Korea & Her Neighbours/Chapter VIII

IN superb weather, and in the full glory of spring, we con- tinued the exploration of the Han above Tan-Yang, en- countering innumerable rapids, some of them very severe and horrible to look upon. The river valley, continually narrow- ing into gorges, rarely admits of hamlets, and the population is relegated to lateral and parallel valleys. On the 30th of April we tugged and poled the boat up seven long and severe rapids, with deep still stretches of water between them. The flora increased in variety, and the shapes of the mountains be- came very definite. Among other trees there were a large branching Acanthopanax ricinifolia, two species of euonymus, mistletoe on the walnut and mulberry, the Rhus semi-alata and Rhus vernicifera, pines, firs, the Abies microsperma, the Actinidia pueraria, Elaeagnus, Spanish chestnuts in great groves, alders, birches, maples, elms, limes, and a tree infre- quently seen which I believe to be a Zelkawa. Among the flowers, there were marigolds, buttercups, scentless white and purple violets, yellow violas, white aconite, lady's slipper, hawk- weed, camomile, red and white dandelions, guelder roses, wyge- lias, mountain peonies, martagon and tiger lilies, gentians, pink spirea, yellow day lilies, white honeysuckle, the Iris Rossii, and many others.

The day after leaving Tan-Yang we entered on the most beautiful part of the river. Great limestone cliffs swing open at times to reveal glorious glimpses, through fantastic gorges, of peaks and ranges, partly forest-covered, fading in the far distance into the delicious blue veil of dreamland ; the river, occasionally compressed by its colossal walls, vents its fury in flurry and foam, or expands into broad reaches 20 and even 30 feet in depth, where pure emerald water laps gently upon crags festooned with roses and honeysuckle, or in fairy bays on peb- bly beaches and white sand. The air was full of gladness. The loud call of the fearless ringed pheasant was heard every- where, bees hummed and butterflies and dragon-flies flashed through the fragrant air. What mattered it that our ropes broke three times, that we stuck on a rock in a rapid and hung there for an hour in a deafening din and a lather of foam, and that we “beat the record” in only making 5 miles in twelve hours!

The limestone cliffs are much caverned, and near the village of To-tam, where they fall back considerably from the river, we explored one cave worthy of notice, with a fine entrance arch 43 feet in height, admitting into a vault considerably higher, with a roof of stalagmites. We ascended this cavern for 315 feet, and then had to return for lack of light. Near the mouth a natural shaft and rock-ladder give access to a fine upper gallery 12 feet high, only 60 feet of which we were able to investigate. Just above To-tam there is another limestone freak on the river bank, a natural bridge or arch, 127 feet in height and 30 feet wide, below which a fair green lawn slopes up to a height above. The bridge is admirably buttressed, and draped with roses, honeysuckle, and clematis, and various fantastic specimens of coniferae grow out of its rifts.

The beauty of the Han culminates at To-tam in the finest river view I had then ever seen, a broad stretch, with a deep bay and lofty limestone cliffs, between which, on a green slope, the picturesque, deep-eaved, brown-roofed houses of the village are built. The gray cliff is crowned with a goodly group of umbrella pines, in Korea called “Parasol Pines,” because they resemble in shape those carried before the King. Guard- ing the entrance of the bay are three picturesque jagged pyram- idal rocks much covered with the Ampelopsis Veitchiana, and of course sacred to daemon worship. These sentinels are from 40 to 83 feet high. To the southwest the Han, dark and deep, rolls out of sight round a pine-clad bluff, among the magnificent ranges of the Sol-rak-San mountains — masses of partially pine-clothed peaks and pinnacles of naked rock. To the northeast the river makes an abrupt bend below superb limestone cliffs, and disappears at the foot of Solmi-San, a triplet of lofty peaks. To-tam on its park-like slopes embraces this view, and were it not for the rapids and their delays and risks, might be a delightful summer resort from Seoul.

There is fertility as well as grandeur, for the ridge behind the village, abrupt on the riverside, falls gently down on the other to a broad, well- watered level valley, cultivated for rice with extreme neatness and care, and which, after gladdening the eye with its productiveness for several miles, winds out of view among the mountains.

