwise somewhat dull life of lecturing, reading, consulting, and observing, it is not necessary to speak in detail. The visit of Prince Tokugawa and his party to Seoul, which was extended for some ten days, was very properly made the occasion of a series of festivities, at most of which they were the guests of honor; but at the last of which—a reception given in Miss Sontag’s house—Prince Tokugawa was himself the host. The unaffected friendly bearing of these Japanese gentlemen toward the Koreans, with whom they were thus brought in contact, helped to soften the anti-Japanese feeling; and since on one, at least, of these occasions, the reception given by Mr. Megata, not only the foreign diplomats but also a number of the foreign missionaries were invited, it gave to the latter a somewhat unaccustomed opportunity to observe at close hand the enlightening fact that Japan, like all other so-called civilized nations, does not have its true character best represented by its coolies, low-lived adventurers, camp-followers, and land-grabbing pioneers.

I close this brief description of our varied experiences in Seoul with a warning against a very common but, in my judgment, quite fallacious view of the relation in which the capital city stands to the entire country of Korea. It is customary to say that “Seoul is Korea” just as “Paris is France.” But this is even less true in the macrocosm of Seoul than in the macrocosm of Paris. It is indeed true, as Dr. Jones has said, that “as the capital of the Empire its political pre-eminence is undisputed. Intellectually and socially it has ruled Korea with an iron hand for half a millennium.” But it is also true that the real interests and undeveloped material and human resources of the nation are in the country; and that the uneconomical, ignorant, and depressed condition of the people outside of Seoul is the chief concern of all who really care for the welfare of Korea. The local magistrates must be reformed, or the well-nigh hopeless task of reforming the corrupt Court at Seoul would be, if it could be accomplished, of little value to the nation. And if it becomes necessary, in order to effect this reform, and so to bring about the redemption, industrially, educationally, morally and religiously, of the people of the country, then the “iron hand” which rules them from Seoul must be either gloved or broken in pieces. But, in truth, the idol at Seoul which the Koreans worship is an image of clay.

CHAPTER V
A VISIT TO PYENG-YANG

From the historical, as well as the geographical and commercial points of view, the city of Pyeng-yang (spelled also Pyong-yang and in various other ways) is the most important place in all Northern Korea. It has frequently been besieged and assaulted, both by Japanese invaders from the south and by various forces—Mongolian, Chinese, Manchu—coming down from the north to pour their devastating hordes over the country. It was hither that the Korean king fled before the armies of “men in fierce-looking helmets and bright armor with little pennons at their backs bearing their names and family badges,” which were sent against him by Hideyoshi more than three hundred years ago. The city is beautifully situated; it is by nature constituted for all time as a principal centre for distributing over the Yellow Sea the industrial products of fertile North Korea and for receiving in return whatever the adjoining parts of China and Manchuria may furnish for coastwise trade.

Previous to the China-Japan war there were probably not more than a half-score of Japanese within the walled city of Pyeng-yang. But some two years after the end of this war the Japanese colony had grown to several hundred souls. During and after the war with Russia, however, the increase of this colony was so rapid that it could find no room within the walls of the city. It therefore burst through, as it were, the barrier of these walls and built a new city for itself outside the South Gate, which, like all similar enterprises in Korea, by its neat dwellings and shops, its clean and broad streets, and its general air of prosperity, contrasts with, and forms an object lesson to, the Korean city within the walls.

The original inhabitants of the Japanese city were by no means altogether of the class most creditable to Japan, or comfortable as neighbors for the Korean population. There were many adventurers, hangers-on and panderers to the army, who did not stop at either fraud or violence in their treatment of the native population of Pyeng-yang. And while the Japanese army during the war behaved with most admirable moderation and discipline here, as elsewhere in Korea and Manchuria, at its close even the military authorities were not as scrupulous as they should have been by way of appropriating land and other necessaries for their permanent occupation. The wrongs which were then committed are, however, as far as possible in such cases, now being measurably remedied or compensated for; and in spite of the fact that the withdrawal of the divisional headquarters of the Japanese army has affected somewhat seriously the retail trade, and there still continues to be more or less of disturbing friction between dealers of the two nationalities, and a crop of disputes over land-claims that need settlement, there is now a prosperous Japanese city, with some 5,000 inhabitants. The Korean city is also growing in numbers and prosperity. As the two nationalities come to know and understand each other better, that will inevitably, but happily, take place here which has already taken place at Chemulpo. They will learn the better to respect each other, and each other’s rights; and to live together in freedom from outbreaking strife and sullen bitterness, if not in perfect harmony. It was a good indication of this possibility to learn that the Japanese Resident in Pyeng-yang already has coming to his court for adjustment more cases of Koreans against Koreans than of Koreans against his own countrymen.

The invitation to visit this interesting and important city was most prompt and cordial. It came within a few days of our arrival in Seoul. In spite, therefore, of the fact that I was suffering from a somewhat severe attack of influenza, brought on in the quite ordinary way of breathing in the dust of the streets of the capital city, we started for Pyeng-yang, accompanied by Mr. Zumoto, by the early morning train of April 5th. To make the journey more surely comfortable, and to emphasize the relation of the travellers to the Resident-General, the party was escorted about half-way by one railroad official, who, having committed us to another that had come on from Pyeng-yang for the purpose, himself returned to his duties at Seoul.

The night before had been rainy—a somewhat unusual thing in such abundance at this time of year; but by noon the sky and air had cleared, and the strong sunlight brought out the colors of the landscape in a way characteristic of the usual climate of Korea in the early Spring. The railway from Seoul to Wiju is being very largely built over again; so that part of the time our train was running over the permanent way and part of the time over the military road which was quite too hastily constructed to be left after the war in a satisfactory state. This process of reconstruction consists in straightening curves, adjusting grades, erecting stone sustaining-walls and heavy, steel bridges; as well as in making the old bed, where it is followed, more solid and better ballasted. The part of Korea through which we were now passing was obviously more fertile and better cultivated than the part lying between Fusan and Seoul. There were even some portions of the main highway which resembled a passable jinrikisha road in Japan, instead of the wretched and well-nigh impassable footpaths which are often the only thoroughfares further south. In places, also, the peasants seemed to have overcome their fears, both of the laws punishing sacrilege and also of the avenging spirits of the dead; for the burial mounds had been replaced by terraces which enabled the fields to be cultivated nearly or quite to the tops of the hills.

On our arrival at the station in Pyeng-yang two of the missionaries met us with a friendly greeting. Before taking our jinrikishas for the house of Dr. Noble, who was to be our host, I walked for a short distance over the gravelled plain surrounding the station to where some 100 or 120 school-boys were drawn up in military line to give the foreign teacher a welcome. This promptly took his mind and heart back to Japan as well as carried it forward to the future generation of Korean men. On one side, dressed in kakhi and looking very important, stood the larger number, who were members of the Christian school, connected with the Methodist mission. But right opposite in Korean costume of plum-colored cloth were arrayed some thirty or forty pupils of a neighboring Confucian school. It was a matter of interest and significance to learn that just recently the latter, on receiving overtures of friendly alliance, had agreed to a meeting for the discussion of terms; and when the proposal had been made that the “heathen school” should become Christian, it had been promptly accepted! This was, of course, a way of achieving unity entirely satisfactory to the missionaries. At the time of our visit the wife of the head-master of the Confucian school and the wife of one of the teachers had become earnest and active Bible-women.

While we were being conveyed in jinrikishas to the foot of the hill on which stands the house of our host, and as well the church and other buildings belonging to the mission, the Doctor himself was getting home in a different way. This was by means of a tram, the rude car of which seated six persons, three on each side, facing outward and back to back, but with Korean coolies for their motive power—thus reviving, of course, in new form the time-worn joke about the Far East’s “Pullman car.” As to the position and significance of the group of buildings, in one of which we were to be entertained for nearly a week, I avail myself of the description in the Seoul Press, published subsequently by its editor who was the Japanese friend and companion of this trip. “As his railway train approaches the city, the first objects that catch his eyes are a cluster of buildings, some in foreign style, others in half foreign and half Korean style, which crown the hill-tops and constitute the most conspicuous feature of the magnificent landscape that developes itself before his eyes. His wonder increases still more, as the visitor inquires into the result of the great missionary activity of which these buildings are outward manifestations. How great the success has been may be imagined, when it is computed by a very competent authority that fully one-third of the entire Korean population of the city (roughly estimated at between 40,000 and 50,000) are professing Christians. There are Koreans and Japanese, apparently in a position to know, who put the proportion of the Christian section of the population at much higher figures; they confidently say that quite one-half of the whole population belongs to the new faith.... The success which the work of Christian propagandism has attained in Pyeng-yang is all the more marvellous when it is remembered that the work was commenced scarcely more than fifteen years ago. The success of the work has not been confined to the city alone; it is noticeable, though not quite in like degree, in the adjacent districts and all over North Korea which looks up to Pyeng-yang as the fountain and centre of the new religious life.”

