The passing of Korea/Chapter 3
CHAPTER III
GOVERNMENT
SO far as we can judge from the annals of the land, the form of government which prevails to-day has existed in all its fundamental particulars from the most ancient times. We know very little of how the country was governed previous to the time of the great influx of Chinese ideas in the seventh and eighth centuries, but of this we may be sure, that it was an absolute monarchy. At the first the King was called by the title Kosogan[1], which was changed to Yisagum[2] and Maripkan[3]. These titles, one or all, prevailed until the overwhelming tide of Chinese influence broke down all indigenous laws and the term Wang[4] came to be applied. But even thus the common people clung to their native term for king in ordinary discourse, and even to this day he calls his sovereign the Ingum[5]. This is a shortened form of the ancient Yisagum.
In one sense the power of the ruler of Korea is absolute; but as power depends entirely upon the two factors, information and instrument, it is far from true that he can do as he wishes in all things. If there is a divinity that hedges kings about, she has surely done her work thoroughly in Korea. Though no divine honours are done the King (now Emperor) of Korea, yet the supposed veneration of his person is so great that he must keep himself very closely secluded, the result being that all his commands are based upon information provided by his immediate attendants and officials. Then again, in the carrying out of these commands, the very same officials must be used who gave the information, and it would be difficult for him to find out whether the spirit as well as the letter of the command had been carried out. Granted, then, that his information be accurate and his instruments loyal, it may be said that Korea is an absolute monarchy. You will be told that there is a written constitution by which the ruler is himself circumscribed, and it is true that some such book exists ; but it may be taken for granted that unwritten law and precedent have much more to do with curtailing the prerogatives of kinghood than any written law. Time out of mind the kings of Korea have taken the bit in their teeth and gone according to their own inclinations, irrespective of any written or unwritten law; and it is beyond question that no such tradition or law ever stood in the way if there was any strong reason for going counter to it. Of course this could not be done except by the acquiescence of the officials immediately about the King's person.
There have been three phases in the history of Korean government. All through the early years, from the opening of our era until the beginning of the present dynasty in 1392, the civil and military branches of the government were so evenly balanced that there was always a contest between them for the favour of the King and the handling of the government. The power of sacerdotalism complicated things during the Koryu dynasty, and by the time Koryu came to its end the condition of things was deplorable. Confucian sympathisers, Buddhist sympathisers, and military leaders had carried on a suicidal war with each other, until the people hardly knew who it was that they could look to for government. And in fact during those last years the country governed itself very largely. There was one good result from this, that when Yi T'a-jo took hold of things in 1392 he found no one faction powerful enough to oppose him in his large scheme for a national reform. From that time the civil power came to its rightful place of supremacy and the military dropped behind. This was an immense benefit to the people, for it meant progress in the arts of peace. The first two centuries of the present dynasty afford us the pleasantest picture of all the long years of Korea's life. The old evils had been done away and the new ones had not been born. It was the Golden Age of Korea. In the middle of the sixteenth century arose the various political parties whose continued and sanguinary strife has made the subsequent history of Korea such unpleasant reading. The Japanese invasion also did great harm, for besides depleting the wealth of the country and draining its best and worthiest blood, it left a crowd of men who by their exertions had gained a special claim upon the government, and who pressed their claim to the point of raising up new barriers between the upper and lower classes, which had not existed before. From that time on the goal of the Korean's ambition was to gain a place where, under the protection of the government, he might first get revenge upon his enemies and, secondly, seize upon their wealth. The law that was written in the statute books, that the King's relatives should not be given important positions under the government, came to be disregarded; the relatives of queens and even concubines were raised to the highest positions in the gift of the King ; and as if this were not enough, eunuchs aspired to secure the virtual control of the mind of the sovereign, and time and again they have dictated important measures of government. The common people constantly went down in the scale and the so-called yangban went up, until a condition of things was reached which formed the limit of the people's endurance. They took things into their own hands, and, without a national assembly or conference, enacted the law that popular riot is the ultimate court of appeal in Korea. Officialdom has come to accept and abide by that law, and if a prefect or governor is driven out of his place by a popular uprising the government will think twice before attempting to reinstate him.