There, and in most parts of the Han valley, I was much surprised with the neatness of the cultivation. It was not what the reports of other travellers had led me to expect, and it gives me the impression that the river passes through one of the most productive and prosperous portions of Korea. The crops of wheat and barley were usually superb, and remarkably free from weeds — in fact, the cleanliness would do credit to “high farming” in the Lothians. It was no uncommon thing to find from 12 to 18 stalks as the product of one grain. At the end of April the barley was in ear, and beginning to change color, and the wheat was 6 inches high. As a general rule the stones were carefully picked off the land and were used for retaining walls for the rice terraces, or piled in heaps. Steep hillsides were being cleared of scrub and stones for cot- ton planting, and in many instances the cultivation is carried to a height of 1,000 feet, the cultivators always, however, liv- ing in the holes. All the parallel valleys are neatly and care- fully cultivated. The favorable climate, with its abundant, but not superabundant, rainfall, renders irrigation needless, except in the case of rice. Every valley has its streamlet, and is barred across by dykes of mud from its head down to the Han, rice, with tobacco, beans, hemp, and cotton, being the great articles of export. On the whole, I was very agreeably surprised with the agriculture of the Han valley, and doubt not that it is capable of enormous development if the earnings of industry were secure. The soil is most prolific, heavy crops being raised without the aid of fertilizers.

After leaving beautiful To-tam, the rapids become more and more frequent and exasperating, and when Kim sank down, playing upon my feelings by well-simulated exhaustion, I feared it would soon become real. The ropes broke frequently, and the constant scraping and bumping over rocks increased the leakiness of the boat so much, that in a lovely reach, where crystal water rippled on the white sand, I pitched my tent, and unloaded and beached the craft for repairs. In one strong deep rapid that day the rope parted, and the boat swirled down the surges, striking rocks as she spun down with such effect as to spoil a number of photographic negatives and soak my bedding.

At the beautifully situated village of Pa-ka Mi, a post bore the following inscription in large characters — “If any servant of a yang-ban passing through Pa-ka Mi is polite and behaves well, all right, but if he behaves badly he will be beaten,” an assertion of independence as refreshing as it is rare !

For among the curses of Korea is the existence of this priv- ileged class of yang-bans or nobles, who must not work for their own living, though it is no disgrace to be supported by their relations, and who often live on the clandestine industry of their wives in sewing and laundry work. A yang-ban car- ries nothing for himself, not even his pipe. Yang-ban stu- dents do not even carry their books from their studies to the classroom. Custom insist that when a member of this class travels he shall take with him as many attendants as he can muster. He is supported on his led horse, and supreme helplessness is the conventional requirement. His servants brow- beat and bully the people and take their fowls and eggs with- out payment, which explains the meaning of the notice at Pa-ka Mi. (1.)

There is no doubt that the people, i.e. the vast mass of the unprivileged, on whose shoulders rests the burden of taxation, are hard pressed by the yang-bans, who not only use their labor without paying for it, but make merciless exactions under the name of loans. As soon as it is rumored or known that a merchant or peasant has laid up a certain amount of cash, a yang-ban or official seeks a loan. Practically it is a levy, for if it is refused the man is either thrown into prison on a false charge and whipped every morning until he or his relations pay the sum demanded, or he is seized and practically im- prisoned on low diet in the yang-ban's house until the money is forthcoming. It is the best of the nobles who disguise their exactions under the name of loans, but the lender never sees principal or interest. It is a very common thing for a noble, when he buys a house or field, to dispense with paying for it, and no mandarin will enforce payment. At Paik-kui Mi, where I paid off my boatmen, the yang-ban's servants were impressing all the boats for the purpose of taking roofing tiles to Seoul without payment. Kim begged me to give him some trifle to take down the river, with a few cash as payment, and a line to say that the boat was in my employment, service with a foreigner being a protection from such an exaction.

There were two days more of most severe toil, in which it was scarcely possible to make any progress. The rapids were frightful, and when we reached a very bad one below the town of Yong-chhun, Kim, after making several abortive efforts, not, I think, in good faith, to ascend it, collapsed, and said he could not get up any higher. At another season boats of light draught can ascend to Yang-wol, 20 li farther. We had performed a great feat in getting up to Yong-chhun in early May. There were no boats on the higher waters, and for much of the distance my sampan could hardly be said to be afloat. At Yong-chhun we were within 40 miles of the Sea of Japan.

