The passing of Korea (1906) by Homer Bezalee Hulbert
THE PASSING OF KOREA BY HOMER B. HULBERT
Author of "The History of Korea," "Comparative Grammar of Korea and Dravidian," "A Search for the Siberian Klondike," etc.
Published, September, 1906
The passing of Korea by Homer Bezalee Hulbert
CHAPTER 2, THE PEOPLE
https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_passing_of_Korea
https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_passing_of_Korea/Chapter_2
CONTENTS II. THE PEOPLE Page 27
THE study of the origin and the ethnological affinities of the Korean people is yet in its infancy. Not until a close and exhaustive investigation has been made of the monuments, the folk-lore, the language and all the other sources of information can anything be said definitely upon this question. It will be in place, therefore, to give here the tentative results already arrived at, but without dogmatising.
Oppert[1] was the first to note that in Korea there are two types of face, - the one distinctly Mongolian, and the other lacking many of the Mongolian features and tending rather to the Malay type. To the new-comer all Koreans look alike; but long residence among them brings out the individual peculiarities, and one comes to recognise that there are as many kinds of face here as in the West. Dr. Baelz[2], one of the closest students of Far Eastern physiognomy, recognises the dual nature of the Korean type, and finds in it a remarkable resemblance to a similar feature of the Japanese, among whom we learn that there is a certain class, probably descendants of the ancient Yamato race, which has preserved to a great extent the same non-Mongolian cast of features. This seems to have been overlaid at some later time by a Polynesian stock. The ethnological relation between the non-Mongolian type in Korea and the similar type in Japan is one of the most interesting racial problems of the Far East. I feel sure that it is the infusion of this type into Korea and Japan that has differentiated these peoples so thoroughly from the Chinese.
Five centuries before Christ, northern Korea and southern Korea were very clearly separated. The Kija dynasty in the north had consolidated the people into a more or less homogeneous state, but this kingdom never extended south further than the Han River. At this time the southern coast of the peninsula was peopled by a race differing in essential particulars from those of the north. Their language, social system, government, customs, money, ornaments, traditions and religion were all quite distinct from those of the north. Everything points to the belief that they were maritime settlers or colonists, and that they had come to the shores of Korea from the south.
The French missionaries in Korea were the first to note a curious similarity between the Korean language and the languages of the Dravidian peoples of southern India. It is well established that India was formerly inhabited by a race closely allied to the Turanian peoples, and that when the Aryan conquerors swept over India the earlier tribes were either driven in flight across into Burmah and the Malay Peninsula, or were forced to find safety among the mountains in the Deccan. From the Malay Peninsula we may imagine them spreading in various directions. Some went north along the coast, others into the Philippine Islands, then to Formosa, where Mr. Davidson[3], the best authority, declares that the Malay type prevails. The powerful "Black Current," the Gulf Stream of the Pacific, naturally swept northward those who were shipwrecked. The Liu-Kiu Islands were occupied, and the last wave of this great dispersion broke on the southern shores of Japan and Korea, leaving there the nucleus of those peoples who resemble each other so that if dressed alike they cannot be distinguished as Japanese or Korean even by an expert. The small amount of work that has been so far done indicates a striking resemblance between these southern Koreans and the natives of Formosa, and the careful comparison of the Korean language with that of the Dravidian peoples of southern India reveals such a remarkable similarity, phonetic, etymologic, and syntactic, that one is forced to recognise in it something more than mere coincidence. The endings of
AMERICAN BRIDGE ACROSS THE HAN
Looking north toward Seoul
many of the names of the ancient colonies in southern Korea are the exact counterpart of Dravidian words meaning "settlement" or "town." The endings -caster and -coin in English are no more evidently from the Latin than these endings in Korea are from the Dravidian.
The early southern Koreans were wont to tattoo their bodies. The custom has died out, since the more rigorous climate of the peninsula compels the use of clothing covering the whole body. The description of the physiological features of those Dravidian tribes which have suffered the least from intermixture with others coincides in every particular with the features of the Korean. Of course it is impossible to go into the argument in extenso here; but the most reasonable conclusion to be arrived at to-day is that the peninsula of Korea is inhabited by two branches of the same original family, a part of which came around China by way of the north, and the other part by way of the south.
