It is evident that Korea is yet incapable of self-government. She is dependent on one or the other neighbour. Since China fell out of the ranks of conquering Powers j.a.pan has taken up arms as she did centuries ago. To-day it is she who is aiming at ruling Eastern Asia, as if it were her mission to awaken the peoples of Asia and to instil Western civilization into them. The movement is of great interest and of more import than we should dare to believe. Its significance is incalculable.

Whether j.a.pan will be the master who is to transform the Asiatic races is another puzzling problem. Already a considerable number of young Chinese are frequenting j.a.panese high schools and colleges. Delegates are being sent from Pekin, at the expense of the Government, to j.a.panese commercial and industrial inst.i.tutions to study and to become acquainted with modern ideas.

Korea is face to face with similar problems of transformation. Who is to secure her definite leadership--j.a.pan or Russia? The present war is more than a boundary dispute; it means the old struggle between the white and yellow races for the hegemony of Asia. On whichever side success ultimately lies, on that of Russia or of j.a.pan, let all those who know Korea and are interested in her fate, hope that the conquerors will fulfil the duties victory involves. The little country deserves that her rulers should earnestly study her conditions and seek to improve them.

Even from a merely utilitarian standpoint it will prove a better policy to develop and help than to exploit to excess or to oppress her. It is just as important that her people, who ever since their infancy have been the victims of cruel foes and the prey of bad government, should be elevated to a higher standard.

For those who like to gather knowledge, not only about the outward circ.u.mstances of foreign countries but also about their inner life, it will be of interest to know that in spite of their degradation Korea's people have preserved unimpaired the sensitiveness of their mind. They are by no means insensible to lofty ideas. They are even capable of showing some enthusiasm for higher ideals. There is hardly another nation in the East which evinces more sincere appreciation of Christian ethics and doctrines than the Koreans.

Scarcely half a century has pa.s.sed since the first Roman Catholic priests began their work, and they already number about fifty parishes and over fifty thousand parishioners. The old religious hatred is gradually changing into sympathy. Recently a few orphanages were built where children, abandoned by their parents, are being brought up and trained for some useful vocation.

The people are beginning to conceive clearer ideas about Christian virtues, and those who see under what wretched conditions the missionaries live, in what poor huts they dwell, on what scanty fare they have to live--especially when they realize that these men have left their own families, homes, and their country to educate little orphans, to help the needy, and to nurse the sick, no matter of what creed or sect, be they pagans or worshippers of the sun or of ancestors--regard this self-sacrifice with an admiration which is general and sincere.

For those who wish to form an estimate of the intellectual powers of a people, the missionary schools offer undoubtedly the greatest facilities. It is there that the natural inclinations, good or bad, find direct expression. Of all my surprising experiences in Korea--a country rich in surprises--nothing equalled my impressions of the new college and seminary at Yong-Sang. There young people of twelve to fifteen gave as precise answers to questions put to them as one could hear in the best European high schools. And there Korea's primitive children can express themselves fluently in cla.s.sical Latin. It was interesting for me to get an insight into their capabilities and observe their industry.

For hours they would pore over their books if the teacher would not call them away for recreation. With the inherited inclination of Oriental people for abstract sciences, they enter with delight and pleasure into any metaphysical question. I was delighted to hear how successful their training is, and how easy it is to form their minds. I saw young Korea in a new light. There I best realized the force of the maxim that the future of a nation lies in the potentialities of its youths and their sound bringing up. But education can be of value only when carefully founded on higher morality and guided by true religion.

With such an education Chosen's children might hold in their hands one day their country's independence and prosperity.

Korea's exceptional geographical position, its natural wealth, and inborn physical strength, should tend to make her in the extreme Far East a sort of buffer state, and a bulwark of international good fellowship and established peace.

Nations, like individuals, have their moral codes and vocations. Nemesis must always overtake evil of every kind, and to the virtuous alone is granted the palm of victory.

IX

SEOUL, THE CAPITAL OF KOREA

I have arrived safely in Seoul. It is eventide, and the moon is just appearing. In the dimness the most desolate imperial residence in the world seems still more desolate, more wretched, miserable, and forlorn.