But we must go on to describe in brief and non-technical terms the elements which compose the Korean government. Immediately beneath the King (or Emperor) is the Prime Minister, with the Minister of the Left and Minister of the Right on either hand. They form the ultimate tribunal of all affairs which affect the realm. But there is a special office, that of Censor, which is quite independent, and which ranks with that of Prime Minister. It is his function to scrutinise the acts of the Ministers of State and even of the King himself, and point out mistakes and dangers. As the Controller of the Currency in America has to examine all bills and give his approval before the money is paid, so these Censors have to take a final and dispassionate look at the government measures before they go into operation. Below these, again, are the six great offices of state, coresponding to our Cabinet. These until recently comprised the ministries of the Interior, Law, Ceremonies, Finance, War and Industries. After describing their various functions we will explain the changes that have been made in recent years. The Prime Minister and his two colleagues attended to the private business of the King, superintended the appointment of officials, and took the lead in times of sudden calamity or trouble. They stood between the King and all the other officials of the government, and no measures were adopted in any branch which did not come under their eye. The Department of the Interior, or Home Department as it is usually called, had charge of the whole prefectural system throughout the land, and was by far the most important of the ministries. It had much to say in the appointment of officials, for it had the preparation of the lists of nominees for most of the places under the government. It also had charge of the great national examinations, from among the successful competitors in which very many of the officials were chosen. The Law Department attended to the making and the mending of the laws, and closely connected with it was the Bureau of Police, which, although looking after the peace of the capital, carried out the requests of the Law Department in the matter of the detection and apprehension of criminals. The Police Department could do no more than carry on the preliminary examination of suspects, but for full trial and conviction it had to turn them over to the Law Department. The Ceremonial Department, as its name indicates, had charge of all government ceremonies, such as royal marriages, funerals and sacrifices. This was by no means a sinecure, for the elaborate ceremonies of former times taxed the ingenuity and patience of those who had them in charge, and mistakes were sure to be detected and punished, since the ceremonies were public spectacles. No one who has seen a royal procession in Seoul will doubt that the Minister of Ceremonies earned his salary. The Department of Finance collected all the taxes of the country, took the census and controlled the granaries in which the revenue was stored. In former times much of the revenue was paid in kind, and not only rice but other grain and all sorts of products were sent up to Seoul for the use of the royal household. All these the Finance Department had to receive, examine, approve and store away. The War Department had charge of the army and navy of Korea, superintended the great military examinations, controlled the broad lands that had been set aside for the use of the army, and collected the taxes thereon. The Industrial Department was the least considered of all the great departments, but it was perhaps the busiest and most useful. It had charge of the preparation of all the " stage properties " of the government. It provided all the furnishings for royal functions, repaired the roads, kept the public buildings in order, and did any other odds and ends of work that it was called upon for. There was no Educational Department. The matter of education was joined with that of religion, and both were controlled by the Confucian School. This was directly responsible to the supreme head of the government through the Prime Minister. The foreign relations of Korea were so few and far between that no Foreign Office was established, but a little bureau of secondary rank attended to such affairs. The sending of the annual embassy to China was in the hands of the Ceremonial Department.
This is the merest skeleton of the governmental body of Korea. There are almost countless bureaus and offices whose nature and duties form such a complicated mosaic that the explication of them would only tire the reader. It should, however, be particularly noted that great changes have been introduced since the opening of the country to foreign intercourse. In the first place, the Foreign Department has taken its place among the leading instruments of government; an Educational Department has been established, co-ordinate in grade with the other great departments; the Ceremonial Department has been relegated to a secondary place, and the Police Bureau has advanced to a position of comparative prominence.