As we see in the historical review given elsewhere in these pages, the southern kingdom of Silla was the first to obtain control of the entire peninsula and impose her laws and language, and it is for this reason that the language to-day reflects much more of the southern stock than of the northern. [4]
CHARACTERISTICS
In discussing the temperament and the mental characteristics of the Korean people, it will be necessary to begin with the trite saying that human nature is the same the world over. The newcomer to a strange country like this, where he sees so many curious and, to him, outlandish things, feels that the people are in some way essentially different from himself, that they suffer from some radical lack; but if he were to stay long enough to learn the language, and get behind the mask which hides the genuine Korean from his mental view, he would find that the Korean might say after old Shylock, "I am a Korean. Hath not a Korean eyes? Hath not a Korean hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons? subject to the same diseases? healed with the same means ? warmed and cooled by the same summer and winter as the Westerner is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not be revenged?" In other words, he will find that the differences between the Oriental and the Occidental are wholly superficial, the outcome of training and environment, and not of radical dissimilarity of temperament. But there is this to be said: it is far easier to get close to a Korean and to arrive at his point of view than to get close to a Japanese or a Chinese. Somehow or other there seems to be a greater temperamental difference between the Japanese or Chinese and the Westerner than between the Korean and the Westerner. I believe the reason for this lies in the fact of the different balance of temperamental qualities in these different peoples. The Japanese are a people of sanguine temperament. They are quick, versatile, idealistic, and their temperamental sprightliness approaches the verge of volatility. This quality stood them in good stead when the opportunity came for them to make the great volte face in 1868. It was a happy leap in the dark. In the very same way the Japanese often embarks upon business enterprises, utterly sanguine of success, but without forecasting what he will do in case of disaster. The Chinese, on the other hand, while very superstitious, is comparatively phlegmatic. He sees no rainbows and pursues no ignes fatui. He has none of the martial spirit which impels the Japanese to deeds of patriotic daring. But he is the best business man in the world. He is careful, patient, persevering, and content with small but steady gains. No one knows better than he the ultimate evil results of breaking a contract. Without laying too much emphasis upon these opposite tendencies in the Japanese and Chinese, we may say that the former lean toward the idealistic, while the latter lean toward the utilitarian. The temperament of the Korean lies midway between the two, even as his country lies between Japan and China. This combination of qualities makes the Korean rationally idealistic. Those who have seen the Korean only superficially, and who mark his unthrifty habits, his happy-go-lucky methods, his narrowness of mind, will think my characterisation of him flattering; but those who have gone to the bottom of the Korean character, and are able to distinguish the true Korean from some of the caricatures which have been drawn of him, will agree that there is in him a most happy combination of rationality and emotionalism. And more than this, I would submit that it is the same combination that has made the Anglo-Saxon what he is. He is at once cool-headed and hot-headed. He can reason calmly and act at white heat. It is this welding of two different but not contrary characteristics that makes the power of the Anglo-Saxon peoples. It will be necessary to show, therefore, why it is that Korea has done so little to justify the right to claim such exceptional qualities. But before doing this, I would adduce a few facts to show on what my claim is based.
In the first place, it is the experience of those who have had to do with the various peoples of the Far East that it is easier to understand the Korean and get close to him than it is to understand either the Japanese or the Chinese. He is much more like ourselves. You lose the sense of difference very readily, and forget that he is a Korean and not a member of your own race. This in itself is a strong argument; for it would not be so if there were not some close intellectual, or moral, or temperamental bond of sympathy. The second argument is a religious one. The religions of China were forced upon Korea irrespective of her needs or desires. Confucianism, while apparently satisfactory to a man utterly devoid of imagination (a necessary instrument to be used in the work of unifying great masses of population, by anchoring them to the dead bones of their ancestors), can be nothing less than contemptible to a man possessed of actual humour. Two things have preserved the uniform political solidarity of the Chinese Empire for the last three thousand years, the sacred ideograph and the ancestral grave. But Confucianism is no religion; it is simply patriarchal law. That law, like all other civil codes, received its birth and nutriment from the body politic of China by natural generation. But the Korean belongs to a different intellectual and temperamental species, and thus the law which was bone of China's bone and flesh of her flesh was less than a foster-child to Korea. Its entire lack of the mystical element renders it quite incapable of satisfying the religious cravings of such a people as the Koreans. Buddhism stands at the opposite pole from Confucianism. It is the most mystical of all cults outside the religion of the Nazarene. This is why it has become so strongly intrenched in Japan. While Confucianism leaves nothing to the imagination, Buddhism leaves everything. The idealism of the Japanese surrendered to it, and we may well believe that when Buddhism is driven to bay it will not be at Lhasa, the home of the Lamas, but at Nara or at Nikko. Here again that rational side of the Korean temperament came in play. While Confucianism contained too little mysticism for him, Buddhism contained too much; and so, while nominally accepting both, he made neither of them a part of himself.