Wind and heavy rain which raised the river forbade all lo- comotion until the following evening, when we crossed the Han and reached the Yong-chhun ferry by a pretty road through a village and a wood, most attractive country, with many novelties in its flora. At the ferry a still expanse of the Han is over 10 feet deep, but the roar of another rapid is heard immediately above. A double avenue of noble elms with fine turf underneath them leads to the town, a magistracy of 1,500 people, a quiet market-place without shops, situated in a rich farming basin of alluvial soil, covered in May with heavy crops of barley and wheat, among which were fields hillocked for melons.

The magistracy buildings are large and rambling, with what has been a fine entrance gate, with a drum and other instru- ments of aural torture for making the deafening din with which the yamen is closed and opened at sunrise and sunset. There are many stone tablets (not spontaneously erected) to worthy officials, a large enclosure in which sacrifices are offered to “Heaven” (probably to the Spirits of the Land), a Confucian temple, and a king's pavilion, all very squalid and ruinous.

A crowd not altogether polite followed us to the yamen, where I hoped that some information regarding an overland route to the Diamond Mountain might be obtained. On enter- ing the yamen precincts the underling officials were most insolent, and it was only after enduring their unpleasant be- havior for some time that we were conducted to a squalid inner room, where a deputy-mandarin sat on the floor with a smok- ing apparatus beside him, a man with a scornful and sinister physiognomy, who took not the slightest notice of us, and when he deigned to speak gave curt replies through an under- ling, while we stood outside the entrance, withstanding with difficulty the pressure of the crowd, which had surged in after us, private interviews being rare in the East. This was my last visit to a Korean yamen.

As we walked back to the town, the crowd followed us closely, led by some “swells” of the literary class. One young man came up behind me and kicked me on the ankle, stepping back and then coming forward and repeating the of- fense. He was about to give me a third kick, when Mr. Miller turned round and very quietly, without anger, dealt him a scientific blow on the chest, which sent him off the road upon his back into a barley field. There was a roar of laughter from the crowd, and the young bully's companions begged Mr. Miller not to punish him any more. The crowd dispersed, the bullies, cowards like all their species, fell far behind, and we had a pleasant walk back to the ferry, where, although we had to wait a long time in the ferry boat, there was no as- semblage, and the ferryman and passengers were very civil. Mr. Miller regretted the necessity for inflicting punishment. It was Lynch law no doubt, but it was summary justice, and the perfect coolness with which it was administered would no doubt leave a salutary impression. The ferryman told us that a tiger had carried off a pig from Yong-chhun the previous night, and said that the walk to our boat through the wood without lanterns was very unsafe. Our boatmen had become alarmed and were hunting for us with torches. The circum- stances were eerie, and I was glad to see the lights.

Ferries are free. The Government provides the broad, strong boats which are used for ferrying cattle as well as people, and the villages provide the ferrymen with food. Passengers who are not poor usually give a small douceur.

A gale of wind with torrents of rain set in that night, and the rain continued till the next afternoon, giving me an oppor- tunity of seeing more of the detail of the magnificent cliffs of laminated limestone, which occur frequently, and are the most striking geological features of the Han valley, continually presenting the appearance of the leaves of a colossal book. Above the Yong-chhun rapid, on a steep and almost inacces- sible declivity, buttressed by these cliffs, are the remains of a very ancient fortress, the outer wall of which, enclosing the summit of the hill, is 2,500 feet in circumference, 25 feet high on the outside, from i to 12 feet on the inside, and from 9 to 12 feet thick. It is so arranged that its two gates, which open on nearly direct descents of 20 feet, and are approached by very narrow pathways, could only admit one man at a time. It was obviously incapable of reduction by any force but starvation. No mortar is used in the walls, which are very efficiently built of small slabs of stone never more than 6 inches thick. The people have no traditions of its construc- tion, but Mr. Miller, who is familiar with the fortresses of Nam- San and Puk Han, thinks that it is of a much earlier date than either. One of the signal fire stations is visible from this point on the river.