On the following day, which was Saturday, I had my first experience with one of the larger Korean audiences. The numbers in Seoul had been, at most, some 500 or 600. But here, although the address was in the afternoon, no fewer than 1,700, all, with the exception of a few foreign ladies, of the male sex, assembled in the Methodist meeting-house which was just across a narrow lane from the gate of Dr. Noble’s residence. The peculiarities of such an audience are worthy of a brief description. All were seated on the floor. Close around the platform, on which were a few of the missionaries and of the Japanese officials, were grouped several hundred school-boys, packed as thickly as herrings in a box. These were dressed in garments of many and bright colors. Back of them and reaching to the doors, massed solidly with no aisles or empty spaces left between, were Korean men, in their picturesque monotone of white clothing and black crinoline hats. The audiences at Pyeng-yang, as at Seoul, were much more restless and seemingly volatile than those of the same size which I had addressed in Japan; although it should be remembered that the latter were chiefly composed of teachers, officials, and men prominent in business and in the professions, whereas this audience, although largely Christian, was of the lowly and comparatively ignorant. A distinctly religious character was given to all the meetings in Pyeng-yang by prayer and by the singing of Christian hymns. The tunes were familiar; and although the language was far removed in structure and vocabulary, the attempt had evidently been made, with only a partial success, to reproduce in a rhythmic way the English words which had been set to them. The singing was led by a Korean chorister who used his baton in a vigorous and fairly effective, if not wholly intelligent, fashion. The cabinet organ was also played by a young Korean man. The missionaries say that the people show great interest and even enthusiasm in learning foreign music; and that they are apt pupils so far as the singing of hymns is concerned. The favorite native music is a dismal wailing upon pipes and rude flute-like instruments, accompanied by the tom-tom of drums. The address on this occasion was upon the relation of education to the social welfare; it was interpreted by Dr. Noble with obvious clearness and vigor.

The audience next morning (Sunday, April 7th) was not so large, but was scarcely less interesting. It comprised both sexes, separated, however, by a tight screen which ran from the platform through the middle of the church to the opposite wall. The numbers present were some 1,400, about equally divided between the two sexes. The girls on the one side, and the boys on the other, in their gaily colored clothing, were massed about the platform; and back of them the women and the men—both in white, but the former topped out with white turbans and the latter with their black hats. The entire audience marked out upon the floor an impressive color-scheme. It was said that there were enough of the population of the city attending Christian services at that same hour to make three congregations of the same size. The afternoon gathering for Bible study and the evening services were even more crowded; so that the aggregate number of church-goers that Sunday in this Korean city of somewhat more than 40,000 could not have been less than 13,000 or 14,000 souls. Considering also the fact that each service was stretched out to the minimum length of two hours, there was probably no place in the United States that could compete with Pyeng-yang for its percentage of church-goers on that day. Yet ten years ago there was in all the region scarcely the beginning of a Christian congregation.

In the afternoon I spoke to about thirty of the missionaries, telling them, in informal address, of certain economic, social, and religious changes in the United States, which seemed to me destined profoundly to affect the nature of Christian missions in so-called “heathen lands.” Nor did it seem incongruous when prayer was offered that the “home land” might receive in its present great need some of the blessings which were being experienced in heathen Korea. For I had long been of the opinion that if the word “heathen” is to be used with that tinge of moral and intellectual opprobrium which usually attaches to it, all so-called Christian countries are in some important respects very considerably entitled to the term. And, indeed, who that understands the true spirit of the religion of Christ shall hesitate to confess that America and American churches as sorely need deliverance from the demons of cowardice, avarice, and pride, as do the Koreans from the superstitious fear of devils or of the spirits of their own ancestors?

The audience of Monday morning numbered 800; it seemed, however, from the point of view which regards social and political standing, to be of decidedly superior quality. This was probably due, in part at least, to the nature of the theme, which was—“Education and the Stability and Progress of the Nation.” The attention, too, appeared to be more thoughtful and unwavering at this meeting.

The public speaking at Pyeng-yang was concluded by an address, especially designed for the Japanese official classes and prominent business men, and given in the hall of the Japanese Club on the afternoon of the day before leaving the city. There were present about one hundred and fifty of this class of hearers. To them I spoke very plainly, praising their preparation for, and conduct of, the war with Russia; then warning them of the difficulties and dangers in business and politics which the rivalries of peace would compel the nation to face; and, finally, exhorting them to maintain the honor of Japan in Korea, before the civilized world, by treating the Koreans in an honorable way. Although, according to the testimony of the Japanese friend who interpreted this address, there were uneasy consciences in the audience, the warning and the rebuke, as well as the praise, were received with equal appreciation and gratitude. I take this opportunity to testify that, instead of deserving the reputation often given to the Japanese, of being abnormally and even ridiculously sensitive to criticism, I have found them, on the contrary, remarkably willing to be told of their failures and faults, and ready to receive, at least with the appearance of respect and kindness, suggestions for their correction and amendment.

My engagements in Pyeng-yang came so near to the limit of exhausting my time and strength that I was unable to see as much as would have been otherwise desirable of the externals, and of the antiquities, of the neighborhood. From the piazza in front of our host’s house nearly the whole of the Korean city lies literally spread out, as all the cities of the country are, beneath the eye of the observer from a surrounding hill. The streets within the walls are, with one or two exceptions, narrow, winding, and made disgusting by foul sights and smells. Here there has been little or none of that widening of thoroughfares and superficial cleaning which has given a partial relief, both to the aspect and to the reality of Seoul. But, as has already been said, the natural situation is beautiful. Under the advice of Japan, a part of the now useless city wall went to make a fine bund; while the space left by the clearing was converted into a street. On passing through an indescribably foul, narrow lane, which makes a disgraceful break between the broad, clean thoroughfare of the Japanese settlement and the fairly broad but dirty street of the Korean city, we were told the following story of the recent attempt of the Resident to get this passage widened. The story is so characteristic of relations between the two peoples that I turn aside to tell it.

Feeling the great and obvious importance of having this public improvement made, the Resident called a meeting of the adjoining property-owners to discuss the terms which would be satisfactory to them. The Japanese owners agreed to contribute the land necessary for the purpose and to move back the buildings at their own expense; the Korean owners agreed to cede the land if the expense of moving the buildings was borne by the Government. The Resident went for a few weeks to Japan, expecting that the agreement would stand, and that by his return the improvement would be well begun. Immediately after his departure, however, two Korean Christians, who had remained away from the meeting for discussing terms, induced the other Koreans to break their compact and refuse to surrender the land for less than 200 yen per tsubo (6 × 6 ft.)—an absurdly extravagant price. The attempt at doing this much-needed work came, therefore, to a complete standstill. The whole transaction was reported by the Korean Daily News of Seoul with its customary felicitous (?) misrepresentation, as follows: “People in Pyeng-yang are greatly stirred up over the demand of the Japanese that the Korean houses on each side of the road outside the South Gate be torn down to widen the road. The people gathered at the office of the prefect and protested against such seizure without proper compensation, and they said they would die sooner than give in to such an imposition.” I can assure the reader that much of the fraud and oppression charged against the Japanese by the Koreans and by their so-called “foreign friends” (even including some of the missionaries) is of the same order. [A letter from Pyeng-yang to the Seoul Press, published not long after our return, announced that the “widening of the approach between the Japanese city and the old town of Pyeng-yang is now under way, and soon a fine wide road will lead from the railway station to the Gate”—all of which means that when the Korean property-owners found their attempts at lying and swindling were not going to succeed, they saw the advantage of renewing the original contract.]

A row up the river in his boat, kindly furnished by Mr. Kikuchi, the Japanese Resident, afforded several pleasant hours of recreation as well as an opportunity to see for ourselves something more of the present condition and future prospects of the chief city of Northern Korea. The city gate through which we reached the river is the finest thing about its ancient fortifications. The views of the bank, which rises in most places bluff and high above the water, are very picturesque and crowded with scenes of both immediate and historical interest. Scores of junks and sampans, loaded with many kinds of goods—for the most part, however, of no great value—are either moored to the narrow beach below the bank or are slowly finding their way up and down the river. At different heights of the banks, standing on projecting ledges or on platforms, men were cutting inscriptions upon the rocky sides in Chinese characters. These were designed to celebrate for future generations the virtues and successes of living merchants and magistrates; but these workmen of to-day were only adding a few more to the much more numerous inscriptions commemorating the otherwise forgotten and, for the most part undoubtedly, really ignoble dead. By the brink of the river were the Korean women at their never-ceasing task of washing and pounding dry the white clothing of their male lords. At one bend in the river, where the projecting cliff acts as an effective breakwater against the winter ice and the summer freshets, the top is crowned by a pavilion which occupies the place where negotiations went on between the Chinese and the Japanese at the time of the Hideyoshi invasion.

Water-Gate at Pyeng-Yang.

The boat landed us at the foot of the celebrated “Peony Hill,” part way up which is situated the decayed pavilion in which royalty used to be fed and given to drink on the occasion of excursions from the city to this sightly place. From this point the views bring the past history and the present prospects of Pyeng-yang together in an interesting way. For, looking to the right, one sees an ancient pagoda and the remains of a Buddhist temple. Looking forward and downward, the eye is well pleased by taking in at once the pleasant prospect of water and rock and fields which the ascent has given only bit by bit, as it were. Looking upward one sees the difficult heights which the Japanese troops stormed so unexpectedly but successfully in the invasion of more than three centuries ago; and also in the war with China, when they turned the guns of the Chinese forces from their own fortifications upon themselves and slaughtered the unfortunate until the streets of the city were choked with corpses. But to the left, and lying just below, is the green island on which the pumping-works to supply the foul city with cleansing streams are soon to be erected. Beyond the island across the river are the pastures, where the breeding of improved horses is to be carried on by a partnership of both governments; and still further beyond are the coal fields which the Residency-General is trying to preserve for the Crown against the efforts of both native and foreign promoters, to exploit them to their own rather than to the nation’s advantage. But the story of these and similar efforts will be told in other places of our narrative; and for the moment we will forget the interests of history and of present adventures, and will just thoughtlessly submit ourselves to the pleasure of being rowed down the beautiful river to the dirty and seditious city.