It is said that when a company of Tartar horsemen capture one of the enemy they bury him to the neck in the earth, pack the dirt firmly about him so that he can move neither hand nor foot, place a bowl of water and a bowl of food just before his face, and leave him to die of hunger, thirst or sunstroke, or to be torn by wolves. This is the way, metaphorically, in which Korea was treated to religions. Both kinds were placed before her very face, but she could partake of neither. The sequel is important. The Christian religion was introduced into Korea by the Roman Catholics about a century ago, and by Protestants two decades ago. The former made considerable advance in spite of terrible persecution, but their rate of advance was slow compared with what has been done by the Protestant missionaries. I make bold to say that the Christian religion, shorn of all trappings and embellishments of man's making, appeals perfectly to the rationally emotional temperament of the Korean. And it is to some extent this perfect adaptability which has won for Christianity such a speedy and enthusiastic hearing in this country. Christianity is at once the most rational and the most mystical of religions, and as such is best fitted, humanly speaking, to appeal to this people. This, of course, without derogation from its universal claims. One has but to consult the records of modern missions to see what a wonderful work has been done in this land by men who are presumably no more and no less devoted than those at work in other fields.
Being possessed, then, of a temperament closely allied to that of the Anglo-Saxon, what has caused the present state of intellectual and moral stagnation? Why is it that most people look upon the Korean as little better than contemptible? It is because in the sixth and seventh centuries, when Korea was in her formative stage, when she was just ready to enter upon a career of independent thought and achievement, the ponderous load of Chinese civilisation was laid upon her like an incubus. She knew no better than to accept these Chinese ideals, deeming in her ignorance that this would be better than to evolve ideals of her own. From that time to this she has been the slave of Chinese thought. She lost all spontaneity and originality. To imitate became her highest ambition, and she lost sight of all beyond this contracted horizon. Intrinsically and potentially the Korean is a man of high intellectual possibilities, but he is, superficially, what he is by virtue of his training and education. Take him out of this environment, and give him a chance to develop independently and naturally, and you would have as good a brain as the Far East has to offer.
Korea is a good illustration of the great influence which environment exerts upon a people's mental and moral characteristics. I am not sure that the conservatism of either the Korean or the Chinese is a natural characteristic. The population of China is so vast and so crowded, social usages have become so stereotyped, the struggle for bare existence is so keen, that the slightest disturbance in the running of the social machine is sure to plunge thousands into immediate destitution and despair. At this point lies the enormous difficulty of reforming that country. It is like a huge machine, indescribably complicated, and so delicately adjusted that the variation of a hair's-breadth in any part will bring the whole thing to a standstill. Let me illustrate. There are a great many foreigners in China who are trying to evolve a phonetic system of writing for that country. It is a most laudable undertaking; but the system which has received most approbation is one in which our Roman letters are used to indicate the various sounds of that language. But these letters are made by the use of straight and curved lines, the latter being almost exclusively used in ordinary writing. Now we know that over two thousand years ago the Chinese discarded a system based upon curved lines, because it was found impossible to make them readily with the brush pen, universally used throughout the Far East. The introduction of a system containing a large proportion of curved lines implies, therefore, that the brush pen will be laid aside in favour of a hard pen, either in the form of our Western pen or in some similar form. Note the result. The use of a metal pen and fluid ink will do away with the brush pen, and will affect the industry whereby a million people make an already precarious living. The manufacture of india ink will likewise go to the wall. The paper now used in all forms of writing will be useless, and a very few, if any, of the manufacturing plants now in operation can be utilised for the manufacture of the hard, calendered paper which is needed for use with the steel pen. Moreover, the ink-stones, water-cups, writing-tablets, and all the other paraphernalia in use at the present time will have to be thrown away, and all the people engaged in the manufacture of these things will be deprived of their means of support. All this is likely to happen if the system proposed is to become the general rule. Note how far-reaching even such a seemingly small change as this will be. It might be possible if there were any margin upon which all these people could subsist during the process of change; but there is none. It is for this reason that the present writer has urged that the Chinese people be invited to adopt the Korean alphabet, which is as simple in structure as any, and capable of the widest phonetic adaptation. It is a "square" character, and could therefore be written with the brush pen, as it is to-day by the Korean. The same paper, ink, and other apparatus now in use in China could be retained, and the only work to be done in introducing it is to overcome the sentimental prejudice of the Chinese in favour of the ideograph. It would affect the daily occupation of almost no Chinese workmen at all. This illustration has gone too far; but it will help to show how firmly these customs have sunk their roots in the soil of these nations, and it shows that conservatism has become a necessity of life, however much one might wish to get rid of it. But let us get back to Korea.
