The emperor is crowned: Part 1

Hwangudan, the site of the coronation, circa 1909 Robert Neff Collection

By Robert Neff

"Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown" is a line from one of William Shakespeare's plays that expresses how difficult it is to be a monarch. In the fall of 1897, King Gojong was faced with his own dilemma: his people did not want him as a king, but as an emperor.

In September, the Korean court was besieged with memorials from the people begging their monarch to accept the title of emperor ― their pleas seemingly unheard. The regret and sorrow felt by some members of the court soon became unbearable. On Oct. 1, the prime minister and a number of government officials knelt in the palace courtyard and, as the common people had earlier, petitioned the king to accept his imperial destiny.

In their memorial, they wrote:

"In wisdom and bravery, Your Majesty far excels a hundred monarchs. Your disposition is like that of heaven and earth. Your virtues extend even to spirits. You follow the principles of three emperors and inherit the ideas of five sovereigns. During your reign of three decades, good influence and merits have extended far and wide, while your methods of government are those of the classics. When we passed [through] calamitous times, many dangers only strengthened the country and great anxieties displayed your powers. [Through] your exertions, disorders have been rectified; and the royal ancestral temples have been kept safe. The safety of the land has been made as firm as mountains, and misfortunes have been turned into blessings. In peace and prosperity, the foundation of independence has been laid, and the rights of self-government are enforced. This is the time when heaven is helping us, and your dynasty is entering an era of renewed glory."

They further asserted that while they admired the monarch's modesty in his previous refusals, it was beyond his decision: "The will of heaven and the wishes of the people should be complied with."

In his article published in The Korean Repository, Yun Chi-ho noted the petition had to be submitted nine times: the king "declined eight times but yielded to the unanimous request at the ninth petition. One is at a loss which to admire most ― the extreme modesty of His Majesty or the persistent loyalty of his officials."

With the king's acquiescence, the court astrologers decided the most auspicious day and time for the coronation was Oct. 12 at 3 a.m. Preparations began immediately within the capital and outside the city walls.

A Korean procession leaves Deoksu Palace. Photo taken by Burton Holmes circa 1899. Robert Neff Collection

In Jemulpo (modern Incheon), the local authorities distributed hundreds of flags to the Korean population to decorate their homes and businesses. One foreign resident described the Korean section of the port as having a cloud of flags waving over it, which gave it a rather pleasing look. His compliment was somewhat blunted when he added, "The Korean flag is not a bad looking one by any means though its symbolism is too intricate for practical purposes."

In Seoul, the streets leading to Hwangudan ― the sacred altar and site of the coronation ― were repaired and placed in good order. On the afternoon of Monday, Oct. 11, King Gojong and Crown Prince Sunjong left Deoksu Palace on the journey to transform the Joseon Kingdom into the Great Korean Empire. This was not the actual coronation but rather a visit to the coronation site to ensure that the preparations were complete. The local English-language newspaper and magazine described the procession's pomp in great detail but the diplomatic dispatches of the American and British legations were anemic ― noting the events had occurred and providing clippings from the newspaper and magazine.

According to The Independent (one of Korea's early newspapers, published in Korean and English in Seoul) and The Korean Repository (an English monthly magazine), the procession began in the afternoon at 2:30 p.m. But Yun Chi-ho, in his diary, wrote: "The procession between the present Palace and the temple took place at 5 p.m. fully three hours later than the hour announced." As mentioned earlier, Yun was the author of the article that appeared in The Korean Repository, though his diary entries were often at odds with his article's narrative.

In his article, Yun wrote:

"For the occasion, the mourning costume in memory of the late Queen was laid aside and officials came out in robes whose bright and diverse colors vied with those of a rainbow. The variety of military uniforms was bewildering, with the business-like uniforms of the present colonels and generals at one extreme, and the silken, effeminate dress of ancient warriors at the other. Rusty spears and swords; wooden clubs and gilded hammers; old firearms venerable for their rusty age, and modern rifles glistening with bayonets; banners with dragons and tigers painted on them in glaring colors, and musical instruments quaint in shape and strange in sound ― all this was picturesque but not awe-inspiring."

The Independent also commented about the "great splendor of pageantry of both Oriental and Occidental fashions, with several regiments of soldiers, carriers of flags, wooden hammers, gilded stirrups, silvery wooden swords, together with numerous dignified strutting officials…."

The contrast between the soldiers dressed in the new uniforms as opposed to those in the old uniforms is overwhelming. In one image, the soldiers dressed in modern uniforms are rigid and disciplined, seeming unfazed by the activity going on around them, while the soldiers in the old traditional uniforms seem easily distracted and playful ― more like curious children than hardened soldiers. Perhaps their distraction and curious looks were the results of the photographer's presence. Unfortunately, the image is not mine so I am unable to use it in this article.

While Yun's description in The Korean Repository was somewhat benign, his description in his diary was malignant:

"[The] disorderly mixture of old and new styles of dress, the rusty spears and swords, the red and yellow rays called banners, all sorts of court officials, etc. In horribly ugly dresses, the noise and confusion ― all this so absolutely destitute of every element of seriousness, or of beauty or of order made me ask involuntarily, 'Has the title of Emperor been so disgraced as this ever before in the history of this world?'"

Neither in Yun's article in The Korean Repository nor his diary does he indicate how the Korean monarch and the crown prince traveled to the altar, but according to The Independent, they each rode in "a yellow chair which was richly gilded and each was carried on the shoulders of fifty or more men." The Independent also described the route in a little more detail than its competitor:

"The entire length of the route from the Palace to the Sacred Altar was lined with soldiers and police and either side of the street was temporarily fenced off by awnings. Many private and public buildings were decorated [with] flags and thousands of people watched the procession from high places about the city. Everything was orderly and the details of the programme were admirably carried out."

Yun probably would not have agreed with that last sentence.

The Independent described the coronation site at Hwangudan as a "circular platform divided into three terraces, each attaining a height of four feet of granite embankment. The lowest terrace is about one hundred and forty-four feet in diameter and is surrounded by a low granite wall. The second terrace is seventy-two feet in diameter while the third or the highest platform is thirty-six feet across. The floor of each is covered with rectangular tiles. Around the upper platform a circular awning of yellow was neatly hung and over it all, a huge square awning protected the platforms from the hot rays of the sun during the day and from the dew at the night. There are four entrances through the circular granite wall on the lower terrace, one on each side of the compass."

In his diary, Yun described Hwangudan as nothing more than a big mound made out of stone, but in his article, he wrote:

"This Altar, or the Round Hill, is a circular mound divided into three terraces built of stone. The upper-most terrace is thirty-six feet in diameter. Double this number and you have diameter of the middle terrace, while that of the ground terrace is 144 feet. Each terrace has nine steps leading to the one above it. Nine is the sacred number corresponding to the nine heavens. The Hill occupies the site on which once stood the imposing reception-hall in which Chinese ambassadors used to be entertained."

Once they reached Hwangudan, King Gojong, dressed in a richly embroidered dark satin robe, "personally inspected the cooking utensils, articles of food, and other matters connected with the sacrifice," including "the sacrificial victims ― oxen, sheep and pigs." The king was obviously pleased as "his handsome countenance was lit with happy smiles."

The procession then returned to the palace to await the designated hour when Gojong would make his final journey to Hwangudan as king and transform the Joseon Kingdom into the Great Korean Empire.

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