On the 3rd of May we began the descent of the Han. The worn-out ropes were used for the cooking fire, the poles were stowed away, and paddles took their place. The heavy rains had raised the river a foot, and changed its bright waters into a turbid flood, down which we often descended in two minutes distances which had taken two laborious hours on the upward journey, flying down the centre of the stream instead of crawling up the sides. Many small disasters occurred. Several times the boat was nearly swamped by heavy surges, or shivered by striking sunken rocks ; or, losing steerage way, spun round and round, progressing downwards with many gy- rations, usually stern foremost, amidst billows and foam, but Kim, who was at his best on such occasions, usually contrived to bring her to shore, bow on, at the foot of the rapid. On one occasion, however, in a long rapid, in which the surges were high and strong, by some mismanagement, regarding which the boatmen quarrelled for an hour afterwards, the sam- pan shipped such heavy seas from both sides as nearly to

swamp her. I was all but washed off my camp-bed, which was on a level with the gunwale ; a number of sheets of geo- graphical notes were washed away, some instruments belong- ing to the R.G.S. were drowned in their box, more than forty photographic negatives were destroyed, and clothing, bedding, and flour were all soaked ! The rapids were in fact most ex- citing, and their risks throw those of the Fu and the Yangtze from Cheng-tu to Ichang quite into the shade.

In spite of a delay of half a day at Tan-Yang, owing to a futile attempt to get cash for silver, and another half-day spent in beaching and repairing the boat, which had been badly bumped on a rock, we did the distance from Nang-chhon to Ma-chai on the forks in four and a half days, or less than a third of the time taken by the laborious ascent.

The penniless situation became so serious that one day be- fore reaching Ma-chai I had to decide on returning to Seoul for cash ! The treasuries were said to be empty ; no one be- lieved in silver or knew anything about it, and supplies could not be obtained. Fortunately we arrived at the market-place of Ma-Kyo, a village of 1,850 people, on the market day, and the pedlars gladly exchanged cash for 35 silver yen at the rate of 3,000, and would willingly have changed 70. It took six men to carry the coin to the boat, which was once more sub- stantially ballasted. Ma-Kyo is the river port of Che-chon, and has an unusually flourishing aspect, boasting of many good houses with tiled roofs. It exports rice, beans, and grain from the very rich agricultural country on both sides of the river, and imports foreign cottons, Korean sackcloth, and salt. Cotton in 20 cash the measure of 20 inches dearer at Ma-Kyo than in Seoul, and at Nang-chhon 70 cash dearer.

When we reached the forks at Ma-chai, the boatmen, who were tired of the trip, wanted to go back, but eventually they were induced to fulfil their contract, and we entered the north branch of the Han on a cool, glorious afternoon, following on a night and morning of wind and rain. This north branch also rises in the Keum-kang San or Diamond Mountain in the province of Kong-won, and after a turbulent course of about 98 miles unites with the southern and larger branch of the Han about two days' journey from Seoul. For a considerable distance the country which it drains is populous and well cul- tivated, and the hills of its higher reaches provide much of the timber which is used in Seoul, as well as a large proportion of the firewood and charcoal. The timber is made up into very peculiar rafts, which come down at high water, but even then are frequently demolished in the rapids. The river widens out above Ma-chai, and for a considerable distance has an average breadth of 440 yards, but as a rule it is shal- low, and its bottom dangerously rocky, and it has incessant rapids full of jagged rocks, some of which are very dangerous, and so “ugly” that as I went up them I was truly glad that I had not to descend them. Many a long, hard tug and broken hawser we had, but succeeded in hauling the sampan 7 miles above the limit of low water navigation, which is the same distance from the termination of boat traffic at high water. I estimate the distance from Ma-chai to Ut-Kiri, where further progress was stopped by an insurmountable rapid, at 76 miles, which took nine days, though Kim and his man, anxious to go home, worked much harder than on our earlier trip.

For the first few days there are villages every quarter of a mile, and lateral and parallel valleys, then rich in clean crops of barley and wheat. The river villages are surrounded by groves of Spanish chestnut, mulberry, cherry, persimmons, and weeping willows. There are deep crateriform cavities, now full of trees and abundant vegetation. The hills are covered with oak scrub, affording cover for tigers, which appear to abound. The characteristics of the villages and the agricul- ture hardly vary from those on the south branch, except that the potato is more extensively grown. The absence of provin- cial and local peculiarities is a feature of Korea. An alley in Seoul may serve for a village street anywhere else.