The Korean is highly conservative. One of his proverbs is that "If you try to shorten the road by going across lots, you will fall in with highwaymen." This is a strong plea for staying in the old ruts. His face is always turned back toward the past. He sees no statesmen, warriors, scholars or artists to-day that are in any way comparable with those of the olden times; nor does he even believe that the present is capable of evolving men who are up to the standard of those of former times.
But in spite of all this, he can be moved out of his conservatism by an appeal to his self-interest. The introduction of friction matches will illustrate this point. The Korean was confined to the use of flint and steel until about thirty years ago; but when matches entered the country in the wake of foreign treaties, he saw almost at once that they were cheaper and better in every way than his old method, and he adopted them without the least remonstrance. There were a few fossils who clung to the flint and steel out of pure hatred of the new article, but they were laughed at by the overwhelming majority. The same is true of the introduction of petroleum, sewing-needles, thread, soap and a thousand other articles of daily use. The same is true in China. There is no conservatism that will stand out against self-interest.
And here we touch a second characteristic of the Korean. It cannot be truthfully said that the Korean is niggardly. It has been the opinion of most who have had intimate dealings with him that he is comparatively generous. He is generally lavish with his money when he has any, and when he has none he is quite willing to be lavish with some one else's money. Most foreigners have had a wider acquaintance with the latter than with the former. He is no miser. He considers that money is made to circulate, and he does his best to keep it from stagnation. He thinks that it is not worth getting unless it can be gotten easily. I doubt whether there is any land where the average citizen has seen greater ups and downs of pecuniary fortune. Having a handsome competence, he invests it all in some wild venture at the advice of a friend, and loses it all. He grumbles a little, but laughs it off, and saunters along the street with as much unconcern as before. It went easily he will get some more as easily. And, to tell the truth, he generally does. It is simply because there are plenty more as careless as himself. He is undeniably improvident; but there is in it all a dash of generosity and a certain scorn of money which make us admire him for it, after all. I have seen Koreans despoiled of their wealth by hideous official indirection which, in the Anglo-Saxon, would call for mob law instantly; but they carried it off with a shrug of the shoulders and an insouciance of manner which would have done credit to the most hardened denizen of Wall Street. I am speaking here of the average Korean, but there are wide variations in both directions. There are those who hoard and scrimp and whine for more, and there are those who are not only generous but prodigal. Foreigners are unfavourably impressed by the willingness with which the Korean when in poor circumstances will live on his friends; but this is to a large extent offset by the willingness with which he lets others live on him when he is in flourishing circumstances. Bare chance plays such a prominent part in the acquisition of a fortune here, that the favoured one is quite willing to pay handsomely for his good luck. And yet the Korean people are not without thrift. If a man has money, he will generally look about for a safe place to invest it. It is because the very safest places are still so unsafe that fortune has so much to do with the matter. He risks his money with his eyes wide open. He stands to win largely or lose all. An investment that does not bring in forty per cent a year is hardly satisfactory, nor should it be satisfactory, since the chances of loss are so great that the average of gain among a score of men will probably be no more than in our own lands. Why the chances of loss are so great will be discussed in its proper place.