For it is a story of a nearly successful attempt at a seditious outbreak which would have had a most unfortunate and surely unsuccessful ending, that must now engage the attention. This story also, illustrates the Korean character, the Korean situation, and the relations of the two peoples, in no doubtful way.

The evening before, on Tuesday, April 9th, a committee of students from the missionary theological school had requested an interview with me on the following day; and the morning hour of eight o’clock had been appointed. At the time set they arrived—three in number—and the interview was held in Dr. Noble’s study or “work-shop.” My visitors began, Korean fashion, far off from their final goal, and meandered around it rather than toward it, like poachers feeling their way in the dark. An awkward pause was finally broken by my exhorting them to speak plainly and freely; at which they replied that their country’s condition was much misunderstood and that it was hoped that I would understand and sympathize with them. Of my desire to do this I at once assured them; but when the request seemed to be taking a more political turn, I replied that my interests, influence, and work, were all directed along the lines of morals, education, and religion. As a teacher, it was only as my teaching could get a hearing and have an influence on life, that my stay in Korea could benefit the Koreans themselves. At the same time, I could assure them of my confidence in Marquis Ito’s intention to administer his office in the interests of their countrymen.

During all this conversation there was the appearance, in general characteristic of all similar interviews between natives and foreigners, of a mixture of suspicion and duplicity which is well calculated to betray the unwary into serious mistakes. Certainly, the real motive for their coming was being kept back; the suppressed undercurrent of feeling that could be detected was such as by no means to encourage the confidence that the feeling of race-hatred had been thoroughly purged away from these theological students by the meeting for prayer and confession of the night before. But just as I was obliged to excuse myself in order to keep another engagement the true cause of their request for an interview suddenly sprang into the light. All the night before, they said, the Korean city of Pyeng-yang had been in a state of the most intense excitement over the report from Seoul that their Emperor was going to be deposed by the Japanese! There was just then only time for me to learn from my Japanese companion that he had not the slightest suspicion of how the report, even, could have originated, and to send word to this committee of interviewers that neither he nor I gave the slightest credence to so absurd a rumor.

But this matter did not end with a single interview conducted by the deputation of Christian students. Word had previously been sent that the Korean governor of Pyeng-yang desired to call upon me, and the promise had been made that he should be received in appropriate manner at noon of the same day. Soon after our return from the trip up the river, His Excellency appeared, accompanied by his secretary and by one of the committee of the morning who acted also as spokesman of this second deputation. For such it really was, rather than a merely friendly call from the chief native magistrate of the city. The Governor seemed exceedingly ill at ease; there was in even greater degree than had been the case with my visitors of the early morning, an appearance of mingled suspicion and suppressed excitement, of fear and of hatred. In this case, however, the real matter of concernment did not come at all to the fore. The conversation ended when there had been repeated declarations of my visitor’s interest in the improvement of education among his own countrymen, to which I had replied that I believed this to be the important work which should occupy all Korean patriots and all the wise and true foreign friends of Korea.

It afterward came to my knowledge that the Governor, although not himself a Christian, on leaving the house, went with his secretary and the theological student into the adjoining church of the Methodist mission, and there fell upon his face and began to beat his forehead on the floor and bewail the threatening situation for himself as the responsible magistrate, and the sad fate awaiting his country at the hands of the Japanese. The thought of the enormous interval between this conduct and that of any Japanese official, similarly situated, remains with me to reveal in vivid colors the difference of the two peoples. But all this was only in the small, essentially the same thing which has been going on in the large, throughout the centuries of Korean history.

On my return from the address to the Japanese I was almost immediately visited by a third deputation which consisted of the same theological student who had called twice before on this same day, and of two others whom I did not recognize. This time also the conversation began in similar roundabout fashion; indeed, this time the point of starting was even more remote in character from the real end which it was intended to reach. There was a preliminary recital of their country’s weakness, poverty, and need of foreign assistance; this was accompanied by the suggestion that possibly I might have some rich friend willing to contribute liberally to their mission school, or to the much needed enlargement of the church edifice. Again, the visitors were assured of my deep interest in the welfare of Korea and of my sincere desire to do what lay within my power to promote this welfare. It must be remembered, however, that I myself belonged to the class of teachers who, even in rich America, have little wealth at their disposal. To the best of my knowledge, I had not a single friend among the American millionaires. Should it ever be possible, however, nothing would be more to my mind than to direct some of the overflow of my country’s wealth into the channels of educational and religious work in needy Korea. I was sincerely impressed with the need and with the opportunity.

Now, plainly, all this was not at all to the point of the interest weighing upon the minds of my auditors. Suddenly, and in a startling manner, the real cause of the three formal visits from as many different deputations, made itself known. With lips white and trembling, the same theological student who had been present at each visit, drew from his sleeve an envelope, and from the envelope a document printed in mixed Chinese and Korean, the purport of which he began to explain to my interpreter in a highly excited and rhetorical way. This document purported to be an elaborate statement of no fewer than forty-eight reasons why Japan should annex Korea and reduce its Emperor to the grade of a peer of Japan. “Where did this remarkable pronunciamento come from?” was, of course, my first inquiry. Why, from Seoul, from the Court; but it was originally a production of the Japanese Government which, fortunately, had been discovered in time and which was now officially sent out in order to warn all Korean patriots against this outrageous plot concocted by the Japanese!

The situation was obviously serious, if not threatening. On inquiry it was soon disclosed that for two days and nights the entire native city of Pyeng-yang had been in such a state of excitement as is not easily made credible to citizens of a country accustomed to the exercise of sound political sense and self-control. No business had been done, no buying or selling, on the last market day. All night long the men and women of the city had been sleepless and engaged in wailing and beating the ground and the floor of their houses with their heads. Not a few of the worst classes—including, I fear, some professing Christians—had been working themselves and others up to threats of violence and of murder.

The silliness of mind, the almost hopeless and incurable credulity and absence of sound judgment which characterizes, with exceedingly few exceptions, the political views and actions of even the official and educated classes in Korea, was the impression made upon me by this, as by all my experiences during my stay in the land. I assured these visitors, however, that there could be no doubt about this document being a forgery—as, indeed, it turned out to be. Marquis Ito and the Japanese Government had no such immediate intention; and, indeed, if the Resident-General entertained the thought, he surely was not foolish enough to proceed in any such way. Such childish behavior on their own part, I added, was very discouraging to their friends. What could be done by others for a country where the men who should be leaders behaved habitually in a so unmanly way? Let them quiet themselves, tell their Governor what I had said, and bid him use all his authority to quiet their fellow-citizens. This advice was complied with, as the event showed; the Korean governor was reassured and promised to unite his influence with that of the Christian forces to secure a return of the populace to their normal quiet. It was gratifying afterwards to have this official’s expression of gratitude for what was then done to assist in the peace-promoting administration of his office.

Dr. Noble, at once upon the departure of this committee, gave orders that the church bell should be rung to assemble the Christian community; and in such manner as to indicate to them that they were called together to hear “good news.” An hour later, when we were going down the hill to dine with the Japanese Resident, the people had not yet assembled; but on our return in the evening they were departing to their homes, quieted by two hours of opportunity to express their excited feeling in the Korean fashion of wailing, sobbing, and beating their foreheads upon the mats—assisted by the comforting and reassuring words of those to whom they looked as having knowledge and authority. It afterward transpired[4] that a young Korean, one An Chung-ho, who had become by foreign residence infected, rather than instructed, with certain so-called “modern ideas,” had busied himself, as the agent of the seditious intriguers at Seoul, in distributing this forged document and in haranguing the people with a view to excite a popular uprising against the Japanese. It is needless to say that the document itself was not printed in Japan. But the next morning’s sunlight saw the mist and the threatening storm-cloud cleared away.

It was during this visit to Pyeng-yang that I saw something of the remarkable features of the religious movement which was most intense there, but which spread, during the winter of 1906-’07, widely over Korea. The “revival” began—and, indeed, as regards its principal immediate results, it consisted largely—in the irresistible tendency to confession, contrition, and prayer for forgiveness, among Christians themselves. The confessions, while in general they embraced such familiar topics as pride, envy, unfaithfulness, and coldness in the Christian life, very naturally soon revealed the characteristic vices and weaknesses of the Korean character. Taken at their own estimate, and making all reasonable allowances for the exaggerations of temporary excitement, they made obvious the fact that lying, stealing, cheating, and impurity, had been nearly universal in the hitherto existing Christian communities of Korea. In many cases these “spiritual exercises” were accompanied by the most violent physical demonstrations, such as sobbing, wailing, beating the forehead on the floor, and even falling down unconscious and frothing at the mouth.

A more graphic picture of these religious meetings can perhaps be obtained by a brief description of one which I attended, where, however, the demonstrations were all of a relatively mild order. This was the evening gathering of the theological students on a day during the whole of which they had been holding a series of similar gatherings. As we arrived in front of the building in which the meeting was held, there pierced the silent night air a voice of wailing rather than of articulate speaking, in a high-pitched key and with extreme rapidity of utterance. On entering, some sixty Korean men appeared, seated on the floor with their heads bowed in their hands; three or four missionaries were occupying a bench which ran across one end of the room. At the other end stood one of the students swaying back and forth; it was his confession of sin that we had heard while still outside. Precisely what the confession was, there was no opportunity to learn; for after speaking a few sentences more, with ever increasing rapidity and shrillness of tone, the speaker fell to the floor sobbing and moaning convulsively and began beating the mats with fists and with forehead. One of the missionaries stepped carefully between the stooping bodies of his comrades, found his way to the prostrate sinner, and by words and gentle blows upon the back attempted to revive and comfort him.

