The portico in this old haunted palace was a favourite spot for these rites, and as the house of the Vice-Minister of Home Affairs, where I stayed as a guest, was close by, I suffered a good deal at the hands of these fanatics, for the noise they made was of so wild a nature as to drive one crazy—­if not, also, quite sufficient to bring the whole world down.

We may now continue our peregrination along the main street.  There along the wall squat dozens of coolies, with their carrying arrangement, sitting on their heels, and basking in the sun.  Further on, one of them is just loading a huge earthenware vase full of the native beverage.  The weight must be something enormous.  Yet see how quickly and cleverly he manages to get up with it, and walk away from his kneeling position by first raising one leg, then the other, and after that a push up and it is done.

Here, again, coming along, is another curiosity.  It is a blue palanquin, carried on the back of two men.  They walk along quickly, with bare feet, and trousers turned up over the knees.  Instead of wearing a transparent head-gear, like the rest of the people, these chair-bearers have round felt hats.  In front walks a Maggiordomo, and following the palanquin are a few retainers.  Heading the procession are two men, who, with rude manners, push away the people, and shout out at the top of their voices: 

“Era, Era, Era; Picassa, Picassa!” ("Out of the way; get out, get away!”) were the polite words with which these roughs elbowed their way among the crowd, and flung people on one side or the other, in order to clear the road for their lord and master.  From the hubbub they made, one might have imagined that it was the King himself coming, instead of a mere magistrate.

A few hundred yards further on, one finds on one’s left a magnificent street departing at right angles to the main thoroughfare.  It is certainly the widest street in the Corean capital.  So wide is it, in fact, that two rows of thatched houses are built in the middle of the road itself, so to speak, forming out of one street three parallel streets.  These houses are, however, pulled down and removed altogether once or twice a year, when His Majesty the King takes it into his head to come out of his palace and go in his state chair, preceded by a grand procession, to visit the tombs of his ancestors, some miles out of the town, or to meet the envoys of the Chinese Emperor, a short way out of the west gate of the capital, at a place where a peculiar triumphal arch, half built of masonry and half of lacquered wood, has been erected, close to an artificial cut in the rocky hill, named the “Pekin Pass” in honour of the said Chinese messengers.

I witnessed two or three of these king’s processions, and I shall describe them to you presently.  In the meantime, however, let us walk up the royal street.