Another striking characteristic of the Korean is his hospitality. This is a natural sequence of his general open-handedness. The guest is treated with cordial courtesy, whatever differences of opinion there may be or may have been between them. For the time being he is a guest, and nothing more. If he happens to be present at the time for the morning or afternoon meal, it is de rigeur to ask him to have a table of food; and many a man is impoverished by the heavy demands which are made upon his hospitality. Not that others have knowingly taken undue advantage of his good nature, but because his position or his business and social connections have made it necessary to keep open house, as it were. A Korean gentleman of my acquaintance, who can live well on twenty dollars a month in the country, recently refused a salary of twice that sum in Seoul on the plea that he had so many friends that he could not live on that amount. Seoul is very ill-supplied with inns; in fact, it has very little use for them. Everyone that comes up from the country has a friend with whom he will lodge. It must be confessed that there are a considerable number of young men who come up to Seoul and stay a few days with each of their acquaintances in succession; and if they have a long enough calling list, they can manage to stay two or three years in the capital free of board and lodgings. Such a man finally becomes a public nuisance, and his friends reluctantly snub him. He always takes this hint and retires to his country home. I say that they reluctantly snub him, for the Korean is mortally afraid of being called stingy. You may call him a liar or a libertine, and he will laugh it off; but call him mean, and you flick him on the raw. Hospitality toward relatives is specially obligatory, and the abuse of it forms one of the most distressing things about Korea. The moment a man obtains distinction and wealth he becomes, as it were, the social head of his clan, and his relatives feel at liberty to visit him in shoals and stay indefinitely. They form a sort of social body-guard, - a background against which his distinction can be well displayed. If he walks out, they are at his elbow to help him across the ditches; if he has any financial transactions to arrange, they take the onerous duty off his hands. Meanwhile every hand is in his rice-bag, and every dollar spent pays toll to their hungry purses. It amounts to a sort of feudal communism, in which every successful man has to divide the profits with his relatives.
Another marked characteristic of the Korean is his pride. There are no people who will make more desperate attempts to keep up appearances. Take the case of one of our own nouveaux riches trying in every way to insinuate himself into good society, and you will have a good picture of a countless multitude of Koreans. In spite of the lamentable lack of effort to better their intellectual status or to broaden their mental horizon, there is a passionate desire to ascend a step on the social ladder. Put the average Korean in charge of a few dollars, even though they be not his own, or give him the supervision of the labour of a few men, - anything that will put him over somebody either physically or financially, and he will swell almost to bursting. Any accession of importance or prestige goes to his head like new wine, and is liable to make him very offensive. This unfortunate tendency forms one of the greatest dangers that has to be faced in using Koreans, whether in business, educational or religious lines. There are brilliant exceptions to this rule, and with better education and environment there is no reason to suppose that even the average Korean would preserve so sedulously this unpleasant quality. It is true of Korea as of most countries, that offensive pride shows itself less among those who have cause for pride than among those who are trying to establish a claim to it. It is the impecunious gentleman - the man of good extraction but indifferent fortune - that tries your patience to the point of breaking. I was once acquainted with such a person, and he applied to me for work on the plea of extreme poverty. He was a gentleman, and would do no work of a merely manual nature, so I set him to work colouring maps with a brush pen. This is work that any gentleman can do without shame. But he would come to my house and bury himself in an obscure corner to do the work, and would invent all sorts of tricks to prevent his acquaintances from discovering that he was working. I paid him in advance for his work, but he soon began to shirk it and still apply for more money. When I refused to pay more till he had earned what he had already received, he left in high dudgeon, established himself in a neighbouring house, and sent letter after letter, telling me that he was starving. I replied that he might starve if he wished; that there was money for him if he would work, and not otherwise. The last note I received announced that he was about to die, and that he should use all his influence on the other side of the grave to make me regret that I had used him so shabbily. I think he did die; but as that was fifteen years ago, and I have not yet begun to regret my action, I fear he is as shiftless in the land of shades as he was here. This is an extreme but actual case, and could doubtless be duplicated by most foreigners living in Korea. The other side of the picture is more encouraging. There is the best of evidence that a large number of well-born people die annually of starvation because they are too proud to beg or even to borrow. This trait is embalmed in almost countless stories telling of how poor but worthy people, on the verge of starvation, were rescued from that cruel fate by some happy turn of fortune. In the city of Seoul there is one whole quarter almost wholly given up to residences of gentlemen to whom fortune has given the cold shoulder. It lies under the slopes of South Mountain, and you need only say of a man that he is a "South Ward Gentleman" to tell the whole story. Ordinarily the destitute gentleman does not hesitate to borrow. The changes of fortune are so sudden and frequent that he always has a plausible excuse and can make voluble promises of repayment. To his credit be it said that if the happy change should come he would be ready to fulfil his obligations. It has to be recorded, however, that only a very small proportion of those who borrow from foreigners ever experience that happy change. There are several ways to deal with such people: the first is to lend them what they want; the second is to refuse entirely; and the third is to do as one foreigner did, - when the Korean asked for the loan of ten dollars, he took out five and gave them to him, saying, "I will give this money to you rather than lend you ten. By so doing I have saved five dollars, and you have gotten that much without having to burden your memory with the debt." To the ordinary Korean borrower this would seem like making him a beggar, and he never would apply to the same source for another loan.