Then followed a series of similar confessions, interspersed with prayers for forgiveness, none of which, however, attained the same degree of vehemence and physical excess. The substance of sins confessed by these Korean students of divinity was most illuminating. The next penitent wished it to be known that he had broken all the commandments; although it appeared that this far limit had been reached before his profession of Christianity, and that he had been guilty of murder rather in the spirit than in fact. Various following narratives of experience, made with varying degrees of emotional excitement, included forms of wrong-doing common to most church members in all countries, such as pride, envy, deceit, infidelity, and impurity of thought, if not of life. But the climax was fairly reached when one man of early middle-age arose, and in a markedly unemotional way asserted that, although he had formerly resisted all efforts to make him tell the truth as to his real manner of living, he now felt that the time had come when this painful duty could no longer be postponed. How to repent, however, he did not know. The story which was told in cold-blooded fashion was, briefly, as follows: Before professing Christian conversion he had been a wild fellow, and among other crimes had twice set fire to the houses of his neighbors. After profession of conversion he had been employed as a colporteur. In this connection he had thrown away or destroyed the books he was paid to distribute, had told his employer that robbers had attacked him and stolen them, and thus had collected his full salary. Still later he had renounced all pretence of Christianity and had himself become a robber. His life as a theological student up to the present time had been characterized by pride, envy, and constant secret hatred of those of his fellow-students who had surpassed him in their studies.

Among the most significant of the confessions were those of bitter hatred of the Japanese, and even of murderous thoughts and plans toward them. These wholesome self-accusations were in several instances followed by earnest and pathetic petitions—not only for forgiveness of themselves, but for the Divine blessing upon their enemies. [In this connection it is pertinent to remark that, while there has undoubtedly been much ill-treatment of Koreans by Japanese, I have never known of any of that bitter race-hatred toward the former by the latter, which undoubtedly at the present time permeates a large part of the Korean population toward the Japanese.] On being asked to say a few words to these students, I spoke of the unreasonable and un-Christian character of race-hatred and asked them to put from their minds all such foolish and wicked feelings. And then, as though to emphasize the beauty and brightness of nature as contrasted with the unseemly and dark condition of man, we came out under a sky as clear and alight with scintillating stars as I have ever seen in India or in Egypt.

On our arrival at the station of Pyeng-yang, to return to Seoul, on the morning of Wednesday, April 10th, the little fellows from the Presbyterian mission-school were there before us, already in line with Korean and American flags flying, and with drums and trumpets making a creditable noise. The appropriate parting address to this school had scarcely been finished, when another school appeared in the distance, on the double-quick for the station, to whom, when they had got themselves into proper shape, Dr. Noble repeated the substance of the words just spoken to their comrades earlier arrived. Scarcely was this finished, when, for the third time—and now it was the pupils from the Confucian school—a troop of boys came scurrying through the dust, lined up, and claimed their share of the foreign sahib’s parting salutation and advice. And then we were slowly drawn out of the station, and leaving behind on the fence the several hundred school-children and on the platform the several score of Korean Christians and of Japanese who had come to send us off, we returned without further incident to Seoul.

The few crowded days at Pyeng-yang appear in retrospect as an epitome of Korean history, Korean temperament, and the physical and social relations sustained in the past and at the present time between Korea and Japan. Improvement may confidently be expected in the near future, according as the economical and social forces are combined with the moral and the religious to bear upon the population now adult. But the larger and more permanent hopes for the future depend upon the school-children, who, even to-day, are becoming more intelligent, orderly, and self-controlled than their ancestors ever have been.

CHAPTER VI
CHEMULPO AND OTHER PLACES

Besides Seoul and Pyeng-yang the two most important seaports of Korea, which are Chemulpo and Fusan, were the only places in the peninsula where it seemed possible to arrange for even a single address. An honest attempt was made by a personal visit of the foreign secretary of the Young Men’s Christian Association to “negotiate” an invitation from the Koreans of Song-do, the ancient capital under the dynasty preceding that at present on the throne. But Song-do is an exceedingly conservative city, and the family of Yun Chi-ho is influential there. Thus, even its Korean Christians did not care to hear addresses on matters of morals and religion from a guest of the Japanese Resident-General. It is well to recall again in this connection the fact that, although Pyeng-yang has actually suffered more at the hands of Japanese invaders than any other city of Korea, the influence of the Christian missionaries and their converts was so powerful there that the most sympathetic and crowded native audiences greeted the “friend of Japan” in that city. There, too, in connection with Dr. Noble, presiding elder of the Methodist missions in all that part of the country, I was able to be of most service to both countries in a time of rather unusual threatening and exigency. This fact confirms the impression that, in Seoul, fear of the Court and of the Yang-bans is cramping the work even of the foreign religious teachers. But Chemulpo and Fusan are the places in Korea where the two peoples have been longest in the compelling contact of common business interests. Observation of results in these places had, therefore, some special value. The visit to Fusan came later, and properly belongs to the story of our departure from Korea. But the visit to Chemulpo and its experiences may fitly be spoken of in this place.

The invitation to speak at Chemulpo came from the Japanese Resident and from the Mayor, as official representatives of the educational interests of the city. The affair was, therefore, conducted much more in the familiar Japanese style than were the invitations to speak in Seoul or Pyeng-yang. At the same time, it had been decided that I was to address a Korean audience in Chemulpo, and Dr. Jones had consented to make this possible by the help of his valuable skill in interpretation. It had been arranged that we should meet him and Mr. Zumoto, who was to interpret the address to the Japanese, at the South Gate station for the 11.40 A.M. express. But as the time of leaving approached, it appeared that something was detaining the Doctor; finally we were obliged to go on without him. In person he appeared at Chemulpo in the early afternoon and explained that he had been detained in order to prepare for the funeral of one of the native members of his church; several hours still later, while we were taking tea at the Resident’s house, we were handed (as an example of the despatch with which this service is at present rendered in Korea) the explanatory telegram which had been sent in the early morning.

The fields between Seoul and Chemulpo, on the morning of May 6, 1907, were beautifully green, for the spring rains had been unusually abundant and the crops were correspondingly promising. Combined with the darker green of the pines, and contrasted with the red and yellow of the sand and rocks, they gave back to the eye that more vivid but less soothing pleasure of the Korean landscape to which reference has already been so frequently made. Along this line of railway, as everywhere, there is the same impression of undeveloped agricultural resources; there is also the same temptation to imagine how it will all look in the years to come, when Korea has been lifted out of its low industrial condition.

At the station we were met by the official deputation and escorted to the Japanese Club. The impression made by the streets through which we passed was not pleasing; for there had been rain, the air was laden with cold moisture, and the ground was either rough or torn up for repairs and heavy for the jinrikisha pullers with its coating of mud. But it should be remembered that this part of Chemulpo is in the making, whereas the older part had a few weeks before been swept by a destructive fire. The Chinese town, through which we now passed, bore a decayed air; but when the Japanese quarter was reached, in spite of the recent loss of some 400 houses, there was a thrifty and prosperous look, an appearance of determination, of not-to-mind-what-cannot-be-helped, so characteristic of the people themselves. The work of rebuilding this quarter was going briskly forward.

The population of Chemulpo consisted at that time of some 12,000 Japanese, from 15,000 to 20,000 Koreans, and about 2,000 Chinese (before the Japan-China war the number of the Chinese was about 5,000). There are less than 100 European and American residents. It is hoped by those interested in the business prospects of the city that, after the through all-rail route from Tairen to St. Petersburg is made in all respects first-class—and the consummation of this project will quickly follow under the management of Baron Goto and the Russian authorities, as soon as the commercial treaty between Japan and Russia takes effect—Chemulpo will be an important port of entry for the increasing trade of Korea. But the harborage is now so poor that ships of any considerable size have to lie far out in the offing, and the sand-bars between this anchorage and the wharfs are constantly forming and shifting their location. This coast of Korea is also made very dangerous by numerous rocky islands and sunken reefs, by variable and strong currents, and by one of the highest average tides to be found anywhere in the world. Plans for improving the harbor are, therefore, very important. Right in front of the Chinese hotel where we spent the night, the flats are being filled in, apparently with the double purpose of securing an extension of building lots, and also of shortening somewhat the distance between the city and the shipping at low tide. But the permanent improvement of the harbor of Chemulpo—and this is equivalent to securing one good port of entry for the entire western coast of Korea—offers a difficult problem. Either of the two ways of solving the problem which have hitherto been considered would be exceedingly expensive. To enclose a basin with a sea-wall and shut in the tide-water by gates, or to extend the wharf out some two miles to deep water, would cost many millions of yen.