We have seen that from the middle of the sixteenth century the barriers between the upper and lower classes were built higher and stronger, and the common people gradually got out of touch with the governing body. This was the cause of much of the subsequent trouble. Men of common extraction, however gifted, could not hope to reach distinction, and blueness of blood became the test of eligibility to office rather than genuine merit. The factional spirit added to this difficulty by making it certain that however good a statesman a man might be the other side would try to get his head removed from his shoulders at the first opportunity, and the more distinguished he became the greater would this desire be. From that time to this, almost all the really great men of Korea have met a violent death. But as all offices were filled with men who belonged to a sort of real nobility, the pride of place and the fear of having their honour brought in question did much to save the common people from the worst forms of oppression. The officials were arbitrary and often cruel, but their meannesses were of a large order, such as yangbans could engage in without derogation from their good repute in the eyes of their peers. But this state of things began to show signs of disintegration early in the nineteenth century. The power of money in politics began to make itself felt, and the size of the purse came to figure more prominently in the question of eligibility for office; the former exclusiveness of the yangban gradually gave way, and the line of demarcation between the upper and lower classes was little by little obliterated, until at the end of the century there were men of low extraction who held important government offices. This worked evil every way, for such men knew that it was the power of money alone which raised them to eminence, and the old-time pride which kept indirection within certain bounds gave way to a shameless plundering of the people. Public offices were bought and sold like any other goods. There was a regular schedule of the price of offices, ranging from fifty thousand dollars for a provincial governorship to five hundred dollars for a small magistrate's position. The handsome returns which this brought in to the venial officials at Seoul fed their cupidity, and, in order to increase these felonious profits, the tenure of office was shortened so as to make the payment of these enormous fees more frequent. Of course this was a direct tax upon the people, for each governor or prefect was obliged to tax the people heavily in order to cover the price of office and to feather his own nest during his short tenure of that office. The central government will not interfere with the fleecing policy of a prefect so long as he pays into the treasury the regular amount of taxation, together with any other special taxes that the government may lay upon the people. In return for this noninterference in the prefect's little game the government only demands that if the prefect goes beyond the limit of the people's endurance, and they rise up and kill him or drive him from the place, neither he nor his family will trouble the government to reinstate him or obtain redress of any kind. It has come about, therefore, that the ability of a prefect is measured by the skill he shows in gauging the patience of the people and keeping the finger on the public pulse, like the inquisitors, in order to judge when the torture has reached a point where the endurance of the victim is exhausted. Why should the central government interfere in the man's behalf? The sooner he is driven from his place the sooner someone else will be found to pay for the office again. Of course there are many and brilliant exceptions, and not infrequently the people of a district will seize the person of their prefect and demand that the government continue him in his office for another term. They know a good thing when they see it, and they are willing to run a little risk of arrest and punishment in order to keep a fair-minded prefect. They virtually say, "We want this man for prefect, and if you send any other we will drive him out." The result is that there will be no one else that will care to pay the price of the office, and the government has to obey the command of the people, even though it means the loss of the fee for that time. In former years the prefect was chosen from among the people of the district where he was to govern. He belonged to a local family; and it is easy to see how there would be every inducement to govern with moderation, for indirection would injure not only the prefect's reputation, but would endanger the standing of the whole family. This was all done away with, however, and now the prefect is chosen from among the friends or relatives of some high official in Seoul, and is a sort of administrative free-lance bent upon the exploiting of his unknown constituency. He cares nothing what the people think of him, for as soon as he has squeezed them to the limit he will retire from office, and they will know him no more.
If this were all that could be said of the country prefect, we should conclude that government is next to impossible in Korea, but the fact is that the power of the prefect is curtailed and modified in a very effective manner by means of his under officials, through whom he has to do his work. These men are called ajuns, and they act as the right-hand man and factotum of the prefect. Comparatively low though the position of the ajun may be, it can truthfully be said that he is the most important man in the administration of the Korean government. He deserves special mention. The word ajun has existed for many centuries in Korea, and is a word of native origin. It originally meant any government officer, and was as applicable to the highest ministers of the state as to the lowest government employee; but when the administration changed to its present form, the selecting of prefects from the districts where they lived was given up and the irresponsible method of the present time was adopted. The old-time prefectural families however continued to hold their name of ajun, and the term gradually became narrowed to them alone. The newly appointed prefects, coming into districts that they knew nothing about, had to depend upon local help in order to get the reins of government in hand, and what more natural than that they should call upon the ajuns to help? So it came about that the old ajun class became a sort of hereditary advisorship to the local prefects in each district.
Each prefecture is a miniature of the central government. The prefect becomes, as it were, the king of his little state, and the ajuns are his ministers. So closely is the resemblance carried out that each prefect has his six ministers; namely, of Interior, Finance, Ceremonies, War, Law and Industries. It is through these men that all the business is performed. The emperor can change his cabinet at will, and has thousands from whom to choose, but the prefect has no choice. He must pick his helpers only from the little band of ajuns in his district, of whom there may be anywhere from ten to a hundred. In any case his choice is greatly restricted. Now these ajuns are all from local families, and have not only their reputations to support, but those of their families as well. It is this one thing that held the body politic of Korea together for so many centuries, in spite of the oppression and discouragements under which the people live. Foreigners have often wondered how the Koreans have been able to endure it, but they judge mostly from the gruesome tales told of the officials at the capital or of the rapacity of individual prefects. The reason of it all lies with the ajuns, who, like anchors, hold the ship of state to her moorings in spite of tides which periodically sweep back and forth and threaten to carry her upon the rocks. The general impression is that the ajuns are a pack of wolves, whose business it is to fleece the people, and who lie awake nights concocting new plans for their spoliation. This is a sad exaggeration. The Koreans put the matter in a nutshell when they say that a " big man " will escape censure for great faults and will be lauded to the skies for small acts of merit, while the " little man's " good acts are taken for granted and his slightest mistakes are exaggerated. The ajun is the scapegoat for everyone's sins, the safety-valve which saves the boiler from bursting. It is right to pile metaphors upon him, for everybody uses him as a dumping-ground for their abuse. No doubt there are many bad ajuns, but if they were half as bad as they are painted the people would long ago have exterminated them. They are fixtures in their various districts, and if they once forfeit the good-will of the people they cannot move away to " pastures new," but must suffer the permanent consequences. Their families and local interests are their hostages, and their normal attitude is not that of an oppressor, but that of a buffer between the people and the prefect. They must hold in check the rapacity of the prefect with one hand and appease the exasperation of the people with the other. Since it is their business to steer between these two, neither of whom can possibly be satisfied, uphold their own prestige with the prefect and at the same time preserve the good-will of the people, is it any wonder that we hear only evil of them?
