Plum trees, pheasants and promises of old Korea

Hyehwamun (Northeast Gate) in the late 19th or early 20th centuries / Robert Neff Collection

By Robert Neff

In Korea, 1898 began with change and trepidation. December the last year had been brutally cold but the first week of January was pleasantly mild. There was the promise of prosperity. The rice prices, which had been extremely high due to the failure of the crops in the capital region the previous year, continued to fall as more shipments of rice arrived. There were probably some who believed that supernatural forces were responsible for this change of fate.

In the vicinity of Beol-ri, a village that's now known as northeastern Seoul's Beon-dong, a hunter killed a white pheasant. He was convinced that it was an "omen of great prosperity for the nation" and so he took it to the palace so that it could be served to the royal family. The gift was accepted but it is not clear if the Korean monarch partook in any of the "omen(s)."

Clearly, for those who believe in portents and omens, this was no coincidence. Beol-ri was so named because of the large number of plum trees that grew in its vicinity. The Independent (a newspaper published in Seoul) translated Beol-ri as "cutting down plum trees," and then provided its readers with a legend of the founding of the 1392-1910 Joseon Kingdom.

"As the (918-1392 Goryeo) dynasty was drawing near to its close a prophesy passed from mouth to mouth that the man destined to overthrow the then royal family was to be named Yi (Plum Tree) and that he would establish his capital near the place where the trees flourish. The kings of (Goryeo) were very much disturbed and hearing that the hateful trees flourished near Hanyang (the old name for Seoul) ordered that they should be cut down. But, according to the story, the trees would not be downed. The more cut down, the more they spread. This prophecy was ultimately fulfilled when the present dynasty was founded by a general named (Yi Seong-gye ― his imperial title is King Taejo)."

Korean prisoners in cangues in the late 19th or early 20th century / Robert Neff Collection

This was not the only hint of the supernatural. In the middle of January, The Independent reported that Yi Yu-in was appointed the new minister of law. The article noted that Yi was from the Gyeongsang region and was of "humble origin," but "his ability of fortune-telling brought him up to Seoul some years ago," where "he soon became a high official in the Government." Prior to the First Sino-Japanese War of 1894-95, he had served as governor of Seoul, but once hostilities broke out, he returned to his home province "and remained quiet." But the call of politics (and perhaps something from beyond) compelled him to return to Seoul in 1897, where he regained some of his influence.

The editor added, "We trust that he will administer the judiciary department of the Government with prophetic wisdom and foresight."

There were many travesties of law in need of his wisdom and oversight.

A soldier of the late 19th century / Robert Neff Collection

On Jan. 3, a policeman named Tai Changyup broke into a house in an effort to steal an iron boiler. He was caught red-handed and taken to the local police station, where he confessed that he had committed the act because he was hungry and had no money to buy rice.

But some other government employees apparently had enough money to get into trouble.

A lieutenant in the Korean army went into "a disreputable house" to enjoy a little drinking and female companionship. To his displeasure, another guest was "monopolizing the society of inmates of the house." The officer was made even unhappier when he discovered his competition was a soldier from his own company ― he promptly ordered his subordinate to leave but the order was refused. The soldier told his superior that he was compelled to obey in the barracks but not in this establishment.

"The officer struck the soldier with his fist. The half-drunken soldier caught the officer by the collar and dragged him out of the house and gave him a sound thrashing. The groaning of the beaten man attracted a passing policeman who found the officer prostrated in the gutter without a hat and his uniform was covered with blood. The policeman arrested both the officer and his assailant and sent them to the War Office for investigation. The officer begged authorities not to make public the occurrence, and the War Office officials refused to give the name of both the victor and the vanquished."

There were also injustices heaped upon the general public. In Fusan (modern Busan), "an aged unoffending mother should be taken to the magistrate's office, stripped of her clothing, and severely beaten for the misdemeanors of an unworthy son." According to a writer from that port, he understood that Korea "has long sanctioned the punishment of innocent members of the family for the guilty," but in his opinion, this was "simply an act of barbaric injustice against which the common conscious revolts..." He asked that an investigation be conducted and the perpetrator severely punished. Whether this was done or not is unknown. By the end of September, Justice Minister Yi was having his own legal problems and was sentenced to a prison term of 10 years. He did not serve out the full sentence, as the fickleness of Korean politics soon reinstated him.

Not all justice was administered by government officials.

In the middle of January, a Western resident of Jemulpo (modern Incheon) and a frequent contributor to The Independent described an incident that took place in that port.

He saw a large crowd of intoxicated men gathered in the street near the hotel. There was a great deal of "vociferous conversation" that soon evolved into a physical assault. A large man seized a "prostrate man on the ground by the long and luxuriant locks of hair and dragged him away with a fierce and unkind expression." Thinking the man was to be killed, the foreigner thought to interfere but suddenly recalled "several experiences on kindred occasions," and thought it best to inquire as to the reasons for the assault. From a fellow spectator, he learned:

"The man owning the hair was a son-in-law. The man with a grip on the hair was his father-in-law. The son-in-law had induced his wife to take up her abode with her father temporarily and as times were hard he had left her there permanently and no longer called to see her even on her afternoons at home ... The father-in-law had stood this undutiful conduct as long as he could and then came in search of the recalcitrant. He had tried to induce him to come peaceably and to at least call on his wife but he was too mean to do it. And finding entreaty, exhortation and expostulation in vain he had resorted to the hair of the head. He was determined that his daughter should see her husband if he had to drag him to her feet by the hair of the head, and that was what it had come to. And the last I saw was the husband bumping over the ground on his way to see his wife, with the assistance of an earnest and muscular father-in-law."

Jemulpo harbor in the early 20th century, where visits by navies with several ships often caused consternation in the capital. / Courtesy of Diane Nars Collection

The writer added:

"I did not interfere. I gave myself up to meditation. I thought of what a determined creature a Korean father-in-law is when his daughter's husband fails to appear at her afternoons at home. Then I thought of how embarrassed the husband must be to enter the presence of his wife on all fours with her muscular father at the end of his long and thickly populated locks."

While the woman may have lost her husband for a short time ― there was a husband who lost his wife forever.

On Jan. 8, her imperial highness, the wife of Heungson Daewongun and the mother of the emperor, died after an illness of short duration. According to the newspaper:

"The deceased Princess never interfered with the politics of the country even in the remotest manner, all through the years of her husband's regency. She devoted her whole life to the domestic duties of the great household and she helped thousands of poor people in a quiet manner until her last day. She was the idol of the people throughout the Empire both high and low and her death is sincerely mourned by all."

For Heungson Daewongun, her death was devastating. A week after her death, he celebrated his 78th birthday. It was his last; he died just over a month later.

The American Legation in Seoul also experienced change. In the middle of January, the newspaper reported William Franklin Sands, the new secretary of the legation, had arrived. The editor, perhaps currying favor, described Sands as "a handsome young bachelor, and (I) have no doubt that he will be one of the favorites of Seoul society."

To a degree, the editor was right. Sands became one of the favorite subjects of gossip in the foreign and Korean communities, as we shall see in the next article.

I would like to express my appreciation to Diane Nars for her assistance and for allowing me to use one of her images.

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