After an excellent tiffin at the club, where we met some twenty Japanese ladies and gentlemen, I spoke to an audience of not more than one hundred and fifty—of this nationality almost exclusively—but of both sexes. The audience represented the educational and official interests of the city which, as is customary in Japan and elsewhere, are not paramount in places devoted to trade and commerce. Mr. Zumoto interpreted; the ethical and hortatory turn given to the remarks made them, apparently, no less but even more heartily received. I have already called attention to the striking fact that the thoughtful Japanese are becoming more impressed with the truth of the old-fashioned, but not as yet quite defunct, thought that it is, after all, “righteousness which exalteth a nation.” But the Koreans, as a people, have still to awake to the impression that either science or morality has any important bearing on the material and social welfare of the nation’s life. Following the lecture, there was tea at the Residency House; after which we were taken to one of those curious but by no means uncomfortable hostleries which one comes upon in the Far East. It was under the sign of “E. D. Steward & Co., Store. Keeper. & Hotel and Ship. Compradore.” The name “Steward” was assumed by its Chinese owner because he had filled this office on a small steamship for some years before. The advertisement did not at all exaggerate the variety of enterprises carried on under the same extensive roof by this example of a thrifty race. In the rooms over the store the representative of Mr. “Steward” (for we did not learn his true designation, either for this life of business or his “heavenly name”) cared for his guests as well as could reasonably be expected.

Most of the following morning was spent in conversation with Mr. W. D. Townsend, who has been in Korea since May, 1884, when he arrived at Chemulpo to open a branch of the “American Trading Co.” He thus antedates the founding of missionary work in Korea, although Dr. R. S. McClay had visited Seoul in June, 1883, to make arrangements for a mission; and Dr. Horace N. Allen, who afterward served as the representative of the United States Government, reached Korea in the September following. This conversation, continued on during luncheon at Mr. Townsend’s house, gave me incidents and opinions illustrating the problem I was studying as it appears to a shrewd and experienced man of business. Facts and opinions from this point of view were, I believed, no less important and informing than those to be learned from the missionary or the native or foreign official.

In the afternoon I spoke on the “Five Elements of National Prosperity” to an audience of about 600 Koreans, fully half of whom were children, and part of whom kept coming and going. The Japanese Resident, Mr. Kenochi, was present. The quality of the attention and interest did not seem to me to reach the level of the audiences in Seoul; but this was only what was to be expected from the nature of the population and the occupations of the Koreans in Chemulpo. From the church we had a not unpleasant walk to the suburban station, accompanied by a number of the Japanese gentlemen and ladies who felt it their official but friendly duty to see us off for Seoul. On reaching Miss Sontag’s house we dined with the German Consul, Dr. Ney, Mr. Eckert, the skilful trainer of the Korean band, and other German friends, on invitation of our hostess.

With reference to the improvements already accomplished in Korea, and to a considerable extent through Japanese official influence and unofficial example, Mr. Townsend called my attention to the following particulars. Previous to the opening of the country to foreign trade there was no possibility of accumulating wealth in Korea. For, as one of the few thoughtful Koreans had remarked: “If there was a large crop of rice and beans, there was no one to buy it, and it would not keep over for two years. Therefore we ate more and worked less; for what could we do with the surplus but eat it? But when the crops failed, we starved or died of the pest that followed.” It so happened, in fact, that the year after the opening of the country there was a large crop; and now for the first time in the history of Korea, there was not only something to sell but a market for it. There had, indeed, been trade for centuries between the southern part of the country and the adjoining regions of Japan, especially the island of Tsushima. But in this trade Korea parted with its gold, out of which the Japanese themselves were subsequently cheated by the Dutch, who took it off to Holland. Thus neither of the nations in the Far East was enriched in any permanent way; both were the rather impoverished as respects their store of resources for the future.

Under the Japanese, Mr. Townsend was confident—as is every one acquainted with the past and present conditions—that there would soon be a very considerable development of the country’s resources. This would take place especially in the lines of silk-culture, raising rice and beans, and grazing and dairy products. For all these forms of material prosperity the country was by soil and climate admirably adapted. Up to this time the rinderpest had been allowed to ravage the herds unchecked. In a single year it had carried off thousands of bullocks, so that the following spring the entire family of the peasants would have to join forces—men, women, and children—to pull their rude ploughs through the stiff mud. As to the culture of fruit, the outlook did not seem so hopeful. The market was limited; the various pests were unlimited in number of species and individuals, and in voracity. A certain kind of caterpillars eat pine-needles only; and some gentlemen, in order to protect the pine-trees in their yards, were obliged to hire Koreans to pick these pests off the trees, one by one, by the pailful at a time. It seems to me, however, that in time these difficulties may be overcome by the very favorable character of soil and climate for many kinds of fruits, by the possibility of ridding the country of the pests and of improving the already excellent varieties of fruits, and by the development of the canning industry.

As to the effect of the Japanese Protectorate upon the business of foreign firms, Mr. Townsend assured me that the honorable firms were pleased with it and considered it favorable to the extension of legitimate business. Unscrupulous promoters do not, of course, enjoy being checked by the Resident-General in their efforts to plunder the Korean resources. In this conversation with Mr. Townsend I learned the details of one of those dishonorable promoting schemes which have been, and still are, the disgrace of some of the foreign residents in Korea. But this is not the worst of them. They become the disgrace of the countries from which the promoters come, so often as the latter can successfully appeal to the consuls or other diplomatic representatives of their nationals for official support in their nefarious schemes.

The relations, both business and social, between the Japanese and the Koreans in Chemulpo are now much improved. Indeed, there is at present an almost complete absence of race-hatred between the two. Formerly, on some trifling occasion of a quarrel started between a Japanese and a Korean, an angry mob of several hundred on each side would quickly gather; and unless the other foreigners interfered in time, there was sure to be serious fighting and even bloodshed. But the growing number of those belonging to both nations who understand each other’s language and each other’s customs has almost entirely done away with the tendency to similar riots. Indeed, a positive feeling of friendliness is springing up between certain individuals and families of the two nationalities. All of which tends to confirm the statement of another business man—this time of Seoul, where the hatred of the Koreans for the Japanese is studiously kept aglow by Korean officialdom and by selfishly interested foreigners—that in fifty years, or less, no difference would be known between the two. There will then, perhaps, be Koreans boasting of their Japanese descent and Japanese boasting of their Korean descent; and a multitude of the people who will not even raise the question for themselves as to which kind of blood is thickest in their veins. Everywhere on the face of the earth ethnology is teaching the lesson that “purity” of blood is as much a fiction as is the so-called “primitive man.”

According to Mr. Townsend, one cause of the deforestation of so large regions of Korea in former times was the fear of tigers; this fear was, of course, greatly increased by the fact that the Government did not dare to entrust the people with firearms. The tiger-hunters were, it will be remembered, a species of officials who composed the bravest, and oftentimes the only brave, troops in the king’s army. As late as about sixty years ago the principal road to Pyeng-yang from Seoul passed through a stretch of dense forest infested with tigers. As long as the slaughter by these beasts did not average more than one man a week, the people thought it could be borne; but when the number killed in this way rose to one or two a day, they applied to the Tai Won Kun, and permission was given to cut down the forest.

The prevalence of the tiger and also the method of governmental control over their capture and over the sale of their skins is well illustrated by the following amusing story. Recently, a foreigner who was fond of hunting big game, brought a letter of introduction to Mr. Townsend and asked him to negotiate for him with two tiger-hunters for a trip to the region of Mokpo. Knowing well the Korean character as respects veracity, it was necessary for the inquirer to discover in indirect ways whether the men were really courageous and skilful hunters, as well as whether tigers were really to be met in the region over which it was proposed to hunt. Something like the following conversation then took place:—“You claim to be brave tiger-hunters, but have you ever actually killed a tiger?” “Yes, of course, many of them.” “But what are you hunting at the present time?” “Just now we are hunting ducks.” “How much is a tiger worth to you when you succeed in getting one?” “Well, if we can have all there is of him—the skin, the bones” (which, when powdered, make a medicine much prized by the Chinese on account of its supposed efficacy in imparting vigor or restoring strength), “and all the rest, we should make at least 110 yen.” “Why, then, do you hunt ducks which bring you so little, when you might kill tigers, which are worth so much?” “Yes, but if I kill a tiger, the magistrate hears of it and sends for me; and he says: ‘You are a brave man, for you have killed a tiger. You deserve a reward for your courage. Here are five yen; but the tiger, you know, belongs to the Crown, and I will take that in the name of His Majesty.’ Now do you think I am going to risk my life to earn 120 yen for the magistrate, who squeezes me enough anyway, and get only 5 yen for myself?”

“But, tell me truly, are there really tigers to be found in that neighborhood?” “Yes, indeed, there are.” “How do you know that?” “Why, just recently two men of the neighborhood were eaten by tigers.” “Indeed, that is certainly encouraging.” “It may be encouraging for the foreign gentleman who wishes to hunt the tiger, but it was not very encouraging for the Korean gentlemen who were eaten by tigers.” The grim humor of all this will be the better appreciated when it is remembered how omniscient and omnivorous are the Korean magistrates as “squeezers”; and how large the chances of the tiger are against the hunter, when the latter is equipped only with an old-fashioned musket and a slow-burning powder which must be lighted by a fuse.

