Posted : 2021-12-25
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."
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."
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.
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.
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.
Korean boys sell sweet jellies on the streets of Seoul circa 1900s. Robert Neff Collection
According to Landor, the ship's Chinese steward assured them ― in pidgin English ― that the ship's Christmas dinner would be on par with one found in England. On the menu were fish, roast turkey, puddings and soup. Port, brandy, champagne, wine and beer would be served all night. Passengers were encouraged to have as much food and drink as they wanted and, best of all, it was free!
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."
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.
Christmas in Korea in the 19th century: Santa and Christmas trees: Part2
Posted : 2021-12-26
Not everyone was happy to see Santa in 1954. Robert Neff Collection
By Robert Neff
Starting in 1890, Christmas became one of the largest social events held in Seoul by the Western community. Unlike the previous decade when the Western residents of Seoul were mainly single missionaries and diplomats, there were now families with small children and they brought with them the familiar holiday traditions of Santa Claus and Christmas trees.
For many children, the magic of Christmas is Santa Claus and, as I noted a couple of years ago, the American children in Seoul dutifully wrote letters to the jolly old soul in which they extolled their good behavior (and naturally glossed over their naughtiness) in an attempt to convince him they were deserving of his visit and, more importantly, a gift. Without exception they succeeded.
Such was the case of Maurice, the eight-year-old son of Horace Allen (the secretary of the American Legation in Seoul), who, in 1894, found a pair of ice skates under his Christmas tree after a letter had been written to Santa Claus. His exuberant belief amused the adults, including John Sill, the American minister to Seoul, who wrote: "It hardly seems possible that a boy his age should really believe such a thing, but he appeared most innocent."
Young Maurice's conviction of the veracity of Santa was strengthened three years later at the American Legation's Christmas party, when Santa suddenly appeared and presented him and the other children with gifts.
Korean children greet Santa in 1954. Robert Neff Collection
Although I have been trying to confine this article to anecdotes about Americans residing in Seoul, I am compelled to include Santa's visit to Wonsan in 1896. As most parents are more than aware, Santa is a very busy man and sometimes requires assistance. Mr. L. Ahrendts, a member of the Korean Customs Department at that port, took it upon himself to assist Santa by assuming his dress and role. It was an unforgettable act and was described in The Independent (an English- and Korean-language newspaper that was published in Seoul):
"He was robed in scarlet mounted with beautiful snow cotton ― a veritable 'old Santa,' as he bound down from the snowy North. He had not finished his stories to the children, when by an accidental twitch of the hand the cotton took fire, and in a moment he was [engulfed] in a mass of flames. Mr. Ahrendts' presence of mind enabled him to free himself very quickly of the burning robe, thus came off with nothing more serious than a severely burned hand. It was a moment of intense excitement. And after all was over, the frightened children scarcely knew what to make out of 'Old Santa,' that he should take his departure in a burning flame like that."
While Santa enthralled (and, in some cases, frightened) children, it was the Christmas trees that seemed to bridge the cultural gap between the foreign residents and their Korean hosts. One example is in 1890 when Lillias Underwood hosted a Christmas party in her home and took great delight in entertaining her son and his young guests ― describing them as "a queer little company." Years later she wrote:
"[There were] little Americans from the missionary homes, little English from the consulate, little Russians, little chubby Japanese from the legation, little German Americans, Canadians, one Korean and the very cunningest little Chinese baby you ever did see, all wadded up in such an amazing number of gay quilted coats he could roll one way as well as another, and could roll all day without hurting himself."
Christmas dinner at a U.S. Army camp in Korea in 1954 Robert Neff Collection
There were, naturally enough, some problems in entertaining so many children of varying ages. Some felt they were too old to sit with the youngest children and demanded a place with the older children or with the adults. Their demands were met with apologies and quick seating changes and dinner was promptly served.
However, it wasn't the meal the children were interested in ― they were interested in the magic: the Christmas tree. Obtaining a tree had been no easy task. Underwood wrote:
"The poor around the city, where trees are quite scarce, cut them down so fast for fuel that the cutting of trees had been forbidden by law, and, unless one can be had from someone's own land, we must do without."
Fortunately, after several days of searching and waiting, a small tree was obtained just before the party along with "large bunches of the beautiful mystic mistletoe so prized by our English cousins, and long branches of evergreens."
She had the tree set up in the parlor and the evergreen branches and mistletoe were used to decorate the walls and ceiling. The parlor was carefully closed off so that none of the curious and expectant little tykes could get an early peek.
A postcard from the 1930s shows the Korean countryside during the winter. Robert Neff Collection
As the children were finishing their meal, the partition was moved aside and the candles on the tree were all lit, allowing the children to see it for the first time "all blazing and glittering." I am sure there are more than a few parents who can relate to what happened next.