Gold in small quantities is found along the river, and rumor says that Ur-rop-so, a conical hill near the dangerous rapid of Chum-yol, is rich in it, but that the district official prohibits digging. Higher up a number of men were washing for gold. Their apparatus consists of a wooden sieve or gridiron, on which the supposed auriferous earth is placed above a deep wooden tray, and rocked under water till the heavier stuff passes through, to be again rocked in search of the glittering particles. The results are placed on the river bank in pieces of broken pottery, each watched by a man. The earth is ob- tained by removing the heavy shingle of the river bank and digging up the sand to a depth of about 2 feet, when rock is reached. From 60 to 100 trays are equal to a bushel and a half, and the yield of this quantity averages half a thimbleful of gold in a state of fine subdivision. These gold-washers seldom make more than 16s. per month, and only about 50s. when working in the best goldfields.

Gold ornaments are rarely seen in Korea, gold is scarcely if at all used in the arts (if arts there are), and gold coins do not exist. Nevertheless, as is shown by the Customs Reports, the quantity of gold dust exported, chiefly to Japan, is very far from being despicable, although the reefs which presumably contain the metal, of which the washings are the proof, have not yet been touched. The fees paid by the miners to the Government vary with the locality. Gold-digging without Government authorization is prohibited by law under most severe penalties. Among the richest goldfields in Korea are Phyong Kang, not far from the Han, and Keum-San in Phyong-an Do, not far from the Tai-dong. The larger wash- ings collect as elsewhere the scum of the country, and riots often occur among the miners. I know not on which subject the Korean is the more voluble, tigers or gold. He is proud of Korea as a gold-producing country, and speaks as if its dust were golden sand !

The groves of Spanish chestnuts with which the North Han is fringed gave off an overpowering odor. Their fruit is an important article of diet. Usually the arable land below the villages is little more than a terrace, but on the hillsides above the grain rippled in long yellow waves in the breeze, and the hills constantly swing apart and reveal terraced valleys and brown orchard embowered hamlets ; or slightly receding, ex- pose stretches of white sand or heaps of fantastic boulders.

After two days of severe work we reached the beautifully situated town of Ka-phyong, which straggles along the valley of a small tributary of the Han on slopes backed by high mountains which, following the usual Korean custom, are with- out names. The bright green of the wheat fields, varied by the darker green of clumps of conifers and chestnuts, arranged as if by a landscape gardener, and the lines of trees along the river bank were enchanting, but Ka-phyong does not bear close inspection. The telegraph wire from Seoul to Won-san crosses the river at Sin-gang Kam, and there is actually a tele- graph station at Chun-chon, the most important town of that region, at which messages are received and sent about once a month !

Chun-chon is four miles from the Han on its left bank. It is fortified, and has nominally a garrison of 300 men. Hav- ing a population of 3,000, and being in the centre of a fine agricultural district, it is a place of some trade, as trade is understood in Korea. Just below it the Han, after running for some distance below a lofty quartz ridge, makes an abrupt turn and penetrates it, the walls of the passage having the regularity of a railway cutting, while the bed of the stream is of pure white quartz.

Beyond this singular gateway the river valley opens out, and the spectacle, rare in Korea, of cattle is to be seen. Indeed, I only once saw cattle feeding elsewhere. The grass is coarse and sour, and hand feeding is customary. It was most pleas- ant to be awoke in the dewy morning by bellowing of cattle, shouts and laughter of boys and yelping of dogs, as bulls old and young were driven to the river bank to be tethered in the flowery grass. The frolicsome bull calves, which are brought up in the Korean home, and are attended to by the children, who are their natural playmates, develop under such treatment into that maturity of mingled gentleness and stateliness which is characteristic of the Korean bull, — the one grand thing re- maining to Korea. When full grown a bull can carry from 350 to 500 lbs. They are fed on boiled beans, cut millet stalks, and cut pea haulm, and the water in which the beans are boiled. They are led by a rope passed round the horns from a bamboo ring in the nose. The prevailing color is a warm red, and the huge animal in build much resembles the shorthorn. The Korean cow, which is to be seen carrying loads in Northern Korea, is a worthy dam of such a splendid progeny.

The scenery, though always pretty, becomes monotonous after a few days, and monotonous too were the adventures in the rapids, which were innumerable, and the ceaseless toiling, dragging, and tugging they involved. Reaching Won-chon, a post station on the road to Won-san, we halted and engaged horses for a land journey, at a very high rate, but they and their mapu or grooms turned out well, and as Wong senten- tiously remarked, “If you pay well, you will be served well.” The agreement, which I caused to be put into writing, and which I made use of in other journeys, with much mutual satisfaction, was duly signed, and we continued the boat journey.

