Mangwonjeong and praying for rain

Stairs leading up to Mangwonjeong, July 2019.

• Published Jul 28, 2019 9:21 AM KST
• Updated Jul 28, 2019 2:36 PM KST

By Robert Neff

One of my favorite sanctuaries in Seoul from the summer heat is Mangwonjeong.

It is a beautiful pavilion nestled along the Han River that enjoys cool breezes from the river, shade from the tall trees and relative solitude from the teeming masses ― despite the highway running directly in front of it. It is also easily accessible by bike.

For the most part, it is unknown except to those who live in the area. Occasionally I encounter children playing quietly on its steps or a small group of elderly women fanning themselves and regaling each other with their childhoods of long ago. I, too, like to sit and think about the past.

It seems very appropriate to sit in the pavilion on a rainy day ― especially considering its past.

In 1425, King Sejong visited the pavilion, which was owned by his elder brother. For some time the region had suffered a lack of rain and, according to legend, as soon as the king arrived, it began to rain. Delighted, he named the pavilion Huiujeong, meaning “a pavilion meeting a delightful rain.”

But summoning rain was not always easy for Korean monarchs.

In July 1892, Seoul was suffering horribly from the heat. It was miserable.

Westerners, who had it much better than the average Korean, complained of the heat in their correspondence home and in their diaries.

Nights were especially bad. Because of the heat, it was too hot to sleep in their beds so some Westerners resorted to sleeping on the hard floors. There was usually little difference between day and night temperatures. The highest temperature that month was 35.4 degrees Celsius.

Nature seemed to mock the capital by sending forth strong winds that “became heated and oppressive” as they passed over the “heat-radiating” barren hills and mountains surrounding the city. The only comfortable breeze was generated by hand-held fans ― it was a brief but hard-earned respite.

Adding to the misery was the lack of moisture. The expected rains had not come and the Korean court began to offer sacrifices to the gods for relief. One sacrificial site was at the Han River near Yongsan. Sacks of coins and pigs were thrown into the river in hope of generating rain. These sacrifices were expensive. Later, in 1902, the Korean government spent $8,840 praying for rain.

For several days nothing happened. Diary annotations indicate that there were “feeble attempts at rain” but it wasn't until July 29 when “torrents that seemed like the breaking of clouds” dropped 12.5 centimeters of rain on the city in just a couple of hours.

Light rains followed for the next couple of days and the population was relieved. Soon afterwards, the Government Gazette announced that the monarch “rejoices that the anxiety caused by the recent drought is over and orders that a deer-skin be given to each of the officers who went to pray for rain.”

The gods had apparently been pleased.

As I left the pavilion on my bike, it occurred to me that the original complex was destroyed, ironically, by the flood of 1925. My amusement was somewhat dampened when it began to pour rain and I ended up riding home drenched. It doesn't pay to mock superstitions, legends or beliefs.

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