Land of Morning Calm mourns: Part 2

Not everyone was buried in royal splendor. Royal tombs near Goyang in 2017. Robert Neff Collection

By Robert Neff

In the 19th century, Korea was often referred to as the "Land of the Morning Calm" but it was far from accurate ― especially at night when it became a realm of loud mourning.

Cemeteries are sacred ― the final resting place of those who have gone before us. They are filled with the spirits of the past ― some had an impact on society, politics, or history while others were simple affairs of people, parents, siblings, friends and lovers. But all were important and deserve remembrance ― even those of whom, through modern eyes, have sinned.

Graves and cemeteries often captured the attention of early visitors to Korea. When John Carey Hall, an English diplomat traveled to Korea in the autumn of 1882 he was drawn to the subject of death and its role in Korean society. He declared that geomancy was "universal and deeply rooted in the Corean mind, and the object round which it centers is the tomb."

Considering he was only in Korea for a very short period, some of his observations seem somewhat presumptuous. He did not find the enclosed cemeteries contiguous to temples that were in Japan nor did he find graves buried within the boundaries of tilled fields as he witnessed in China. According to Hall, the only propitious situation for a Korean grave was on a hill. A geomancer was always summoned which resulted in a great expense of time and money.

"A circular mound, about 5 or 6 feet in diameter, and about 2 or 3 feet high marks the place of sepulture. Except in the case of nobles, there is no tombstone, no epitaph, [and] no distinguishing mark of any kind."

This observation was made even clearer to him when he traveled from Suwon to Seoul. In his lengthy report to his superior, he wrote:

"Close to the dry bed of the [Han River], where it is crossed by the [Suwon] road, there is a spur of a hill which is deemed a particularly propitious site for interments, and its whole surface is studded with thousands of such propitious sites for interments, and its whole surface is studded with thousands of such grave-mounds, as like one another as peas, and as thickly clustered together as it is possible to crowd them, and not one of them marked by any tombstone, inscription, decoration, or distinguishing sign. Yet each is known to, and recognized by, the family to whom it pertains, and their vested rights have to be most carefully respected in the case of every fresh grave dug in the vicinity, so that the integrity of the geomantic conditions be not tampered with nor encroached upon. Disputes between those who have ancestors buried in a particular spot and others who wish to bury near the existing graves are of frequent occurrence, and when the decision of the juridical official is in favor of the newcomer's claim, the old grave is sometimes opened and the remains reinterred in another site."

His observation about disputes over gravesites was correct and they sometimes ended violently.

A Korean cemetery circa early 1900s. Courtesy of Diane Nars Collection

Apparently, not all cemeteries were built on hills. In 1891, Harmon Van Slyke Peeke, an American missionary in Japan, visited the southern part of the Korean peninsula and wrote in his diary:

"[We] passed through about twenty acres of graves. They evidently bury on top of the ground and make no effort at marking the graves. The numberless hemispheres of earth, of perhaps six feet diameter, that I have seen so often on hillsides must be graves too. In this cemetery were very many second-growth chestnut trees; the only large trees I have seen in Korea; and the first chestnut trees I have seen for nearly four years."

I am not too impressed with Peeke's treatment of the dead, as he seemed too cavalier with a Korean skull he discovered a few days earlier. The sanctity of graves was not always honored by early visitors to Korea as evidenced by displays in various museums around the world or in the pages of history.

Many of the early missionaries were appalled with the treatment (or, in their eyes, the mistreatment) of the dead. James Scarth Gale wrote:

"Shortly after my arrival, while taking a walk outside of the little east gate of the capital, I saw a hundred and more of these objects covered with matting. 'What are they?' I asked. 'Those are the dead.' 'The dead? Why don't you bury them?' 'Cannot; you must first find a propitious site; otherwise, burial will bring ruin to the family.' A day or so later, two of us were riding on horseback along the main road to the east of the city, when suddenly my horse gave a start, and there I beheld three decapitated bodies, with heads lying on the roadway. I returned home in disgust, feeling that I would like to get out of this country with its horrible dead..."

He did not leave and, in fact, remained in Korea until the late 1920s. His books and writings still provide valuable glimpses into Korean society of the past.

A corpse wrapped in straw and exposed to the elements. Circa late 1890s early 1900s. Courtesy of Diane Nars collection

As for the poor and destitute, death was often ignoble. A cheap funeral and the subsequent burial cost between two and three American dollars ― but not everyone could afford even this relatively small sum of money.

During the various epidemics, some sufferers were abandoned and placed in small straw shelters outside the city gates by their families. It was a realistic yet cold act ― an effort to prevent other family members from becoming infected and to prevent the family from being further burdened with funeral expenses. Sometimes sick children were tied to trees to prevent them from wandering back into the city. Likely, these corpses were gathered up and buried without ceremony or remembrance.

The corpses of children victims of smallpox were often wrapped in straw and placed in the branches of trees so that the elements would claim their bodies. One can imagine the shock felt when one of these small lifeless bundles was inadvertently discovered.

What is even more chilling appears in The Korean Review in 1903. A reader asked, "Why do Koreans wrap the bodies of children who have died of smallpox in straw and delay the burial?" The editor answered:

"There are several reasons. One is that it often happens that a child which has the smallpox is given up for dead but ultimately survives. It is said that the wrapping in straw and delaying burial is to make sure that the child is actually dead before burying it. We hear stories of how people have seen a movement in one of these straw wrappings and upon investigation have found that the child was alive."

Another reason given was that three months were needed for the fever within the corpse to cool making it safe enough to bury.

Even when bodies were buried, they were often done so in a haphazard manner ― especially when the Grim Reaper seemed overly busy on the Korean peninsula. In the early 1890s, George G. Gilmore, an American teacher in Seoul, wrote:

"The graves are often very shallow, especially in the winter. One of the ghastliest sights I witnessed in Korea was a dog taking his dinner from the foot of a corpse buried almost on top of the earth. The spring thaw had caused the mound to crumble away, and so had exposed the body. A raven stood only a few feet away, evidently waiting till the dog had sated himself and had left the feast."

Horace N. Allen echoed this observation: The "graves [of the poor] are located as near to the city as possible in order to save the expense of a long journey; some of the bare hills about Seoul are so dotted with graves of the poor as to resemble the face of a man badly pitted with smallpox."

Allen and Gilmore were describing the events following cholera epidemics and cannot be viewed as the norm ― the perceived callousness towards death was a matter of necessity. The only real truth is that nothing in life or death comes without a cost.

Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books, including Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.