The ajun is no simple yamen-runner who works with his own hands. He superintends the doing of all official business, but is no mere servant. He is necessarily a man of some degree of education, for he has to do all the clerical work of the office and keep the accounts. Not infrequently the best scholars of the district are found among these semi-officials. It is they who influence most largely the popular taste and feeling, for they come into such close touch with the common people that the latter take the cue from them most readily. They hold in their hands the greatest possibilities for good or evil. If they are good, it will be practically impossible for a bad prefect to oppress the people; and if they are bad, it will be equally impossible for a good prefect to govern well. They can keep the prefect well-informed or ill-informed, and thus influence his commands ; and even after the commands are issued they can frustrate them, for the execution of the orders of their superior is entirely in their hands. It is when both ajun and prefect are bad together and connive at the spoliation of the people that serious trouble arises. This is often enough the case ; but, as we have seen, the ajun always has the curb of public opinion upon him, and oppression in any extreme sense is the exception rather than the rule.
The temptations of the ajun are very great. The whole revenue of the district passes through his hands, and it would be surprising if some of it did not stick to them. The prefect wants all that he can get, and watches the ajun as closely as he can ; and at the same time the latter is trying to get as much out of the people as he may, not only for the prefect but for himself as well. He is thus between two fires. The people are ever trying to evade their taxes and jump their revenue bills. It is truly a case of diamond cut diamond. The qualities necessary to become a successful ajun make a long and formidable list. He must be tactful in the management of the prefect, exact in his accounts, firm and yet gentle with the people, resourceful in emergencies, masterful in crises, quick to turn to his advantage every circumstance, and in fact an expert in all the tricks of the successful politician. One of his most brilliant attainments is the ability to make excuses. If the people charge him with extortion, he spreads out expostulatory hands and says it is the prefect's order; and if the prefect charges him with short accounts, he bows low and swears that the people are squeezed dry and can give no more.
We have already shown that there is a " dead line," beyond which the people will not let the prefect go in his exactions. For the most part the official is able to gauge the feeling of the populace through the ajuns, but now and then he fails to do so. The people of the north are much quicker to take offence and show their teeth than those in the south. I remember once in 1890 the governor of the city of Pyeng-yang sent some of his ajuns down into the town to collect a special and illegal tax from the merchants of a certain guild. The demand was preferred, and the merchants, without a moment's hesitation, rose up en masse, went to the house of the ajun who brought the message, razed it to the ground and scattered the timbers up and down the street. This was their answer, and the most amusing part of it was that the governor never opened his mouth in protest or tried to coerce them. He had his argument ready. The ajuns should have kept him informed of the state of public opinion; if they failed to do so, and had their houses pulled down about their ears, it was no affair of his. It was a good lesson to the ajuns merely. In another place the prefect came down from Seoul stuffed full of notions about governing with perfect justice and showing the people what enlightened government was like. Not a cent was squeezed for two months, and so of course there were no pickings for the ajuns. They looked knowingly at each other, but praised the prefect to his face. Not long after this they came down upon the people with demands that were quite unheard-of, and almost tearfully affirmed that they had no option. They knew the poor people could not stand it, but they must obey the prefect. That night a few hundred of the people armed themselves with clubs and came down the street toward the prefect's quarters breathing slaughter. The good magistrate was told that the wicked people were up in arms and that flight was his only hope. Well, the bewildered man folded his tents like the Arabs and as silently stole away, leaving the ajuns to chuckle over their easy victory. But it was playing with fire, for in the course of time the people learned that they had been cheated out of an honest prefect, and they made it particularly warm for those wily ajuns.
