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| Hwangwonjeong Pavilion in Gyeongbok Palace in the winter of 2012 Robert Neff Collection |
By Robert Neff
Christmas in Seoul in 1884 was anything but joyous. Earlier that month, the violent but failed attempt to overthrow the government had unnerved the handful of Western residents causing most of them to seek sanctuary in Jemulpo (modern Incheon). Horace N. Allen ― an American missionary and the foreign community's physician ― elected to remain in Seoul with his wife and infant son.
Of course, Allen was not the only American who remained in Seoul. Ensigns George C. Foulk and John B. Bernadou stayed at their post at the American legation. In a letter to his father in early January 1885, Foulk described the events surrounding the coup attempt and denounced the acts of his superior and some of his peers:
"On December 22 the U.S. minister [Lucius Foote] skedaddled, bag and baggage, for Japan or [Jemulpo] or somewhere ― anywhere so as to get away from Seoul. I was left by his verbal order in charge of the legation as acting minister… From December 20 to 29 I was the only foreign representative in Seoul. The others had all left, and two at least showed themselves scared and cowardly."
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| The peacefulness of Gyeongbok Palace in the winter of 2012 Robert Neff Collection |
For Christmas, Foulk and Bernadou gathered at the Allens' house in a feeble attempt to capture the Christmas spirit. From Allen's diary we can see that gifts were received but not from Santa Claus:
"Yesterday was Christmas. Fannie gave me a nice embroidered satin cap and two satin ties with a silk case to keep them in all of her own make. I had bought a nice silk dressing gown for her in Yokohama at a cost of $15.00 but it with a lot of foreign mail may [have been] lost at the beginning of our trouble."
The "trouble" he was speaking of was, of course, the coup attempt which started at the Korean post office on the evening of Dec. 4. The only redeeming points of the season for Allen appear to have been his baby's new tooth and some gifts from King Gojong, as expressions of appreciation for his service following the coup.
Allen was impressed with the monarch's grandiose generosity and gushed in his diary:
"[The first] was [a] handsome folding screen of tin leaves richly and tastefully embroidered in silk on a white satin back…. The other present was a piece of the ancient Corean pottery very perfect and said to be six or seven hundred years old."
The missionary was quite pleased when Foulk (whom he described as "probably the best judge of these things") declared them to be the best he had ever seen ― "rare and choice pieces."
Foulk may have presented a merry appearance at Allen's home but he was not in a very Christmassy mood ― his house had been ransacked during the coup and it may have rankled him to see his host so richly rewarded by the Korean monarch. In a letter to his parents in January, Foulk claimed he "forgot all about Christmas."
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| The Han River is partially frozen over in the winter of 2016. Robert Neff Collection |
The following Christmas (1885), we know very little about it save that it was held at the home of one of the American missionaries. The only account I could find of the day was from Rev. Henry Gerhard Appenzeller who went out for a short ride through the streets of Seoul and the surrounding countryside and was so inspired by it that he wrote an article for one of the religious magazines.
He encountered several children with "a wooden frame like a chair, strapped to their backs, going to the mountains for wood to keep themselves warm" and felt a degree of pity for them as there were "no Christmas trees, weighed down with gifts" waiting for them upon their arrival at their homes. Appenzeller lamented that Korea was filled with "bright, cheerful boys and girls" but they knew "nothing of the joys of Christmas times." It was his hope that after Sunday schools were established on the peninsula that Santa Claus would come and visit the Korean children and make them happy.
As mentioned earlier, we know almost nothing about the Christmas dinner save that Foulk attended and he declared it to be "very pleasant." One thing I have always liked about Foulk was his wordiness ― his letters home and his reports to the State Department were always full of minute detail ― but apparently on the subject of Christmas he was always at a loss for words.
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| Korean fishermen ― young and old ― hoping to catch a big one, circa 1890s Robert Neff Collection |
In 1886, Horace Underwood, an American missionary, had the honor of hosting the Christmas party at his home. He apparently invited the entire Western community, including all of the missionaries, the Russian, British and American representatives to Korea and the members of the Korean Customs Department. He decorated the great rafters of his home "with boughs of evergreen mingled with holly and mistletoe." Because he lacked suitable furniture, he sacrificed his bed so that it could be made into "three easy chairs and two ottoman settees." All were covered with Chinese brocaded silk and the cheery glow of the fire blazing in the fireplace gave the room "a gala appearance quite worthy of Christmas." Foulk did not attend as evidenced by his letter to his parents:
"Christmas I spent in the country in a purely Korean way. By December 21 I was so worried, tired, and disgusted, that I thought I could not stand further work, and so I went off to [Bupyeong], a place about seventeen miles in the country. I went tiger hunting once or twice, tired myself out completely and got no tiger."