A story of a quite different order will always attach itself in my memory to the name of Chemulpo. During the Chino-Japan War one of the missionary families, now in Seoul, was living in the part near the barracks where the Japanese soldiers were quartered until they could be sent by sea to the front. One day a petty officer came up on the porch of the house, uninvited; but after accepting gratefully the cup of tea offered to him, being unable to speak any English, he went away, leaving the object of his apparent intrusion quite unexplained. Soon after, however, he returned with some twenty of his comrades, mostly petty officers, accompanying him; and when the hostess was becoming somewhat alarmed at the number for whom she might be expected to furnish tea and cakes, one of the company, who could best express their wishes in the foreign language, revealed the motive of the soldiers’ visit. He explained in broken English that they had come to see the baby—a girl about two years old. The little one was then brought out by the mother and placed in the arms of the speaker, who carried the child along the line formed of his comrades and gave each one a chance to see her, to smile at her, and to say a few words to her in an unknown tongue. On going away, after this somewhat formal paying of respects to “the baby,” the Japanese officer still further explained: “Madam,” said he, “to-morrow morning we are going to the front and we do not expect ever to return. But before we go to die, we wanted to bid good-by to the baby.” In the Russo-Japanese war nothing else so cheered the soldiers of Japan on their way to the transports for Manchuria as the crowds of school-children at all the railway stations, with their flags and their banzais. The number of the regiment to which these soldiers, who bade good-by to the American baby before they went forth to die, was taken note of by the mother. Their expectation came true; they did not return.

The only other excursion by rail from Seoul which we made during our visit to Korea was to attend the formal opening ceremony of the Agricultural and Industrial Model Station at Suwon. The history of its founding is copied from the account of the Seoul Press:

Shortly after the inauguration of the Residency-General last year, the Korean Government was induced to engage a number of Japanese experts well versed in agriculture and dendrology with a view to the organizing and conducting a school for training young Koreans in the principles and practice of scientific husbandry and forestry. The establishment of such a school was absolutely necessary in order to insure success to the work of improving agriculture and forestry, to which the Resident-General wisely attached great importance.

At the suggestion of these experts, it was decided to establish the school in question at Suwon, on a site adjacent to the Agricultural and Industrial Model Station there, the proximity of these two institutions being attended by various obvious advantages. The school-buildings and dormitories, together with houses for members of the faculty, were erected at a total outlay of a little over 44,000 yen, being completed by the end of 1906.

Pending the completion of the buildings, instruction was, for the time being, given in the class-rooms of the former Agricultural, Commercial and Industrial School at Seoul from the 10th of September, 1906. The last-mentioned school had been established a few years ago under the control of the Department of Education. Its organization was too imperfect to make it possible for it to attain the object for which it was established.

Early this year the School of Agriculture and Dendrology removed to its new quarters at Suwon. The post of principal is filled by the director of the Agricultural Bureau in the Department of Agriculture, Commerce and Industry. The teaching staff consists of five professors (Japanese) and two assistant professors (Koreans).

There are two departments: (1) the Ordinary, and (2) the Special. The Ordinary Department extends over two years and the Special Department one year. The latter Department consists of two separate courses, namely, agricultural and dendrological. These courses are open to such of the graduates of the Ordinary Department as may desire still further to prosecute their studies in their respective special branches. Besides the above-mentioned departments, there is a practical training course for giving elementary instruction in some special subjects connected with agriculture or forestry. The term is not more than one year.

It may be interesting to tabulate the various subjects taught in the respective departments. They are as follows:

Ordinary Department:—Morals, Japanese, Mathematics, Physics and Meteorology, Natural History, Outlines of Agriculture, Soil and Manures, Crops, Dairy Produce, Sericulture, Agriculture, Agricultural Manufacture, Outlines of Dendrology, Outlines of Afforestation, Outlines of Veterinary Medicine, and Political Economy and Law.

Special Department (Agricultural Course):—Soil, Manure, Physiological Botany, Diseases of Crops, Injurious Insects, Dairy Produce, Sericulture and Spinning of Silk Yarns, Agricultural Manufactures, and Agronomy.

Special Department (Dendrological Course):—Dendrological Mathematics, Afforestation and Forest Protection, Forest Economy, Utilization of Forests, Forest Administration.

Instruction in these subjects is given through the medium of interpreters, the last-mentioned office being fulfilled by the Korean Assistant Professors. The number of students fixed for the respective departments, is 80 for the Ordinary, and 40 for the Special Department, the number for the practical Training course being fixed each time according to the requirements. The number of students at present receiving instruction is 26 in the Ordinary Department, and 12 in the Practical Training course. It is very satisfactory to learn that these students are highly commended for obedience, good conduct, and industry. This promises well, not only for the success of the school, but for the progress of the nation.

This lengthy account of the founding and progress of the school and station, whose opening ceremonial was to be celebrated on Wednesday, May 15, 1907, is given because of the great importance of the relation which every such enterprise sustains to the lasting success of the Japanese Protectorate and to the welfare of Korea under this Protectorate. Hitherto, the considerable sums of money which have been from time to time obtained from the Korean Government to found and to foster schemes for improved education or industrial development have almost without exception been unfruitful expenditures. The appropriation has either been absorbed by the promoters of the schemes, or if really spent upon the objects for which it was appropriated, both interest and care have ceased with the spending of the money. Even the missionary schools, which have up to very recent times afforded the only means for obtaining the elements of a good modern education—valuable as they have been, especially as means of propagandism—have too often resulted in sending out graduates who, if they could not get the coveted official positions, were fit for nothing else. In Korea, as in India—to take a conspicuous example—the students from these schools have sometimes become rather more practically worthless for the service of their nation, or even positively mischievous, than they could have been if left uneducated. But what Korea now most imperatively needs is educated men, who are not afraid of honest work; men, also, who will not accept official position at the expense of their manly independence and moral character, or gain it by means of intrigue and corruption. But “honest work” must, for a considerable time to come, be chiefly connected with the agricultural and industrial development of the country. Moreover, the institution at Suwon is demonstrating that the Koreans can make good students and skilful practitioners in the, to them, new sciences which give control over nature’s resources for the benefit of man. The Confucian education hitherto dominant in this country has chiefly resulted in cultivating scholars who either sacrificed usefulness in service to the false sentiment of honor, or else subordinated the most fundamental principles of morality to that skill in official positions which secured the maximum of squeezes with the minimum of resistance. And, finally, nothing so undermines and destroys race-hatred as the prolonged association of the two races in the peaceable relations of teacher and pupil; or of teachers and pupils with their respective colleagues.

Six car-loads of invited guests, belonging to all classes of the most influential people of Seoul and Chemulpo, left the South-Gate Station on a special train at one and a half o’clock, on that Wednesday afternoon, for Suwon. Marquis Ito and his staff, and other Japanese officials, Korean Ministers and their guards, all the foreign Consuls, the principal men of business, representatives of the press, and Christian missionaries were of the party. The day was warm, but fine; the landscape was even more beautiful in its coloring than usual. On arrival at the station of Suwon, the guests were met by the Minister and Vice-Minister of Agriculture, Commerce and Industry, by Dr. Honda, the director of the Model Station, and others, who escorted them on foot over a newly made road through the paddy fields belonging to the station. It did not need an expert eye to see the immense difference, as regards economy of arrangement and efficiency of culture, between these fields and the relatively uneconomically arranged and unproductive fields along the railway by which we had passed as we came to Suwon.

The Agricultural School and Station are beautifully located; the lake, which has been made by damming a stream, with the plain under improved cultivation, and the surrounding mountains, all combine to produce a charming scene. On reaching the Model Station itself a brief time for rest was allowed; this could be improved by those who wished to inspect the rooms where the specimens were displayed, and the laboratories of various kinds. The ceremonial proceedings were opened by the director, Dr. Honda, who reported the progress already made and defined the work which was to be attempted for the future. The work was to consist in the improvement of the quality of the seeds, the introduction and acclimatization of new varieties of farm products, the instruction of the farmers, the supply of manures, the effecting of improved irrigation, drainage, and protection against inundation, the improvement of poultry and dairy farming, the introduction and encouragement of sericulture, and the securing of more by-products on the farms.

After a few words from Mr. Song, the Korean Minister of Agriculture, Marquis Ito made a somewhat lengthy address. He spoke frankly in criticism of the failures which the Korean Government had hitherto made in its various attempts to accomplish anything for improving the miserable lot of the toiling millions of the Korean people. “Not only had nothing been done to ameliorate their condition, but much had been done to injure their interests and aggravate their miseries. Let those who boasted of their knowledge of Chinese philosophy remember the well-known teaching that the secret of statesmanship consists in securing the contentment of the people.” His Excellency then referred to the example of the great Okubo in Japan, who founded an agricultural college there in 1875, spoke of the brilliant results which had followed this improved instruction and practice, and hoped that the Korean officials, in whose charge this well-equipped institution was now placed, would make it equally useful to the Korean people.

The ceremonial part of the day was closed by an address by Mr. Kwon, the Minister of War, who had formerly been, although, as he confessed, without any knowledge of such matters, head of the Department of Agriculture, Commerce and Industry. It was indeed fourteen years since a department had been founded for the improvement of agriculture; but “nothing worth speaking of had been initiated by that department.” After spending 170,000 yen on the station, Japan had kindly consented to turn it over to the Korean Government. He was hopeful that the change already beginning to be felt in the interests of the farming population of his country would in the near future result in a large improvement in their condition. [It does not need to be said to those acquainted with the way in which such projects for developing the resources of Korea have hitherto been conducted, that both the grave rebuke of Marquis Ito and the confessions of the Korean Ministers are amply warranted.]

The ceremony concluded, refreshments were served in and about an old and historically interesting Korean building, which is situated a few rods below the farm station and just above the nearer end of the dam. After this, the whole company walked back to the railway by a road laid out on the back of the dam, which is shaded with young trees and made attractive by views of lake, fertile plains, and hillsides and mountains in the distance on every side. On the plain below the dam some Koreans were holding a pantomimic celebration, or merry-making, of the sort which it is their custom to commit to hired bands of men skilful in affording this species of amusement. On the hillsides at the end of the dam, and above the track of the railway, hundreds of other Koreans—adults in glistening white and children in colors of varied and deepest dyes—were quietly enjoying the scene. When the train stopped at the point nearest the end of the pleasant walk, it was, I am sure, a well satisfied crowd of guests which returned by it to Seoul.

