Horace N. Allen: Joseon's foreign royal physician

King Gojong in early 1884. Robert Neff Collection

By Robert Neff

"The position of court physician [in the mid-1880s] was no sinecure," especially if you were a foreigner, declared Horace N. Allen in one of his many publications of life in Korea.

Allen's romanticized memories juxtaposed with the heroizing narrative of his biographer (Fred Harvey Harrington) provide an amusing ― if not exaggerated ― account of life as a foreign physician to the royal family.

Allen was granted this powerful position, not because of his political connections, but because of his merit ― he had the expertise that was needed at the right time: He successfully nursed Min Yong-ik from his near-fatal injuries received during the failed Gapsin Coup in December 1884. Judging from Allen's diary, Prince Min was demanding, weak and whiny, and lacked moral fortitude and courage. Some may argue that Allen's observations were tinged with exaggeration (I am not sure why Allen would feel compelled to exaggerate in his own private diary), but I have little doubt Min was a most-trying patient.

Allen's reputation as a near-miracle worker quickly spread. On the night of March 21, 1885, he was summoned to the home of a nobleman to attend the man's dying son. The son had not urinated in three days and only after three hours' of persistent effort was Allen able to use "a very small soft catheter" to extract "a few drops of urine."

A Korean official and his escort in the late 19th century. Robert Neff Collection

The American doctor provided the father with some medication and instructions on its use and then returned to his own home. Throughout the rest of the night, Allen "prayed most earnestly" as he feared his patient would be dead before sunrise. Fortunately for the doctor, at noon word was received that the son was doing well and "making water constantly."

It was with this final success that Allen was invited to the palace by Queen Dowager Cho so that he could treat her within her own royal quarters. Harrington's description of Allen's encounter with the daring 76-year-old woman is rather benign:

"Allen went, pleasantly reflecting that 'no other male foreigner ever openly entered one of these places.' He found the queen mother more than modest: ensconced behind a screen, she showed the doctor just one arm, carefully bandaged save for a tiny patch of wrist. Barely enough to feel the pulse, but quite enough to shatter all tradition."

Allen failed to record his encounter with the queen dowager in his diary, but on March 27, he wrote:

"Today I was called to treat the King and Queen for the first time. They are just recovering from the varioloid [a mild form of smallpox] and asked me to remove the sequence, which in the King is a trouble of his throat and the Queen has a swelling in her ear. It was not satisfactory as I could not see them. Having simply to depend upon the statement of a nobleman who came for them."

A Korean noble and his son in the late 19th or early 20th century. Courtesy of Diane Nars Collection

Apparently, the king was pleased with the results ― despite not actually seeing the foreign doctor in person ― and a few days later summoned him again to the palace. Once again, Harrington provides an amusing, if not cringe-worthy, account of Allen's adventures in the palace.

Allen, anxious to actually see his patient, "intimidated that that proxy medication had its limitations; and the monarch, just as eager to see Allen, managed to manipulate the royal precedents. Since a foreign commoner was regarded as an inferior, the American missionary was made a Korean nobleman."

Unlike Korean noblemen (and Paul Georg von Mollendorff ― the German advisor to the Korean court), Allen was not bound by court etiquette (including the requirement to wear Korean clothing), but retained the privileges of the position, including access to the throne.

Thus, on the first face-to-face meeting with his patient, he marched into the labyrinthine palace grounds "as one who had come to stay. Down the corridors he strode, past the slouching sentries in their comic opera uniforms. On into the royal rooms, rooms furnished with a splendor that had cost Korea dear. And then the missionary from America cast eyes upon the king and crown prince of Chosen."

"There is magic in a crown, so Allen felt humble in the royal presence. A fine ruler, he thought respectfully, and a splendid son, both worthy of the loyalty of all Korean people. Actually, Allen was the most forceful person present. An uncrowned citizen of a kingless land, he had traits of character that were to enable him to hold this Oriental monarch in the palm of his Ohio hand."

Harrington's chest-thumping account differs greatly from Allen's own more reasonable account. Allen acknowledged that he was "offered native office and revenues, but as the acceptance involved the adoption of native dress and a certain conformity to native customs, the honors were declined…"

A Korean family portrait in the late 19th or early 20th century. Robert Neff Collection

By his own pen, Allen also voiced a real concern for his life. If his royal patient should die ― due to "the total lack of proper nursing, the envy of the native medical force" and his own inability to enforce his medical advice ― then there was the real possibility that he would be held fatally responsible.

"[The] probable effect [of the king's death] upon the minds of the people, inflamed by the malice of the native doctors displaced by the foreigner, was too awful to contemplate."

Fortunately ― or, rather, unfortunately ― for Allen, his primary patient at the palace appears to have been Crown Prince Sunjong.

"Lacking amusement, [I] was as much of a novelty to the court as would be a new toy to children. When no actual complaint was at hand to serve as an excuse for summoning the queer new officer of the court, one would easily be imagined, the feeble young prince being a fertile source of these excuses."

Most of these summons happened at night ― usually after midnight. A palanquin and escort were sent to Allen's home ― the noise of their arrival would awaken his wife and their baby ― and he was "obliged to robe [himself] in full evening dress, since that was taken as [a] substitute for the court uniform." He would then ride miles [a huge exaggeration] through the dark streets in below-freezing weather "to see a prince who may have fallen asleep in the meantime and whose sacred slumbers might not be disturbed, even to relieve an ache from which he may have imagined he suffered."

As he waited for his royal patient to awake, Allen was "lavishly entertained by the waiting courtiers who would persist in opening boxes of cigars, bottles of champagne, jars of sweets, and tins of cake, in spite of [his] protestations that [he] did not want them."

Allen soon realized that his summoning by the court officials was not only due to their desire to relieve the tedium of their duties but to profit from his appearance. The officials used his presence as an "excuse for ordering and consuming all these attributes of civilization, which were so highly appreciated" and all the remaining cigars, sweets and cakes were "carefully stowed away in their ample sleeves for consumption at their own homes." Each time Allen was summoned, a new supply of goods was retrieved from the "apparently ample storehouses" of the palace.

Allen caustically remarked, "I must have won a reputation in those days for possessing an appetite of colossal requirements."

In view of "the nightly calls" to attend "upon a patient who either needed no care, or who might chance on that particular occasion to need attention beyond [his] power to bestow," it is hardly surprising Allen quickly accepted a position with the Korean Embassy to Washington D.C. in 1887. It got him away from the hard work in the Korean government hospital, from the very un-Christian-like bickering with his fellow missionaries, and closer to his true love ― politics.

I think, despite his glorifying prose, Harrington's assessment of Allen's career was fairly accurate. He noted Allen was "no star student in America, no leading light in China (he was stationed there for a short time and did not do well)," but reached his peak in Korea ― and, to a degree, only in Korea.

My appreciation to Diane Nars for allowing me to use one of her images and for her invaluable assistance.

Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books, including Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.