My sedan-chair is being carried through a long street, or rather road, of small houses--but houses they cannot be called: those I have seen up to the present can at the best be termed hovels.

At last we reach the walls of the inner city--for till now we have been merely in the outer town. The wall is ragged and th.o.r.n.y. In front stand a number of roofed and painted gates. I almost imagine myself back in Pekin, for the picture is a replica, but in miniature. I am, however, unable in the dusk to see how much smaller it is, only the general effect is the same, stamped with the familiar Chinese characteristics.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SEOUL "The broad streets seem an immense cemetery, and the mean little flat-roofed houses graves" To face page 240]

The moon is now shining brightly, but it shows nothing new in the aspect of the road within the walls. The main street of Seoul is as deep in clay and mud as it was at the time when the "waters dried up." Its houses have not altered; they are scarcely more than the clay huts of prehistoric man, his protection against cold or heat.

The first sight of an unknown country stamps itself on our minds in a manner unique, and I requested the bearers of my chair to walk slowly, for I did not wish to lose my first impression. There is a fascination in the unknown--a wonderful interest attached to the unexpected. Our wanderings amongst strange peoples in the streets of a city which we have not visited before are not for the pen to describe.

Everything that is unknown is mysterious, until reality tears aside the veil, and so long as it is built up by our imagination and peopled by fantastic creations it remains to a certain extent a City of Dreams.

The streets are gradually getting broader, and the clay huts grow even more insignificant. I stop for a moment in the great square, which may be the centre of the city, but is little more than a cross-road leading into a few side-streets.

It is scarcely seven o'clock, and yet over all broods a death-like silence, a peaceful calm, as complete as one can imagine. The broad streets seem an immense cemetery, and the mean little flat-roofed houses graves. One might think it is All Saints' Day, for on each grave a little lamp is burning. A lantern hangs from the eaves of each roof, showing a yellowish flame.

But the people themselves are returning like ghosts to their homes, each robed in white--each and all mute. Without a sound they flit over the roads of the endless graveyard, until they disappear into the depths of some one of the illuminated tombs.

I have never been so impressed by any other city I have seen as I was by my first sight of Seoul. As I saw the city just now, by the light of a November moon, dark, dumb, desolate, and ghostly, it resembled some fairy city more than reality; like those storied places sung of in the poetry of almost every people, the tale of which is listened to with such rapture by the little folk of the nursery, who know nothing as yet of life's seamy side.

Such a town was Seoul to me, the first few hours after my arrival.

Next morning I was aroused by the sound of drums and trumpets. But whose? Do they belong to the ghosts? What can have happened that the home of silence should have been disturbed by such an awful uproar?

I hasten to my window. The long street, the square, every inch of ground, is occupied by soldiers. These are short and yellow, wearing a black uniform, the black cloth of which, set off by a broad red collar and contrasted with the yellow faces, makes a motley colour-scheme, almost like a chequered field. The men seem to like it. If the mixture serves no other purpose it offers an excellent target for an enemy, which was probably the idea of its inventors.

The din continues. The trumpets blare, and these black, red, and yellow little people, like tin soldiers, keep moving before me; to and fro, up one street and down another they go, like stage-property soldiers, now appearing on and again disappearing from the stage--always the same supers; but one would think they were a mighty army. And all the time the bayonets flash on the rifle-barrels, whose weight seems rather too much for the little men. The drums still beat, and fanfares ring out on the frosty morning.

What has happened? Has the coronation not been postponed after all? Is the Emperor at last inaugurating the long-awaited festivities?

I ring the bell, and a servant, dressed in white, and wearing a pigtail twisted up in a knot, enters. His long coat is of linen, his head covered by a hat of horsehair, which resembles in shape the wire lid used to protect preserves from flies.

This quaint servant seems more surprised at my question than I at his livery.