"Such a clapping of hands, such shining eyes! Each of the babies had a rattle, each of the boys some trumpet or musical instrument, and soon the racket was all that a boy could desire, or Christmas time-honoured custom demand."
The party soon ended but the tree was not finished entertaining yet. A group of little Korean schoolgirls and their teacher arrived to gaze with wondering eyes at [its] bright lights and glittering trimmings. Then they sat down on the floor, Korean fashion, and received their gifts, had their little feast of Christmas dainties, and were sent home greatly perplexed how to carry away all the goodies that had been given to them."
The following afternoon, the Korean boys from the orphanage were invited for tea. Preparations were made well in advance as long low tables had to be set up with trays of bread, sweet crackers, cookies, cakes, tarts and other exotic treats.
At the appointed time, the smallest little boy led his companions to the Underwood house which they entered, dropped their wooden shoes in the hall and made their most humble and polite bows. Underwood recalled that they were "such a lively and brilliant little company, coats of cherry, blue, green, purple, red, white with bright ribbons fastening their long braids."
They were taught some American games and they romped about until they were served their treats. After they had partaken of all the cakes and pastries they could eat, they were taken into the parlor "and found the tree waiting in all its glory. When the penknives, etc, had been appropriated by their joyful little owners, excitement was at its height. They sat speechless with pleasure. They were aching to return [to their orphanage] and enjoy their gifts, so they soon made their bows and farewells…"
Waiting to enter Gyeongbok Palace in 2012. Robert Neff Collection
What happened to the Underwood Christmas tree of 1890? Early the following morning, it was discovered that "a dishonest servant" robbed it of its tinsel and paper ornaments. Robbed of its initial beauty, it was declared that the tree had served its purpose and was promptly chopped into pieces and used to heat the house.
"He [the tree] blazed up merrily and made a delightful, warm, cheery fire, and even his ashes were used to brighten up the andirons till they shone as never before."
Every year in the 1890s there were Christmas parties held in the homes of missionaries and diplomats ― all of them had beautiful Christmas trees and judging from the accounts, each venue competed with its rivals to have the most beautiful tree. Despite their valiant attempts, it appears the Americans did not have the best Christmas trees in Seoul ― the Russians did.
Yet, it was the Americans who managed to catch the attention of the Korean royal family. In 1894, Christmas found its way into the Korean palace through the efforts of Lillias Underwood, who set up a Christmas tree for the royal family. It wasn't a great success as she recalled:
"Soon after Christmas I dressed a Christmas tree for the royal family, but to my great vexation, the effect was quite spoiled because their majesties were too impatient to wait till dark to view it, and one cannot lock the doors on kings and queens and forbid them to do as they will in their own palaces. There were no heavy hangings or means of darkening the room, and so the poor little candles flickered in a sickly way in the glaring daylight, and I felt that Western customs were lightly esteemed in the critical eyes of the East."
Gyeonghoeru Pavilion in Gyeongbok Palace in 2012. Western residents of Seoul were often invited to the palace during the winters in the late 1880s and early 1890s to skate on the ice. Robert Neff Collection
The year of 1894 was not the only royal encounter with a Christmas tree. According to an article published in the United States, sometime prior to 1905, Crown Prince Yi Un (Emperor Gojong's youngest son) "had a burning desire to shake off ambiguous attendants and to flee away into the great unknown world beyond his father's walls and to explore it all by himself." The young royal climbed to the top of the wall and looked down into the kindergarten compound managed by an American missionary named Ella A. Lewis. She had a Christmas tree set up, "festooned with all the gay trimmings at her command, and candles a plenty to send out their lively gleams, and to crown all a huge star."
The young prince was amazed at the sight of the Christmas tree with its "intoxicating lights and colors." It was like no tree he had ever seen before. The article notes that there were trees within the palace, "wonderful trees, twisted pines that appeared even older than the hills that looked down upon them, spreading chestnuts and cherry trees that had reached their maturity no one remembered when and, very awesome, certain sacred trees, that had as it were chips on their shoulders, and to appease whom it was necessary to build altars and offer up sacrifices, otherwise their malicious spirits might bring down upon royal heads a plague of smallpox or other dreadful calamity."
These trees frightened him but the Christmas tree enthralled him. "Bravely he slid down the wall and lost no time in making known his desire to see this phenomenon at close range." While Lewis was undoubtedly delighted to have a visit from the young prince, it also caused problems. The "divinity" of the prince's social standing far exceeded that of her young charges and she feared aiding and abetting a runaway prince might have international repercussions, so she made a deal with the young man. If he could gain his father's consent, then she would allow him to come back the following evening and she would show him the Christmas tree ― just the two of them.