After making all allowances for the Oriental point of view, it must be confessed that the pursuit of justice is often much like a wild-goose chase. The law exists and the machinery of justice is in some sort of running order, but the product is very meagre. In order to explain this I shall have to suppose a few cases. If a man of the upper class has anything against a man of the lower class, he simply writes out the accusation on a piece of paper and sends it to the Police Bureau. If it is a slight offence that has been committed, he may ask the authorities simply to keep the man in jail for three or four days, administering a good sound beating once a day. In three cases out of four this will be done without further investigation, but if the gentleman is at all fair-minded he will appear in the course of a day or two and explain how it all came about. The culprit may be allowed to tell his side of the story or not, according as the police official in charge may think best. If the friends of the arrested man have money, they will probably go to the gentleman and say that if a small payment will appease him and cause him to send and get their friend out of prison they will be glad to talk about it. This subject of conversation is seldom uncongenial to the gentleman. If the jailer knows that the prisoner has money, there will be a substantial transaction before he is released. I was once asked to intervene in the case of a Christian convert who had been arrested for an unjust debt. He was confined at the office of the Supreme Court. I found that he had proved his case, and had secured a judgment which made him liable to the payment of only five hundred dollars instead of three times that amount. He had already paid three hundred of it to the court, to be handed to the creditor, but the court denied that this had been received. It was a very transparent trick, and I sat down and expressed a determination to stay there till the receipt was forthcoming. They protested that it was all right, but promised to look up the archives over night, and I retired. The next morning there came a nice note saying that they had found the receipt tucked away in the darkest corner of the archives. There had been a change in the staff, and the retiring incumbent had deposited the receipt and had told nothing about it to his successor. Hence the mistake! But for the interference this man would have been compelled to pay the money twice. Another case that came within my own observation was that of a man who bought the franchise for cutting firewood in a certain government preserve. The price was four hundred dollars. This sum was paid in at the proper office, and the papers made out and delivered. A few days later the man found out that the same franchise had been sold to another man for the same price, and when he complained at the office he was told that he would have to divide the franchise with the other man. This made the transaction a losing one, and the original purchaser was ruined by it. There was no means of redress short of impeaching one of the strongest officials under the government. There is no such thing as a lawyer in the country. All that can be done is to have men face each other before the judge and tell their respective stories and adduce witnesses in their own defence. Anyone can ask questions, and there is little of the order which characterises a Western tribunal. The plaintiff and defendant are allowed to scream at each other and use vile epithets, each attempting to outface the other. It must be confessed that the power of money is used very commonly to weigh down the balances of justice. No matter how long one lives in this country, he will never get to understand how a people can possibly drop to such a low estate as to be willing to live without the remotest hope of receiving even-handed justice. Not a week passes but you come in personal contact with cases of injustice and brutality that would mean a riot in any civilised country. You marvel how the people endure it. Not to know at what moment you may be called upon to answer a trumped-up charge at the hands of a man who has the ear of the judge, and who, in spite of your protests and evidence that is prima facie, mulcts you of half your property, and this without the possibility of appeal or redress of any kind, this, I say, is enough to make life hardly worth living. Within a week of the present moment a little case has occurred just beside my door. I had a vacant house, the better part of which I loaned to a poor gentleman from the country and the poorer part to a common labourer. The gentleman orders the labourer to act as his servant without wages, because he is living in the same compound. The labourer refuses to do so. The gentleman writes to the prefect of police that he has been insulted, and the police seize the labourer and carry him away. I hear about the matter the next day and hurry to the police office and secure the man's release, but not in time to save him from a beating which cripples him for a week and makes it impossible for him to earn his bread. There is probably not a foreigner in Korea who has not been repeatedly asked to lend his influence in the cause of ordinary and self-evident justice.