With this ceremony at Suwon another which I had previously attended in Seoul naturally connects itself. This was the opening of the Industrial Training School, the initial outlay for which, including the cost of buildings and apparatus, amounted to a little more than 110,000 yen. The significance of this enterprise will be the better understood when it is remarked that the native workmen of to-day make nothing whatever, with the exception of a few cheap brasses and the attractive Korean chests, that any foreigner would be inclined to buy. Moreover, their own tools and machinery of every description are exceedingly crude and old-fashioned. At the ceremony in Seoul addresses were made similar to those listened to at the Suwon affair. Mr. Yamada, the principal of the Institute, reported that out of the eleven hundred applicants who had presented themselves for examination, fifty students had been admitted. Marquis Ito and the Korean speakers dwelt upon the same facts—namely, the deplorable backwardness of the nation in industrial matters, the unsatisfactory results of past endeavors at improvement, and the needs and hopes of the future. After the addresses, the guests visited the different workshops, where the Korean students were to be given manual training; and then resorted to the sides of the mountain above, where refreshments were served. The decorative features of the festivities—consisting of the Korean crowds on the upper mountain sides, the uniformed officials in and around the refreshment booths, and the brilliant bloom of the cherry bushes and plum trees—were even more striking than at Suwon. On this occasion it was my pleasure to receive a cordial greeting from some of the Korean officials, among whom was the Minister of the Interior, the cousin of the Governor at Pyeng-yang. It was evident that he had heard from his cousin of the assistance rendered directly by the missionaries and indirectly by me, in the way of quieting the excited condition of the Korean population at the time of our visit.

If official corruption can be kept aloof from these enterprises, and an honest and intelligent endeavor made to carry out the plans of the Japanese Government under Marquis Ito for the agricultural and industrial development of Korea, there is little reason to doubt that a speedy and great improvement will result. That the Korean common people, in spite of their characteristic air of indifference and their appearance of indolence, can be stirred with ambition, and that when aroused they will make fairly industrious and apt learners, there is, in my judgment, no good reason to deny. The experience of the “Seoul Electric Railway,” and of other similar enterprises, favors this judgment. Not to speak of the financial methods of this company, and after admitting that the physical condition of its property and the character of its service leave much to be desired, it has been, on the whole, successful in demonstrating the possibility of conducting such business enterprises by means of Korean labor. Mr. Morris, its manager, who came to Seoul in July, 1899, told me the interesting story of his earlier experiences. The working of the road during the first years of its running was accompanied by enormous difficulties. Neither the passengers, nor the motormen and the conductors had any respect for the value of time; most of the employees had even to learn how to tell time by their watches. The populace thought it proper for the cars to stop anywhere, and for any length of period which seemed convenient to them. If the car did not stop, the passengers made a mad rush for it and attempted to jump on; they also jumped off wherever they wished, whether the car stopped or not. This practice resulted in serious bruises and fractured skulls as an almost daily occurrence. Native pedestrians in the streets of Seoul were not content to walk stolidly and with a dignified strut (which is still the habit of the Korean before an approaching Japanese jinrikisha) along the track in the daylight, with the expectation that the car would go around them; but at evening they utilized the road-bed by lying down to sleep on the track with their heads on boards placed across its rails. One dark night in the first summer three men were killed by the last trip between the river and the city. In those days the broad thoroughfare, which is now kept open for its entire length, was greatly narrowed by rows of booths and “chow” shops on either side. Here the men from the country would tie their ponies (the Korean pony is notable for his vicious temper when excited) to the tables, and, reclining upon the same tables, would proceed to enjoy their portion of food. When the electric car came through the centre of the street, the beasts went wild with fright; sometimes they dashed into the shops; sometimes they fled down the street dragging the tables and scattering “chow” and men in every direction. At one place the line to the river runs over a low hill which is, in the popular superstition, a part of the body of the rain-bringing Dragon. In a dry season the people became greatly excited and threatened violence to those who had brought upon them the calamity of drought by such sacrilege done to the body of this deity. Mr. Morris had himself fled for his life before a Korean mob who were ready to tear him in pieces to avenge the killing of a child by the car. At the present time, however, there were fewer accidents in Seoul than on the electric car-lines of Japan; and many fewer than those from the same cause in the larger cities of the United States. In one of the more recent years they had carried 6,000,000 passengers and had only killed one. This is certainly not a bad record; for while, on the one hand, the service of the road is relatively slow and infrequent, on the other hand, in Seoul there are no sidewalks and the streets are thronged with foot-passengers and with children at play.

One other excursion from Seoul is, perhaps, worthy of record as throwing some sidelights upon Korea—this time, however, chiefly an affair of recreation. This was the ascent of Puk Han, the ancient place of royal refuge in cases of revolt or foreign invasion. The party consisted of Mr. Cockburn, the British Consul-General; Mr. Davidson, the successor of J. McLeavy Brown in the Department of Customs; Dr. and Mrs. Wm. B. Scranton, and Madam Scranton, the mother of the Doctor. Mr. Cockburn and Mr. Davidson made the ascent as far as was possible in jinrikishas, and the rest of the party in chairs carried by four or six coolies each. By the longer way out which the party took, there was, however, much walking (but no hard climbing) to do; and by the shorter way home, with its much steeper descent, there was little besides walking which could safely be done by any one.

The actual start was preceded by the customary bargaining with the coolies. This resulted in reducing by one-half the original charge—only to find the head man applying late in the evening after our return for an additional “present” direct from me, in reliance on my ignorance of the fact that a handsome present had already been given through the friend who made the arrangement. But, then, such squeezes are not confined to Korea in the Far East, nor are they peculiar to the Far East and infrequent in London, Paris, and New York.

Under “Independence Arch,” where, as we have already seen, the promise of a new and really independent Korea is built into the form of a monument of stone, the whole party were photographed. At a small village some three miles from Seoul, the coolies made another stop; here they received their first advance of money for “chow.” In the street of the village was standing one of those gorgeous palanquins which serve as biers, and which give the lifeless body of the poorest Korean his one ride in state to the hillsides where the tombs of the dead hold the ground against the fields needed for cultivation by the living. But these hillsides at least serve the living to some good purpose as preferred places for recreation and for intercourse with nature, as well as, in some sort, with their deceased ancestors. In Korea, as in India, birth, marriage, and death are expensive luxuries for the poor; to get into the world, to beget an heir, and to get out of the world again, absorb all the accumulated resources of a lifetime of toil for the average Korean. Surely, under such circumstances, “the will to live” lays itself open to the charge of Schopenhauer—that it is blind and working ever to the production of increased misery. Industrial development, firmly coupled with improved morality, and with the cheer and hopes of an elevating religion, as a true “psychical uplift,” are the only sufficient cure for such pessimistic tendencies.

West Gate or “Gate of Generous Righteousness.”

Among the several attempts at photographing made on the way to Puk Han, were some intended to catch one of the numerous Korean children who appeared puris in naturalibus. These were uniformly unsuccessful. Pictures of this characteristic sort were not to be had by us foreigners, although the attempts were supported by the offer of sizable coins. At the first motion to point the camera toward these features of the landscape, they took to their heels and fled afar with urgent precipitancy.

Within perhaps two miles of the Outer Gate of the mountain Fortress we were obliged to dismount, the way having become too rough and difficult even for chairs with four coolies each. Puk Han’s wall was built in 1711; although there is a not altogether improbable tradition that the mountain, which is somewhat more than 2,000 feet high, was fortified long before, under the Pakje kingdom. The gate through which one enters the walled enclosure is picturesque and interesting. Not far inside the wall, across a little valley, are to be seen the solid stone foundations of the new Buddhist temple which is to take the place of one that was destroyed by fire. This is one of several indications that the introduction of modern civilization and of Christian missions is to be followed in Korea, as it certainly has been followed in Japan and elsewhere, by a revival of the spirit, and an improvement in the form and efficacy, of the older religion of the country. Buddhism has, indeed, been for centuries largely lacking in all moral force and spiritual satisfactions in Korea. But I cannot agree with those who are so sure that it is not capable of revival there, of improvement, and even of offering a vigorous competition to Christian evangelizing.

As we climbed up toward the pavilion in which we were to take our luncheon, we saw few ruins of the structures which were once scattered over the area within the mountain’s wall; but everywhere was an abundance of beautiful wild flowers and flowering shrubs. Among the many varieties were wigelia, cypripedium, several kinds of iris, Solomon’s-seal, syringa, hydrangea, giant saxifrage, large white clematis, hawthorne, jassamine, lilies of the valley, many kinds of violets and azaleas, wild white roses, viburnum, Allegheny vine, and wild cherry.

About twenty minutes before we reached the pavilion where it was proposed to spread out our luncheon, great drops of rain caused us to quicken our pace; and the following smart shower which crept by the brow of the overhanging mountain, in spite of the protection of our umbrellas, gave the party somewhat of a wetting before shelter was reached. But soon the rain was over; the sun came gloriously out; the mountain stream which was just below the outer wall of the pavilion ran fuller and more merrily; and the food was more comforting in contrast with the slight preceding discomfort.