If we are to believe this tale, the emperor did grant permission, and the young prince was granted a private viewing. As for the trees in the palace, the article implies that they "wrought their malicious deeds" and that before the young prince reached adulthood, he had lost his mother and the Korean people had lost their freedom. There is one thing, however, that the prince did not lose: his memory of the Christmas tree. Whenever he returned to Seoul he supposedly never failed to visit Lewis and give her a gift in appreciation for allowing him to have that glorious hour with his first Christmas tree.
Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books including, Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.
Posted : 2021-12-26
Not everyone was happy to see Santa in 1954. Robert Neff Collection
By Robert Neff
Starting in 1890, Christmas became one of the largest social events held in Seoul by the Western community. Unlike the previous decade when the Western residents of Seoul were mainly single missionaries and diplomats, there were now families with small children and they brought with them the familiar holiday traditions of Santa Claus and Christmas trees.
For many children, the magic of Christmas is Santa Claus and, as I noted a couple of years ago, the American children in Seoul dutifully wrote letters to the jolly old soul in which they extolled their good behavior (and naturally glossed over their naughtiness) in an attempt to convince him they were deserving of his visit and, more importantly, a gift. Without exception they succeeded.
Such was the case of Maurice, the eight-year-old son of Horace Allen (the secretary of the American Legation in Seoul), who, in 1894, found a pair of ice skates under his Christmas tree after a letter had been written to Santa Claus. His exuberant belief amused the adults, including John Sill, the American minister to Seoul, who wrote: "It hardly seems possible that a boy his age should really believe such a thing, but he appeared most innocent."
Young Maurice's conviction of the veracity of Santa was strengthened three years later at the American Legation's Christmas party, when Santa suddenly appeared and presented him and the other children with gifts.
Korean children greet Santa in 1954. Robert Neff Collection
Although I have been trying to confine this article to anecdotes about Americans residing in Seoul, I am compelled to include Santa's visit to Wonsan in 1896. As most parents are more than aware, Santa is a very busy man and sometimes requires assistance. Mr. L. Ahrendts, a member of the Korean Customs Department at that port, took it upon himself to assist Santa by assuming his dress and role. It was an unforgettable act and was described in The Independent (an English- and Korean-language newspaper that was published in Seoul):
"He was robed in scarlet mounted with beautiful snow cotton ― a veritable 'old Santa,' as he bound down from the snowy North. He had not finished his stories to the children, when by an accidental twitch of the hand the cotton took fire, and in a moment he was [engulfed] in a mass of flames. Mr. Ahrendts' presence of mind enabled him to free himself very quickly of the burning robe, thus came off with nothing more serious than a severely burned hand. It was a moment of intense excitement. And after all was over, the frightened children scarcely knew what to make out of 'Old Santa,' that he should take his departure in a burning flame like that."
While Santa enthralled (and, in some cases, frightened) children, it was the Christmas trees that seemed to bridge the cultural gap between the foreign residents and their Korean hosts. One example is in 1890 when Lillias Underwood hosted a Christmas party in her home and took great delight in entertaining her son and his young guests ― describing them as "a queer little company." Years later she wrote:
"[There were] little Americans from the missionary homes, little English from the consulate, little Russians, little chubby Japanese from the legation, little German Americans, Canadians, one Korean and the very cunningest little Chinese baby you ever did see, all wadded up in such an amazing number of gay quilted coats he could roll one way as well as another, and could roll all day without hurting himself."
Christmas dinner at a U.S. Army camp in Korea in 1954 Robert Neff Collection
There were, naturally enough, some problems in entertaining so many children of varying ages. Some felt they were too old to sit with the youngest children and demanded a place with the older children or with the adults. Their demands were met with apologies and quick seating changes and dinner was promptly served.
However, it wasn't the meal the children were interested in ― they were interested in the magic: the Christmas tree. Obtaining a tree had been no easy task. Underwood wrote:
"The poor around the city, where trees are quite scarce, cut them down so fast for fuel that the cutting of trees had been forbidden by law, and, unless one can be had from someone's own land, we must do without."
Fortunately, after several days of searching and waiting, a small tree was obtained just before the party along with "large bunches of the beautiful mystic mistletoe so prized by our English cousins, and long branches of evergreens."
She had the tree set up in the parlor and the evergreen branches and mistletoe were used to decorate the walls and ceiling. The parlor was carefully closed off so that none of the curious and expectant little tykes could get an early peek.
A postcard from the 1930s shows the Korean countryside during the winter. Robert Neff Collection
As the children were finishing their meal, the partition was moved aside and the candles on the tree were all lit, allowing the children to see it for the first time "all blazing and glittering." I am sure there are more than a few parents who can relate to what happened next.
"Such a clapping of hands, such shining eyes! Each of the babies had a rattle, each of the boys some trumpet or musical instrument, and soon the racket was all that a boy could desire, or Christmas time-honoured custom demand."