Wealth and official position are practically synonymous in a country where it is generally recognised that justice is worth its price, and that the verdict will uniformly be given to the side which can show either the largest amount of money or an array of influence that intimidates the judge. I have not space in which to pile up illustrations of the ways by which people are manipulated for gain, but one only will give us a glimpse into the inner precincts of the system. There is a country gentleman living quietly at his home in the provinces. His entire patrimony amounts to, say, ten thousand dollars, and consists of his home and certain rice-fields surrounding it. He is a perfectly law-abiding citizen, and his reputation is without z. flaw, but he has no strong political backing at Seoul or in the prefectural capital. A political trickster, who is on the lookout for some means to " raise the wind," singles out this gentleman for his victim, after finding all there is to find as to his property and connections. In order to carry out his plan he goes to Seoul and sees the official who has charge of the granting of honorary degrees or offices. He asks how much the title of halyim is worth, and finds that it will cost six thousand dollars. He therefore promises to pay down the sum of six thousand dollars if the official will make out the papers, inserting the name of the country gentleman as the recipient of the high honour, and affixing thereto the statement that the fee is ten thousand dollars. Some questions are here asked, without doubt, as to the connections of the gentleman and his ability to bring powerful influence to bear upon the situation; but these being satisfactorily answered, the papers are made out, and the purchaser pays over the promised money, which he has probably obtained by pawning his own house at a monthly interest of five per cent. Armed with the papers thus obtained, he starts for the country and, upon his arrival at the town where the gentleman lives, announces that the town has all been honoured by having in its midst a man who has obtained the rank of halyim. He goes to the gentleman's house and congratulates him and turns over the papers. The gentleman looks at them aghast and says, " I have never applied for this honour, and I have no money to pay for it. You had better take it back and tell them that I must decline." This seems to shock the bearer of the papers almost beyond the power of speech, but at last he manages to say, " What ! Do you mean to say that you actually refuse to accept this mark of distinction and favour from the government, that you spurn the gracious gift and thus indirectly insult his Majesty? I cannot believe it of you." But the gentleman insists that it will be impossible to pay the fee, and must dismiss the matter from consideration. This causes a burst of righteous indignation on the part of the trickster, and he leaves the house in a rage, vowing that the prefect will hear about the matter. The people, getting wind of how matters stand, may rise up and run the rascal out of town, in which case justice will secure a left-handed triumph ; but the probability is the fellow will go to the prefect, show the papers, and offer to divide the proceeds of the transaction, at the same time intimating in a polite way that in case the prefect does not fall in with the plan there will be danger of serious complications in Seoul, which will involve him. The prefect gives in and summons the gentleman, with the result that his entire property goes to pay for the empty honour, which will neither feed his children nor shelter them. One is tempted to rail at human nature, and to wonder that a man could be found so meek as to put up with this sort of treatment and not seek revenge in murder. This form of oppression cannot be said to be common, but even such extreme cases as this sometimes occur.
The penal code of Korea makes curious reading. Until recent years the method of capital punishment was decapitation. It was in this way that the French priests were killed in 1866. The victim is taken to the place of execution, outside the city walls, in a cart, followed by a jeering, hooting crowd. Placed upon his knees, he leans forward while several executioners circle around him and hack at his neck with half-sharpened swords. The body may then be dismembered and sent about the country in six sections, to be viewed by the people as an object-lesson. And a very effective one it ought to be. Since the Japan-China war this method has been given up, and the criminal is strangled to death in the prison or is compelled to drink poison. Women who are guilty of capital crimes are generally executed by poison. The most terrible kind of poison used is made by boiling a centipede. The sufferings which precede death in this case are very much greater than those which accompany decapitation, but all would prefer to be poisoned, for thus the publicity is avoided. Many are the stories of how men have bravely met death in the poisoned bowl. One official was playing a game of chess with an acquaintance. A very interesting point had been reached, and a few moves would decide the contest. At that moment a messenger came from the King with a cup of poison and delivered the gruesome message. The official looked at the messenger and the cup, but waved them aside, saying, " Just wait a moment. You should not disturb a man when he is in the midst of a game of chess. I will drink the poison directly." He then turned to his opponent and said, " It 's your turn to play." He won the game after half-a-dozen moves, and then quietly turned and drank off the poison. Treason, murder, grave desecration and highway robbery are the most common causes of the execution of the capital sentence; but there are others that may be so punished at the will of the judge, - striking a parent, for instance, or various forms of Use majeste. Treason always takes the form of an attempt to depose the supreme head of the government and substitute another in his place. The lamentable strife of parties and the consequent bitterness and jealousy are the most to blame for such lapses, and they are by no means uncommon, though usually unsuccessful. Until recent years it was always customary to follow the execution of a traitor with the razing of his house, the confiscation of all his property, the death of all his sons and other near male relatives, and the enslavement of all the female portion of the family. It has recently been enacted that the relatives should be exempt. To us it seems strange that the innocent should, for so many centuries, have been punished with the guilty, but a very little study pf Korean conditions will solve the difficulty. There has never existed a police force in this country competent to hunt down and apprehend a criminal who has had a few hours' start. When a crime is discovered, it is possible to watch the city gates and seize the man if he attempts to go out without a disguise; but there are fifty ways by which he can evade the officers of the law, and it is always recognised that, once beyond the wall, there is absolutely no use in trying to catch him, unless there is good reason to know that he has gone to some specific place. If his guilt is certain, the law demands that his family produce him, and it will go very hard with them if the fugitive does not come back. But if he is only suspected, the way the police attempt to catch him is by watching his house in Seoul, feeling sure that at some time or other he will come back in secret. From the earliest times it was found necessary to put a check upon crime, of such a nature that even though the criminal himself could not be caught, he would abstain from evil. The only way was to involve his family in the trouble. This made the criminal pause before 