"But the army has been reorganized by European officers. It has been taught, in the Western style, to march, manoeuvre, and kill, and for the performance of this gay farce new taxes have been raised. And now you, a European, coming from the West, ask, with obvious irony, 'What does this all mean?'"

I can see how amusing the whole situation is, and what a ludicrous side it has. The fact of the collar being a few inches deeper, or of the colour of the tunic, does not alter the character of the uniform; it is still a distinctive mark, even in its best form, whether the mechanism which propels the bullet be new or old fashioned. The rifle always destroys, and whether a soldier is a couple of feet taller or not, whether he has a yellow or a white complexion, his calling is a rather gloomy one. For do we not consider that soldier most efficient who destroys the greatest number of lives?

Dawn now turns into morning, and the doors of the shops open one by one.

Most of them are only protected for the night by mats or a few planks.

Later on the customers begin to arrive, all of them dressed in white.

Men and women alike wear long linen coats (kaftans), and their lined foot-gear is also of linen; in fact, they are white from top to toe, excepting the black hat of horsehair.

Now and again I see a sedan-chair, which, however, is not larger than a good-sized box, its occupant huddled up inside. I cannot perceive any carriage, trap, or horse, in spite of the growing traffic, which, however, is perfectly noiseless. Perhaps this may account for the fact of my still being under the impression of being in a deserted city.

It is generally on the first day that we catch the most characteristic traits, or, at any rate, that the most salient features strike our imagination. While our perceptive powers are still fresh, we are able to be impressed by the smallest peculiarities.

After breakfast I go out for a stroll, and find in front of me the palace gate, outside which some soldiers are standing. Beyond it stretches a long street, towards which I turn. This is the same thoroughfare which yesterday resembled a vast graveyard, but the houses now stand open, as the wooden wall, looking on the street, has been removed. There are a considerable number of shops, but small and mean, displaying no wares that attract my attention. Those of the cabinet-makers make the best show, consisting of small chests, inlaid with bra.s.s ornamentation, having large polished locks. These are no less quaint than they are tasteful. There seems to be a great demand for them, for in a whole row I can see nothing else. There is also no lack of fruit and seeds, but the baskets do not offer a quarter of the variety of a Chinese grocer. I do not think I saw any more shops, at least any that I remarked. They seemed small and empty, never more than a couple of customers in them.

What especially attracted my attention was the large number of sentry-boxes. Every five or ten yards you came across a box, with a stubby black-red-and-yellow soldier inside, armed!

No matter where I turn, there are sentry-boxes everywhere--to the right, to the left, in front and behind me. Can it be a fact that this army is required to keep these little folk in order?

No sooner had I put this question to myself than I became aware of a disturbance going on--some coolies, carrying vegetables, engaged in a battle royal, and two boys pitching into each other. But the private stands there unmoved. His look seems rather to approve than condemn. He is evidently not intended to keep the peace; this does not seem to be part of his duties; so the coolies may fight as much as they like among the cabbages. (The group, by the way, forms a pretty picture--the coolies in white, with the green loads on their backs, in the thick of the fray.) The smaller of the boys commences to cry, as blood is dripping from his forehead; but the soldier is not affected by the sight of this either. I wonder if what he just muttered was that the "Red Cross" was not his business.

As I went on I heard more screaming and quarrelling, and witnessed a few more little skirmishes. It was not until now that I realized how unaccustomed I was to quarrels and fights, as in China I never saw one man fighting another--they have their thousands of years of civilization to thank for that.

Later I approach a hall which is being repaired. It has a pointed roof and broad eaves, similar to those of the palace at Pekin.

A whole forest of wood is stored up there in the shape of beams. As I see with what precision the workmen make the various parts fit together, without the use of nails, I am delighted that the traditions of ancient architecture are not yet extinct.

I am now in the neighbourhood of the Royal Palace. In front of the main gate is a large square, which farther on turns into a street, with public buildings on either side. These are the Ministerial Offices, where is spun the web of the Korean Government.

Externally the palace has little to distinguish it. The facade is rather low, and the walls are mud-coated, while the gates are not much better, in the Chinese style, and crowned by tiles.