By 1888, the number of Americans in Seoul had greatly increased by an influx of missionaries, military and government advisers and even three teachers. Christmas of 1888 wasn't characterized so much by who attended the parties but rather who was excluded.
As in the previous years, the entire community was invited to one of the missionaries' residence for a day of good food, music and conversation ― everyone, that is, except Ferdinand Krien, the German consul general. When he appeared at the door, he was informed he was not welcomed and politely asked to leave. The surprised and hurt diplomat returned to his legation where things only got worse.
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| Many of the Westerners in Seoul welcomed winter and the luxuries of holidays, a luxury Korean women apparently didn't enjoy. Circa 1900s. Courtesy of Diane Nars Collection |
According to an English newspaper:
"We hear from [Seoul] that the German Consulate-General there was burnt down on Christmas Eve; fortunately the occupants escaped unhurt, and as the German residents had dined there they were all on the spot, and helped to save a good deal of the furniture and personal effects. It appears that during the Christmas Eve dinner most of the boys were wanted to attend on the guests, when one of them was stupid enough to shovel more coal into a stove than was required. The overheated stove became a mass of red hot iron, and set the whole place in a blaze."
Despite the tragedy of the fire at the German legation, Krien continued to be shunned by the American missionaries. He soon discovered the source of his ostracism was the wife of Karl Weber, the Russian representative to Korea. Mrs. Weber had informed the community of American women that Krien and his staff held orgies in the German diplomatic compound. Of course, this could not be tolerated and so the women thought it best to shun him. Krien was furious when he learned of these charges and denied them emphatically. He demanded an apology and the incident was settled eventually by the German and Russian senior diplomats in China.
Sometimes Christmas had to be celebrated away from friends and family. Clarence Greathouse, the American legal adviser to the Korean government, celebrated Christmas aboard the Higo Maru ― a small Japanese steamer ― bound for Jemulpo.
It is a shame that Greathouse did not describe the events in his letter to his mother. But fortunately, one of his fellow passengers did ― an English painter and writer named Arnold Henry Savage Landor.
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| Korean boys sell sweet jellies on the streets of Seoul circa 1900s. Robert Neff Collection |
Soon, the steward, dressed in his best silk gown and jacket and ringing a dinner bell with all his might, announced dinner was to be served in the main cabin. Landor's account of the meal is very amusing (and likely exaggerated):
"The tables and walls had been decorated with little paper flags and flowers made of the brightest colours that human fancy could devise, and dishes of almonds and raisins filled the centre of the table. There were little flags stuck in those dishes, and, indeed, everywhere. A big cake in the middle had prudently been tied to the table with a string, as the rolling motion of the ship was rather against its chances of keeping steady in the place that had been assigned to it, and the other usual precautions had been taken to keep the plates and glasses in their proper positions.
"Our dinner-party consisted of about eight. At one moment we would be up, with our feet on a level with our opposite companion's head; the next we would be down, with the soles of their boots higher than our skulls.
"It is always a pretty sight to see a table decorated, but when it is not only decorated but animated as well, it is evidently prettier still. When you see all the plates and salt-cellars moving slowly away from you, and as slowly returning to you; when you have to chase your fork and your knife before you can use them, the amusement is infinitely greater."
The chief entertainment of the evening appears to have been "Mr. Greathouse, who, like many of his countrymen, has a wonderful gift for telling humorous stories, of which he had an unlimited supply, kept us in fits all evening, and in fact the greater part of the night … [with] his Yankee yarns."
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| Winter at Maibong mining camp (part of the American-owned Oriental Consolidated Mining Company) in northern Korea circa 1901-05. Courtesy of the Lower Family |
It is a shame that Greathouse with his "wonderful gift" did not write down any of "his Yankee yarns." Fortunately, when his mother came to live with him in Seoul she faithfully made daily entries into her diary. One such entry displays her disappointment with Christmas in Korea and her nostalgia for the past:
"It is Christmas Eve now, after 12 o'clock when I was a child we looked with much interest to the clock striking 12, then we all would cry out Christmas Eve ― meaning we had caught them and we expected a gift ― sometimes we got it and sometimes we did not. Then after 12 at midnight we often watched for the striking and would call out to someone [for a] Christmas gift and most always our stockings were hung up to receive presents in. It was rare fun, coming only once in a year. We rarely have such fun now, with children it is spent in another way ― but presents are forth coming too. But none of the old fashion ways are indulged nowadays."
So, how did American children ― as well as their non-American peers ― celebrate Christmas in Korea in those days? That is a tale for tomorrow. Wishing all of you a very merry Christmas.
Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books including, Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.
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