Imperial Prince Yeong's childhood, part 2: Mischief with Harry Underwood

Seoul in the early 20th century / Courtesy of Diane Nars Collection

By Robert Neff

After several weeks of anxiousness, young Imperial Prince Yeong managed to recover ― without serious disfigurement or blindness ― from the visit of The Guest. On June 4, the palace gates were opened once again.

However, the malevolence still lurked about the palace and soon the young prince was stricken with another bout of sickness ― this time it was measles.

Once again, planned celebrations and audiences with foreign diplomats and guests were canceled. Court physicians were summoned and prayers were offered at various temples for the prince's speedy recovery. It was not cheap. According to an article appearing in the 1903 edition of The Korea Review, an English-language magazine published in Seoul:

"When the young prince was ill with a complaint that frequently follows after small-pox prayers were offered up at all the monasteries of the land, and twenty palace women sought out the houses of mudang and p'ansu and had prayers said for the prince. The total cost was about 30,000 Korean dollars."

Apparently it was money well spent, for on July 26, a great banquet was held at the palace and in various government offices to celebrate the prince's complete recovery. "Many munificent gifts were presented by the Emperor to his officials."

Gate to the palace in the early 20th century / Robert Neff Collection

By his birthday on Oct. 20, the prince was completely recovered and to ensure he stayed that way, 20 shamans held religious services for him at the palace and offered prayers for his long life.

With his good health came a return of his mischievousness. William Franklin Sands, an American adviser to the Korean emperor, recalled that while on duty at the palace, he heard "a most indecorous noise" in the courtyard: "a heavy running, the scolding of eunuchs and little squeals of some child's laughter." According to Sands, he immediately knew it involved a "privileged character": the baby prince. He was unaware of who the prince's tormented victim was until suddenly, "into the room burst the emperor's uncle, the 'Fat Prince,' [Yi Chae-sun] panting and perspiring and gasping, 'that child will be the death of me,' and after him, the baby with a cat in his arms and a flock of disturbed palace eunuchs."

Yi Chae-sun was terrified of cats and once even fainted at the American legation "because of a kitten hidden behind a curtain, which he could not see, but felt to be there."

The little prince may have been pleased with his little prank, but not long after, Yi Chae-sun was dead. Some say he was a victim of pneumonia while others claim he was a victim of displeasing the emperor. There were other evils in the air. On Feb. 8, 1904, the Russo-Japanese War began, which was also the first step in the loss of Korea's independence. A few months later, on the night of April 14, a large part of Deoksu Palace was burned to the ground.

It was shortly after the fire, while the palace was being repaired, that the young prince's mischievous character was again demonstrated.

Lillias Underwood recalled the first time her family was visited by the emperor's "youngest and much petted child. He was only seven and looked less, but he strode in with great dignity ― though he arrived on a man's back ― and insisted on shaking hands all round, and in following polite foreign custom, so far as he was informed."

Japanese troops march through the streets of Seoul in 1904. / Robert Neff Collection

Of course, the prince went nowhere by himself and was always "surrounded by a crowd of eunuchs, officials and palace women whom he ordered about in a lordly way." He was especially smitten with the Underwoods' 14-year-old son, Horace (but commonly called Harry by his mother), who visited frequently. Perhaps he had heard tales about Horace from his imperial father who had entertained, "petted and feasted" with the young American boy in the palace not too many years earlier. Or perhaps it was his older half-brother, Crown Prince Sunjong, who had his own encounter with the brash young American boy. When asked how old he was, Horace responded he was nine, and then asked the crown prince ― in impolite Korean ― how old he was. The crown prince, taken aback by Horace's question and the manner in which he asked, merely turned around and walked away. Horace would later complain to his mother that he never did learn the crown prince's age.

Japanese Prime Minister Ito Hirobumi and Imperial Prince Yeong, circa 1907 / Library of Congress, public domain

At first Imperial Prince Yeong's visits thrilled the young American teenager but they soon became so frequent that he began to rue them. After all, he had very little in common with the young prince and was growing tired of being at his beck and call. So he sought to avoid him. This didn't always work.

"One of the officials near his small Highness, a man of thirty or forty who, like all his attendants, was robed in immaculate white silk garments of very delicate texture, was imperiously ordered to climb a tall persimmon-tree, where Harry had seated himself among the higher branches, and so thither the unfortunate man was obliged to go, it need scarcely be said to be the great demoralization of his flimsy and spotless robes."

The young despot also tried to command Harry in the manner he did his servants. Harry refused. At first the prince was shocked that anyone would refuse his command, but then was pleased with the novelty of it. A compromise was reached: he would continue to visit but would issue no commands to the older American boy.

Although the prince may have been overly privileged, he was nonetheless compassionate. He bought treats for workmen and coolies, worried when other children were hurt while playing and expressed a great deal of affection for Lillias Underwood. When she sprained her ankle, he visited frequently to inquire how she was feeling, and "sent fruit and such dainties as his kind little heart suggested might be appreciated."

Children grow up quickly, especially when they are under the sway of adult politics. In December 1907, Imperial Prince Yeong was taken to Japan to attend school. Apparently, at first, the Japanese emperor took a fondness to the young Korean prince, but soon grew distant after Japanese Prime Minister Ito Hirobumi was assassinated.

Palace grounds in the early 20th century / Robert Neff Collection

Imperial Prince Yeong returned to Korea for a brief time in 1911 in order to attend his mother's funeral. It was here that he met (for just a passing moment) another American boy named Thomas A. Jordan Jr., who had more in common with the young prince than Horace had: Jordan and the Korean prince were the same age. Unfortunately, Jordan did not write much about the encounter, though his mother did:

"But the best of all was when we went up to greet the Crown Prince. He is only 14 and has been kept away in Japan at school ever since Corea was annexed. He was given special permission to come to his mother's funeral. He was in his native dress, all in white, mourning, and his sedan chair was also white, and he was borne about by twenty soldiers in uniform. Those who greeted him only bowed and he returned the bow. It was very pathetic and I know the Coreans felt as if this was almost the final act of the old regime, and they hate the Japanese with an intensity that is almost akin to insanity. It was certainly a spectacular affair for an American, and I believe we were the only ones I saw."

Imperial Prince Yeong returned to Japan and in 1920 married Princess Masako of Nashimoto (Yi Bangja). He and his wife returned to Korea in 1963 and lived their final years at Nakseon Hall in Changdeok Palace.

This article is dedicated to Peter Bartholomew who passed away a few weeks ago. He often visited Princess Bangja and the other members of the royal family and always hinted at fantastic tales he could tell but sadly he ran out of time. It is a shame that I never pushed him for more information about the royal couple and their youth. Their stories, including Bartholomew's, are now lost.

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