Lying in the sun on a shelving rock, I had an interesting conversation with the English Consul-General. In the course of this Mr. Cockburn expressed the amazement of his country at what he graciously called the “patience” of Americans in putting up so quietly with political and social wrongs which the English had refused any longer to suffer, now nearly a century ago. He seemed sincerely gratified at my assurance that the feeling of the United States toward England is more cordial and appreciative of our common good and common mission in the world than was the case twenty-five and thirty years ago. I found myself also in hearty agreement with his view that the treaty between Great Britain and Japan, whether it should prove of commercial advantage to the former, or not, was fruitful of good to the latter nation, to the Far East, and to mankind as interested in the world’s peace.

At about four o’clock the party started on its return to Seoul. The distance was some ten miles, most of which must be walked, by a rather steep descent in places over barren surfaces of granite rock. But the path at first led us still higher up the mountain until, having passed through an inner gate, we reached the outer wall upon the other side of the whole enclosure. For as much of the slope of Puk Han, as somewhat more than two miles of rambling wall can embrace, constitutes this fortified retreat of the Korean monarchy. Thus, with its stores of provisions and implements of war, the cultivated fields, palaces, and other official and unofficial residences inside, it was intended that Puk Han, like its somewhat earlier colleague, the fortresses of Kang Wha, should resist siege by any numbers and for any length of time. But from prehistoric times to Port Arthur, and all over the earth from Sevastopol to Daulatabad, the experiences of history have shown how vain is the hope of the rulers of men to ward off the results of moral and political degeneracy by walls of stone and implements of iron.

Far away on the very top of the mountain, to the left of our path, stood a watch-tower which commanded a view of all this part of Korea. From both of the gates in this portion of the wall, which, although they are only a short distance apart, look toward different points of the compass, the views are extensive and charming. To the southward one could look down the steep mountain side, over a valley from which rose rocky but brilliantly colored hills, bare for the most part of foliage, and through which the silvery thread of the River Han wound its way, upon a series of mountain ranges bounded only by the horizon. From the Western gate were to be seen Chemulpo and its island-dotted harbor, and beyond the open sea.

The downward path of Puk Han winds around the mountain, from the Southern gate in the wall toward the northwest; and although it is quite too steep and rough for safe descent in chairs, it is not particularly difficult for those who walk it with sound knee-joints and ordinarily careful and judicious feet. For the first five or six miles it affords an uninterrupted series of interesting and beautiful views. Here the colors of the rock, when seen in full sunlight, were trying for all but the most insensitive eyes. But as the light was modified by the occasional passing of clouds, or by the changes in the relation of the path to the points of the compass, the effect was kaleidoscopic in character on a magnificent scale. On this side of the mountain the shapes of the rocks are peculiar. In general, each mountain-ridge—supreme, subordinate, or still inferior—is composed of a series of pyramidally-shaped granite structures, rising higher and higher as to their visible summits; but with their sides welded, as it were, together, and their surfaces of disintegrated yellowish or reddish rock. Between the sides of the pyramids in each series, and between the different series, and between the higher ranges composed of the series, are dry ravines, down which the summer rains descend in torrents, keeping the slopes of all these rocky elevations almost bare of verdure. Thus there is produced an aspect of severe grandeur quite out of proportion to the real height of the mountains. But this aspect is relieved by an abundant growth of wild flowers and flowering shrubs—such as have been already named and still others—with more gorgeous blossoms than I have anywhere else seen produced by the same species. With these the ladies filled all hands, and all the luncheon baskets—and then even the chairs, which, however, we took again as soon as it became practicable, to the relief of feet and knees; and thus we entered the city by the North-West Gate, where we stopped awhile to rest the men and to enjoy the magnificent view of Seoul from the inside of the gate.

The excursion up Puk Han will certainly be remembered by some of the party as one of the most enjoyable to be obtained anywhere. It far surpasses most of those much-lauded by the guide-books in other more frequented but really less rewarding portions of the world.

If time had permitted, by turning aside an hour or two, the ascent of Puk Han might have been varied by a visit to the “Great White Buddha.” This rather interesting relic of a long-time decaying, but possibly now to be revived, Buddhism, I visited one morning in company with Mr. Gillett. The path to it leaves the main road some miles out of the city; where it begins to wind through the paddy fields it becomes somewhat difficult for jinrikishas. On the way one passes shrines such as are used not infrequently for the now forbidden exorcising ceremonies of the sorceresses, and heaps of stones that are continually being piled upon by the passers along the way, who wish thus to propitiate the spirits and to obtain good luck. The Buddha itself is a large and rudely-shaped figure, whitewashed on to the face of a rock, which has been escarped and covered with a pavilion, having a highly decorative frieze and a roof set on granite pillars. A few women were there worshipping in the manner common to the ignorant populace in Korea and Japan—i. e., clapping the hands, offering a small coin or two, and mumbling a prayer. A dirty, disreputable-looking priest was assiduously gathering up the coins, for they had merely been placed upon a table before the Buddha, instead of being thrown into an enclosed box. He volunteered the explanation that this was the most celebrated place in all Korea at which to offer effective prayer for a son; childless women, and also men, came from all over the land to worship at this shrine. In Korea, as well as in India and China, this vulgar and degrading superstition is connected with ancestor worship—namely, that the welfare of the living and the dead, in this world and in the next, is somehow inseparably bound up with begetting and bearing, or somehow possessing, a male descendant. No heavier curse is put on woman; no subtler form of temptation to lust for man; no more burdensome restriction on society; and no more efficient check to a spiritual faith and a spiritual development exists among the civilized peoples of the world than this ancient but unworthy superstition. Even devil-worship is scarcely less cruel and socially degrading.

It was with sincere regret that I left Korea without the opportunity to see the country even more widely, to feel more profoundly the spirit of its national life, and to become more acquainted in a relatively “first-hand” way with its history and its antiquities. I was confident that I had gained sufficient trustworthy information to judge fairly of the character of the native government—Emperor and Court and Yang-bans—to estimate in a measure the difficulties which encompassed the position of the Resident-General, and to appreciate the sincerity and self-sacrificing nature of his plans and the value of his achievements. But there are few countries in the world to-day where richer rewards await the expert and patient investigator of history and of antiquities. The history of Korea remains to be written; its antiquities are there to be explored.

CHAPTER VII
THE DEPARTURE

Soon after breakfast on the morning of the day before our stay in Seoul came to an end (Monday, May 27th), a telephone message was reported with the inquiry whether we expected to be at home at ten o’clock. Contrary to the understanding of the servant who brought the report, it proved to be Marquis Ito himself who, accompanied by General Murata, had kindly taken the time from his always busy morning hours to call in person and bid his guests good-by. Speaking with his customary quiet deliberation, brevity, and sincerity, His Excellency thanked me for the services rendered to him and to his nation, both directly and indirectly, by the visit to Korea; and the words which added a promise of continued friendship will always remain among the choicest of memories. In reply—with more adequate reason but with no less sincerity and earnestness—I thanked the Marquis for the confidence he had reposed in me, and as well for the experience which his invitation had furnished. If I had been of some small service, I had received a much more than adequate reward in the opportunity of seeing an interesting side of human life which had hitherto been, for the most part, unfamiliar to me. I also expressed my belief in a universal and omnipotent Spirit of Righteousness, who shapes the destinies of men and of nations, and who uses us all in His service—if we so will—to our own real well-being and to the good of humanity. God has so bound together Japan and Korea, both physically and politically, that their interests cannot be separated, whether for weal or for woe.

In the afternoon of the same day, at the house of Mr. D. W. Stevens, whose hospitality we had before enjoyed and whose friendship we had learned highly to prize, we met at tea some twenty-five of the most intimate of the acquaintances made during the previous two months. This was not, however, our final leave-taking of these friends. For the next morning at 8.50, at the South-Gate Station, most of the same persons gathered to give us one of those partings which one would not gladly miss, but which are always a mixture of sad pleasure and sweet pain. The insight of the Japanese language into such human experiences is shown by the fact that it has a single word which combines all these complex elements, and expresses them in itself. Nor do I find that the repetition of many such experiences in different far-away lands at all changes the intrinsic character of the feelings they excite. To make friends away from home is the traveller’s choicest pleasure; to part soon from these friends is the traveller’s keenest pain.

The journey from Seoul to Fusan was without incident and accomplished on time. As furnishing a change in the character of the surroundings, it is almost equivalent to going from Korea to Japan. For Fusan is essentially a Japanese city, and has been such for many years. The greeting given us on arrival was also characteristically Japanese. There, on the platform, were thirty or more of both sexes, including the Resident and other officials, whose cards were handed to us with such speed and profusion that to recognize names was impossible, and even to avoid dropping some of the pieces was difficult. The harbor launch again served us, as it had done before, for transportation between railroad station and Japanese settlement. Only twenty minutes were allowed for effecting a presentable appearance after the day’s travel; and then we were ushered to the dining-room, where about fifty persons had gathered for a complimentary banquet. After this, the Resident introduced, welcomed, and proposed a toast for the guests, and Mr. Zumoto interpreted the response. The banquet finished, there followed, in another part of the hotel, an entertainment of juggling, a farce, and dancing to samisen and koto—all by amateur performers. The day had certainly, when it ended, been sufficiently full of incident. But a real old-fashioned Japanese bath, in a deliciously soft wooden tub, with water at 108° Fahrenheit—the first I had been able to obtain during this visit to Japan—took away all soreness of flesh and weariness of spirit, and secured a good night’s rest.