After spending half a day at the prefectural town of Nang- chhon, where I am glad to record that the officials were very courteous, we ascended the Han to a point above the wild hamlet of Ut-Kiri, on a severe rapid full of jagged rocks. Ut-Kiri is above the head of low water navigation, but in two summer months during the rains small boats can reach Ku-mu- nio, “ the last village,” 20 li higher. It was a wild termina- tion of the long boat journey. An abrupt turn of the river, and its monotonous prettiness is left behind, and there is a superb mountain view of saddleback ridges and lofty gray peaks surrounding a dark expanse of water, with a margin of gray boulders and needles of gray rock draped with the Ampelopsis, a yellow clematis, and a white honeysuckle. It was somewhat sad not to be able to penetrate the grim austerity to the northward, but the rapids were so severe and the water ofttimes so shallow that it was impossible to drag the sampan farther, though at that time she only drew 2 inches of water. From Ma-chai on the forks she had been poled and dragged up forty rapids, making eighty-six on the whole journey.

From the thinly peopled solitudes of these upper waters we descended rapidly, though not without some severe bumps, to the populous river banks, where villages are half hidden among orchards and chestnut and mulberry groves, and the crops are heavy, and that abundance of the necessaries of life which in Korea passes for prosperity is the rule.

Ta-rai, a neat, prosperous place of 240 people, among orchards, and hillsides terraced and bearing superb crops, is an example of the riverine villages. Its houses are built step above step along the sides of a ravine, down which a perennial stream flows, affording water power for an automatic rice hull- ing machine. For exports and imports the Han at high water is a cheap and convenient highway. The hill slopes above the village, with their rich soil, afford space for agricul- tural expansion for years to come. And not to dwell alto- gether on the material, there is a shrine of much repute on a fork-like slope near the river. It contains a group of mirioks, in this case stones worn by the action of water into the sem- blance of human beings. The central figure, larger than life, may even to a dull imagination represent a person carrying an infant, and its eyes, nose, and mouth are touched in with China ink. It is surrounded by Phallic symbols and mirioks, which may be supposed to represent children, and women make prayers and offerings in this shrine in the hope of obtaining a much coveted increase in their families, for male children are still regarded as a blessing in Korea, and “ happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them.”

Ka phyong again, a small prefectural town of 400 houses i}4 miles from the river, is a good specimen of the small towns of the Han valley, with a ruinous yamen, of course, with its non- producing mob of hangers-on. It is on the verge of an alluvial plain, rolling up to picturesque hills, gashed by valleys, abounding in hamlets surrounded by chestnut groves and care- ful cultivation. The slopes above Ka-phyong break up into knolls richly wooded with conifers and hard-wood trees, fring- ing off into clumps and groups which would not do discredit to the slopes of Windsor. The people of a large district bring their produce into the town, and barter it for goods in the market. The telegraph wire to Won-san crosses the affluent on which Ka-phyong is built, and is carried along a bridle path which for some li runs along the river bank. Junks loaded 10 feet above their gunwales, as well as 4 feet outside of them with firewood, and large rafts were waiting for the water to rise. Boats were being built and great quantities of the strong rope used for towing and other purposes, which is made from a “creeper” which grows profusely in Central Korea, were awaiting water carriage. Yet Ka-phyong, like other small Korean towns, has no life or go. Its “merchants” are but pedlars, its commercial ideas do not rise above those of the huckster, and though poverty, as we understand it, is unknown, prosperity as we understand it is absent. There are no special industries in any of the riverine towns, and if they were all to disappear in some catastrophe it would not cause a ripple on the surface of the general commercial apathy of the country.

Similar remarks apply to the prefectural town of Nang- chhon, where we again wasted some hours, while Kim's rice was first bargained for and then cleaned. At that point there is a fine deep stretch of the river 230 yards broad abounding in fish. From Nang-chhon we dropped down the Han to a deep and pretty bay on which the small village of Paik-kui Mi is situated, where we halted for Sunday, our last day in the sampan, which had been a not altogether comfortless home for five weeks and a half.

(1.) Class privileges are now abolished, on paper at least, but their tradition carries weight.