OTIUM SINE DIGNITATE
The commonest method of punishing officials has always been banishment. No man was ever exiled from the country, for in the days before the country was opened to foreign intercourse this would have seemed far more cruel than death ; but banishment means the transportation of the offender to some distant portion of the country, often some island in the archipelago, and keeping him there at government expense and under strict espionage. The distance from the capital and the length of time of banishment are in accord with the heinousness of the offence. At the present time there are some half-dozen men in life banishment to distant islands, who were once high officials at the court. In the very worst cases the banished man is enclosed in a thorn hedge, and his food is pushed through a hole to him. It is a living death. For light offences an official may be sent for a month or two to some outlying village or to his native town. If an official has cause to suspect that he is distasteful to the King, or if he has been charged with some dereliction of duty by some other official, he will go outside the gates of Seoul and lodge in the suburbs, sending a message to the King to the effect that he is unworthy to stay in the capital. This is a method of securing a definite vindication from the King or else a release from official duties. It sometimes happens that the King will send a man outside the gates in this way pending an investigation, or as a slight reprimand for some non-observance of court etiquette. In all but the severer cases of banishment the offender is allowed to have his family with him in his distant retreat ; but this is by no means usual. Each prefecture in the country is supposed to have a special building provided for the purpose of housing government officials who have been banished, and the cost of the keeping of such banished men is a charge on the government revenues. In the case of political offenders who have a strong following in the capital, it has generally been found 64 THE PASSING OF KOREA advisable to banish them first, and then send and have them executed at their place of banishment. It gives less occasion for trouble at the capital. Every King who has been deposed has been so treated.
The other forms of punishment in vogue are imprisonment, beating and impressment into the chain-gang. Men that are slightly suspected of seditious ideas are kept under lock and key, so that they may not have an opportunity to spread their dangerous notions. Nothing can be proved against them, and they are simply held in detention, awaiting a promised trial which in many cases never comes off. One man has lately been released from prison who remained a guest of the government in this way for six or seven years without trial. He was suspected of too liberal ideas.
The prisons, whether of the capital or the provinces, are mere shelters with earth floors and without fires. Food is supplied by the friends of the victim, or he will probably die of starvation.
Every time the thermometer goes down below zero in the winter we hear of a certain number of cases of death from freezing in the prisons. But the sanitary arrangements are such that it remains a moot question whether the freezing cold of winter is not preferable to the heats of summer.
The most degrading form of punishment is that of the chain-gang; for here the offender is constantly being driven about the streets in a dull blue uniform, chained about the neck to three or four other unfortunates, and ever subject to the scorn of the public eye. It can be imagined with what feelings a proud man who has been accustomed to lord it over his fellows will pass through the streets in this guise. These slaves are put to all sorts of dirty work, and their emaciated and anaemic countenances peer out from under their broad straw hats with an insolence born of complete loss of self-respect.
The penal code is filled with directions for administering beatings. The number of blows is regulated by law, but it hardly need be said that the limitation of the punishment to the legal number is dependent upon several important circumstances. In the dim past there was a government gauge or measure which determined the size of the sticks used for beating criminals ; but this passed away long ago, and now the rods are whatever the minions of the law may select. Much of this work is done with a huge paddle, which falls with crushing force, frequently breaking the bones of the leg and rendering the victim a cripple for life. If he can afford to pay a handsome sum of money, the blows are partially arrested in mid air and fall with a gentle spat, or in some cases the ground beside the criminal receives the blows. To use the significant abbreviation, " it all depends." Who that is conversant with Korean life has not passed the local yamens in the country and heard lamentable howls, and upon inquiry learned that some poor fellow was being hammered nearly to death? Crowding in to get a sight of the victim, you behold him tied to a bench, and each time the ten-foot oar falls upon him you think it will rend his flesh. He shrieks for mercy between fainting fits, and is at last carried away, more dead than alive, to be thrown into his pen once more, and left without other attendance than that of his family, who are entirely ignorant of the means for binding up his horrible wounds. Beating seems to be an essential feature in almost all punishment. No criminal is executed until after he has been beaten almost to death. It is understood that before an execution can take place the criminal must confess his crime and acknowledge the justice of his sentence. This is not required in Western lands, and a man may go to his death protesting his innocence ; but not so in the East. He is put on the whipping-bench and beaten until he subscribes to his own undoing. He may be never so innocent, but the torture will soon bring him to his senses; and he will see that it is better to be killed by a blow of the axe than to be slowly tortured to death.