In the matter of truthfulness the Korean measures well up to the best standards of the Orient, which at best are none too high. The Chinese are good business men, but their honesty is of the kind that is based upon policy and not on morals. Among the common people of that land truthfulness is at a sad discount. It is largely so in all Far Eastern countries, but there are different kinds of untruthfulness. Some people lie out of pure maliciousness and for the mere fun of the thing. The Koreans do not
A DANCING-GIRL POSTURING
belong to this class; but if they get into trouble, or are faced by some sudden emergency, or if the success of some plan depends upon a little twisting of the truth, they do not hesitate to enter upon the field of fiction. The difference between the Korean and the Westerner is illustrated by the different ways they will act if given the direct lie. If you call a Westerner a liar, it is best to prepare for emergencies ; but in Korea it is as common to use the expression "You are a liar!" as it is to say "You don't say!" "Is it possible!" or "What, really?" in the West. A Korean sees about as much moral turpitude in a lie as we see in a mixed metaphor or a split infinitive.
As for morality in its narrower sense, the Koreans allow themselves great latitude. There is no word for home in their language, and much of the meaning which that word connotes is lost to them. So far as I can judge, the condition of Korea to-day as regards the relations of the sexes is much like that of ancient Greece in the days of Pericles. There is much similarity between the kisang (dancing-girl)[5] of Korea and the hetairai[6] of Greece. But besides this degraded class, Korea is also afflicted with other and, if possible, still lower grades of humanity, from which not even the most enlightened countries are free. The comparative ease with which a Korean can obtain the necessities of life makes him subject to those temptations which follow in the steps of leisure and luxury, and the stinging rebuke which a Japanese envoy administered at a banquet in Seoul in 1591, when the dancing-girls indulged in a disgraceful scramble for some oranges that were thrown to them, was not wholly undeserved. To-day there is little, if anything, to choose between Korea and Japan in this matter of private morals, the geisha of Japan being the exact counterpart of the kisang of Korea, while the other and still less reputable members of the demi monde are too low the world over to require classification. This much must be said in favour of the Koreans, that this depraved class is not recognised by law and advertised by segregation. But on this point, of course, publicists differ. Every people has its own special way of fighting. The English and French are as thoroughly differentiated in this as are the Japanese and Koreans. Street quarrels are extremely common, but they seldom result in any great damage. Two stout coolies, the worse for wine, will begin disputing over some trivial matter, and indulge in very loud and very bad language, which, in spite of their close proximity to each other, is delivered at the very top of their voices and with an energy quite volcanic. Our Western oaths, though more heinous on account of the introduction of the name of the Deity, are in other respects mild compared with the flood of filth which pours from the lips of an angry Korean. Not only are these epithets entirely unquotable, but even their nature and subject-matter could not be mentioned with propriety. The very fact that people are allowed to use such language in public without being immediately arrested and lodged in jail is a sufficient commentary on the sad lack not only of delicacy but of common decency among the lowest classes in Korea.
