Royal hauntings at Changdeokgung Palace

Changdeokgung Palace circa 1900-1910 Courtesy of Robert Neff collection

This is the third in a series of articles on “Korea’s Haunted Past.” ― ED.

By Robert Neff

Today, Changdeok is one of the most beautiful palaces in Seoul and is filled with tourists ― foreign and Korean. But in the 1880s it was empty and abandoned because many believed it was haunted by the evil acts of the Korean nobility.

Lillias Underwood, who once served as the Korean queen’s female physician in the 1880s, described the palace as:

“[The] wind whistles and moans through the deserted rooms, grass and weeds push their way through the crevices of the beautiful marble steps, green mould grows thick on the once lovely lotus pond, and the charming little summer pavilions are falling to ruins, while snakes and lizards slide about the stone seats. The wide reaches of lawn are overgrown with long grass, and tigers and leopards are said to make their lairs in the noble woods and grottoes. The gateways fashioned in various charming designs to form frames as it were for the beautiful vistas beyond are choked with a wild overgrowth of vines and weeds. Fancy has not to look far, or listen long, to read in all this deserted and neglected beauty the story of that one night of blood and horror, and to hear in every chilled whisper of shuddering foliage the word ‘haunted.’”

The “one night of blood and horror” is a reference to the Imo Munity of July 23, 1882, when dissatisfied soldiers occupied the palace and murdered government officials. According to Underwood, the queen confided to her that following the mutiny she could no longer sleep in the palace because of the horrid wailing of those who had been murdered there. But the voices the queen heard might have been the victims of an earlier period, for this palace ― like many in Seoul ― has a dark history.

One period of darkness followed King Sejong’s death in 1450. His oldest son, who came to be known as Munjong, ascended to the throne in May 1450 and soon the country was plagued by typhus. Munjong claimed that the epidemic was “not due to malignant spirits, as some think, or to the fortunes of the yang and the yin, but to the faults and sins of men.” He beseeched his people to “cease from distressing evil ways” and to lead law-abiding lives. Almost two years later the king was dead ― a victim of disease. Evil followed his death.

Danjong ― Munjong’s 12-year-old son ― ascended the throne but, because of his age, a regent was appointed to help guide his rule. Like his father, Danjong was haunted with misfortune. His mother, Hyeondeok, died within a day of his birth and his own short life ended violently through ambitious betrayal.

In 1453, his uncle, Sejo (the second son of King Sejong), led a revolt that resulted in the slaughter of the young king’s supporters near Gyeongbok palace. So many people were killed that the soil became saturated with blood. To disperse the smell, great fires were built and a thick layer of ash covered the ground. This is how the region came to be known as Jae-dong ― “The Road of Ashes.”

The king, fearing for his life, abdicated the throne to his uncle who then banished the boy to Yeongwol in Gangwon province. Far removed from the capital and stripped of his title, the boy, now known only as a prince, may have felt safe but no distance could save him from his uncle’s fears and ambitions.

In December 1457, an assassin with a poison made from hemlock was sent to do away with Danjong. He arrived on Christmas Eve but, upon seeing the doomed boy, he waivered in completing his mission. Kong Sang, one of the prince’s servants, seeking to garner favor with the king, took matters into his own hands, seized a bow string and strangled the prince. Following this villainous act of betrayal, supernatural retribution was swift and pandemonium ruled.

Kong Sang immediately fell to the ground dead ― blood pouring from his eyes, ears, nose and mouth. The women servants in the household all committed suicide together by leaping from the heights of the estate into the depths of the Han River. In Seoul, King Sejo was visited by the vision of Danjong’s mother who accused him of the murder of her only son and promised to take his son, 19-year-old Crown Prince Uigyeong. The king rushed to his son’s chambers and found him dead ― the threat fulfilled. In anger, Sejo commanded that Hyeondeok’s body be disinterred from her grave and her remains cast into the river.

Although Danjong’s body was buried through the kindness and loyalty of a man named Om Heung-do, evil continued to haunt Yeongwol. The newly appointed magistrate of the district died the first night of his arrival; the subsequent six magistrates suffered the same fate. It was only after the eighth-appointed magistrate paid a visit to Danjong’s grave was peace restored.

As with many good ghost stories involving revenge, this one is filled with fact and fiction. Where fact ends and fiction begins is unclear but we do know that Uigyeong did not die on Christmas Eve. He died on Sept. 2, nearly three and a half months before Danjong’s murder.

Robert Neff is a historian and columnist for The Korea Times. He can be reached at robertneff103@gmail.com.