This brings us to the question of torture for the purpose of obtaining evidence. It is bad enough to be subpoenaed in America to attend court and witness in a case, but in Korea this is a still more serious matter. The witnesses have, in many cases, to be seized and held as practical prisoners until the trial of the case. Especially is this so in a criminal case. The witness is not looked upon as actually to blame for the crime, but one would think from the treatment that he receives that he was considered at least a particeps criminis. The witness-stand is often the torture block, and the proceedings begin with a twist of the screw in order to make the witness feel that he is " up against the law." In a murder case that was tried in the north, in which an attempt was made to find the perpetrator of this crime upon the person of a British citizen at the gold-mines, one of the witnesses, who was suspected of knowing more about the matter than he would tell, was placed in a sitting posture on the ground and tied to a stout stake. He was bound about the ankles and the knees, and then two sticks were crowded down between his two calves and pried apart like levers so that the bones of the lower leg were slowly bent without breaking. The pain must have been horrible, and men who saw it said that the victim fainted several times, but continued to assert his ignorance of the whole matter. When he was half killed, they gave him up as a bad case and sent him away. As he crawled off to his miserable hovel, he must have carried with him a vivid appreciation of justice. It turned out that he was wholly innocent of any knowledge of the crime, but that did not take away the memory of that excruciating pain that he had endured.
We have said that there are no lawyers in Korea. The result is that a suspected criminal has no one to conduct his defence, and the witnesses have no guarantee that they will be questioned in a fair manner. The judge and his underlings, or some one at his elbow, ask the questions, and these are coloured by the prejudices of the interrogator, so that it is not likely that the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth will be forthcoming. If the witness knows what evidence the judge wishes to bring out, and that the lash will be applied until such evidence is forthcoming, it is ten to one that he will say what is desired, irrespective of the facts. Many witnesses have only in mind to find out as soon as possible what it is the judge wants them to say, and then to say it. Why should they be beaten for nothing? Of course it would be rash to say that in many, perhaps a majority, of cases some sort of rough justice is not done. Society could hardly hold together without some modicum of justice, but it will be fairly safe to say that the amount of evenhanded justice that is dispensed in Korea is not much more than is absolutely necessary to hold the fabric of the commonwealth from disintegration. The courts are not the friends of the people in any such sense that they offer a reasonable chance for the proper adjustment of legal difficulties. And yet the commonest thing in Korea is to hear men exclaim " Chapan hapsita," which means " Let us take the thing into court." It may be readily conjectured that it is always said in hot blood, without thinking of the consequences, for there is not more than one chance in ten that the question at issue is worth the trouble, and not more than one in two that it would be fairly adjudicated. One of the commonest methods of extortion is that of accusing a man of an offence and demanding pecuniary payment or indemnity. By fixing things beforehand the success of such a venture can be made practically sure. And this evil leads to that of blackmail. The terrible prevalence of this form of indirection is something of a gauge of Korean morals. It is practised in all walks of life, but generally against those of lower rank. It is so common that it is frequently anticipated, and regular sums are paid over for the privilege of not being lied about, just as bands of robbers are subsidised in some countries to secure immunity from sudden attack. It is the same in Korea as in China; there is a certain point beyond which it does not pay to go in oppressing those that are weaker than one's self. These people have learned by heart the story of the goose that laid the golden egg; and while they hunt the eggs very early in the morning and with great thoroughness, they do not actually kill the bird. The goose, on the other hand, does all in its power to direct its energies in some other direction than the laying of eggs, and with some success. This we may call the normal condition of Korean society, in which the rule is to take as much as can be gotten by any safe means, irrespective of the ethics of the situation, and to conceal so far as possible the possession of anything worth taking. This is the reason why so many people wonder how a few Korean gentlemen were able to offer the government a loan of four million yen a few months ago in order to prevent the Japanese from securing a hold on the customs returns. Many, if not most, foreigners suppose that no Korean's estate will sum up more than a hundred thousand dollars ; but the fact is that there are many millionaires among them, and a few multi-millionaires. Ostentation is not their cue, for knowledge of their opulence would only stir up envy in the minds of the less fortunate, and ways might be found of unburdening them of some of their surplus wealth. If there are great fortunes in Korea, it must be confessed that they generally represent the profits of many years of official indirection. There is no law of primogeniture which would tend to keep an immense patrimony in the hands of a single individual. It is sure to be divided up among the family or clan in the second generation.