After the vocabulary of abuse has been exhausted the two contestants clinch with each other, each attempting to grasp the other by the top-knot, which forms a most convenient handle. To clench the fist and strike a blow is almost unknown. Each man having secured his hold, they begin pulling each other down, all the time wasting their breath in mad invective. They kick at each other's abdomens with their heavy hobnailed shoes; and when one of them goes down, he is likely to be kicked to eath by the other unless the onlookers -intervene, which is usually the case. The Koreans are great peacemakers, and it is seldom that a quarrel between two individuals results in a free fight. The crowd does not take sides readily, but one of the friends of each of the fighters comes up behind him and throws his arms about him and attempts to drag him away; or the peacemaker will get between the two contestants and push with all his might, expostulating as hard as he can. It is really amusing to see two men roused to a point of absolute frenzy attempting to get at each other across the shoulders of two men who are pushing them apart as hard as ever they can. The angry man will never offer violence to the one who is acting as peacemaker, but he is like a bulldog held in leash, while his antagonist is yapping at him frantically but futilely from the other side of the ring. When genuinely angry, the Korean may be said to be insane. He is entirely careless of life, and resembles nothing so much as a fanged beast. A fine froth gathers about his mouth and adds much to the illusion. It is my impression that there is comparatively little quarreling unless more or less wine has been consumed. In his cups he is more Gaelic than Gallic. Unfortunately this ecstasy of anger does not fall upon the male sex alone, and when it takes possession of a Korean woman she becomes the impersonation of all the Furies rolled into one. She will stand and scream so loud that the sound finally refuses to come from her throat, and she simply retches. Every time I see a woman indulging in this nerve-racking process I marvel that she escapes a stroke of apoplexy. It seems that the Korean, from his very infancy, makes no attempt to control his temper. The children take the habit from their elders, and if things do not go as they wish they fly into a terrible passion, which either gains its end or gradually wears itself out.
The callousness which the Koreans exhibit in the presence of suffering, especially the suffering of animals, is a trait which they share with all Orientals. Most dumb animals have no way of showing that they are suffering unless the pain be extreme, and the Koreans seem to have argued from this that these animals do not suffer; at any rate, they show an utter unconcern even when the merest novice could see that the beast was suffering horribly. If a sick cat or a lame dog or a wounded bird is seen upon the street, the children, young and old, arm themselves with sticks and stones and amuse themselves with the thing until life is extinct. They take great pleasure in catching insects, pulling their legs or wings off, and watching their ludicrous motions. Dragon-flies and beetles are secured by a string about the body, and allowed to fly or jump as far as the string will permit, after which they are dragged back to the hand. Young sparrows that have fallen from the nests beneath the eaves are passed from hand to hand, their half-grown plumage is coloured with different tints, and at last, of course, they die of exhaustion. When an unfortunate dog is dragged down the street with a rope around its neck to the dog-meat shop, it will be followed by a jubilant crowd of children, who enjoy a lively anticipation of seeing the poor thing struggle in the mortal throes of strangulation.
There is one economic fact which goes far to explain the comparative lack of thrift in Korea. The ratio of population to arable area is far smaller than in Japan or China, and consequently, so long as Korea was closed to outsiders, the average of common comfort among the people was higher than in either of the two contiguous countries. Mendicancy was almost unknown; rice was frequently so common that the records say people could travel without cost. In other words, it required far less work to secure a comfortable living than elsewhere in the Orient. The people were not driven to thrift as an inexorable necessity. From the purely economic standpoint the Taiwunkun was right, and the opening of Korea was the worst thing that could happen; but from the moral and intellectual standpoint the change was for the best, for it will in time bring out long dormant qualities which otherwise would have suffered permanent eclipse.
There are traits of mind and heart in the Korean which the Far East can ill afford to spare; and if Japan should allow the nation to be overrun by, and crushed beneath, the wheels of a selfish policy, she would be guilty of an international mistake of the first magnitude.
w:Ernst Oppert (Wikisource contributor note)
w:Erwin Bälz (Wikisource contributor note)
w:James W. Davidson (Wikisource contributor note)
A full description of the linguistic affinities of Korean to the Dravidian dialects will be found in the author's Comparative Grammar of Korean and Dravidian.
hetaera (Wikisource contributor note)