The party soon ended but the tree was not finished entertaining yet. A group of little Korean schoolgirls and their teacher arrived to gaze with wondering eyes at [its] bright lights and glittering trimmings. Then they sat down on the floor, Korean fashion, and received their gifts, had their little feast of Christmas dainties, and were sent home greatly perplexed how to carry away all the goodies that had been given to them."
The following afternoon, the Korean boys from the orphanage were invited for tea. Preparations were made well in advance as long low tables had to be set up with trays of bread, sweet crackers, cookies, cakes, tarts and other exotic treats.
At the appointed time, the smallest little boy led his companions to the Underwood house which they entered, dropped their wooden shoes in the hall and made their most humble and polite bows. Underwood recalled that they were "such a lively and brilliant little company, coats of cherry, blue, green, purple, red, white with bright ribbons fastening their long braids."
They were taught some American games and they romped about until they were served their treats. After they had partaken of all the cakes and pastries they could eat, they were taken into the parlor "and found the tree waiting in all its glory. When the penknives, etc, had been appropriated by their joyful little owners, excitement was at its height. They sat speechless with pleasure. They were aching to return [to their orphanage] and enjoy their gifts, so they soon made their bows and farewells…"
Waiting to enter Gyeongbok Palace in 2012. Robert Neff Collection
What happened to the Underwood Christmas tree of 1890? Early the following morning, it was discovered that "a dishonest servant" robbed it of its tinsel and paper ornaments. Robbed of its initial beauty, it was declared that the tree had served its purpose and was promptly chopped into pieces and used to heat the house.
"He [the tree] blazed up merrily and made a delightful, warm, cheery fire, and even his ashes were used to brighten up the andirons till they shone as never before."
Every year in the 1890s there were Christmas parties held in the homes of missionaries and diplomats ― all of them had beautiful Christmas trees and judging from the accounts, each venue competed with its rivals to have the most beautiful tree. Despite their valiant attempts, it appears the Americans did not have the best Christmas trees in Seoul ― the Russians did.
Yet, it was the Americans who managed to catch the attention of the Korean royal family. In 1894, Christmas found its way into the Korean palace through the efforts of Lillias Underwood, who set up a Christmas tree for the royal family. It wasn't a great success as she recalled:
"Soon after Christmas I dressed a Christmas tree for the royal family, but to my great vexation, the effect was quite spoiled because their majesties were too impatient to wait till dark to view it, and one cannot lock the doors on kings and queens and forbid them to do as they will in their own palaces. There were no heavy hangings or means of darkening the room, and so the poor little candles flickered in a sickly way in the glaring daylight, and I felt that Western customs were lightly esteemed in the critical eyes of the East."
Gyeonghoeru Pavilion in Gyeongbok Palace in 2012. Western residents of Seoul were often invited to the palace during the winters in the late 1880s and early 1890s to skate on the ice. Robert Neff Collection
The year of 1894 was not the only royal encounter with a Christmas tree. According to an article published in the United States, sometime prior to 1905, Crown Prince Yi Un (Emperor Gojong's youngest son) "had a burning desire to shake off ambiguous attendants and to flee away into the great unknown world beyond his father's walls and to explore it all by himself." The young royal climbed to the top of the wall and looked down into the kindergarten compound managed by an American missionary named Ella A. Lewis. She had a Christmas tree set up, "festooned with all the gay trimmings at her command, and candles a plenty to send out their lively gleams, and to crown all a huge star."
The young prince was amazed at the sight of the Christmas tree with its "intoxicating lights and colors." It was like no tree he had ever seen before. The article notes that there were trees within the palace, "wonderful trees, twisted pines that appeared even older than the hills that looked down upon them, spreading chestnuts and cherry trees that had reached their maturity no one remembered when and, very awesome, certain sacred trees, that had as it were chips on their shoulders, and to appease whom it was necessary to build altars and offer up sacrifices, otherwise their malicious spirits might bring down upon royal heads a plague of smallpox or other dreadful calamity."
These trees frightened him but the Christmas tree enthralled him. "Bravely he slid down the wall and lost no time in making known his desire to see this phenomenon at close range." While Lewis was undoubtedly delighted to have a visit from the young prince, it also caused problems. The "divinity" of the prince's social standing far exceeded that of her young charges and she feared aiding and abetting a runaway prince might have international repercussions, so she made a deal with the young man. If he could gain his father's consent, then she would allow him to come back the following evening and she would show him the Christmas tree ― just the two of them.
If we are to believe this tale, the emperor did grant permission, and the young prince was granted a private viewing. As for the trees in the palace, the article implies that they "wrought their malicious deeds" and that before the young prince reached adulthood, he had lost his mother and the Korean people had lost their freedom. There is one thing, however, that the prince did not lose: his memory of the Christmas tree. Whenever he returned to Seoul he supposedly never failed to visit Lewis and give her a gift in appreciation for allowing him to have that glorious hour with his first Christmas tree.
Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books including, Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.
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