Korean Tales (Serapis Classics) Read online

  The father did not know of his son’s recent alliance, though the young man honestly went and removed Chun Yang’s name from the list of the district gee sang, kept in his father’s office; for, now that she was a married woman, she need no longer go out with the dancing-girls. Every morning, as before, the dutiful son presented himself before his father, with respectful inquiries after his health, and his rest the preceding night. But, nevertheless, each night the young man’s apartments were deserted, while he spent the time in the house of his wife.

  Thus the months rolled on with amazing speed. The lovers were in paradise. The father enjoyed his work, and labored hard for the betterment of the condition of his subjects. Never before had so large a tribute been sent by this district. Yet the people were not burdened as much as when far less of their products reached the government granaries. The honest integrity of the officer reached the King in many reports, and when a vacancy occurred at the head of the Treasury Department, he was raised to be Ho Joh Pansa (Secretary of Finance). Delighted, the father sent for his son and told him the news, but, to his amazement, the young man had naught to say, in fact he seemed as one struck dumb, as well he might. Within himself there was a great tumult; his heart beat so violently as to seem perceptible, and at times it arose and filled his throat, cutting off any speech he might wish to utter. Surprised at the conduct of his son, the father bade him go and inform his mother, that she might order the packing to commence.

  He went; but soon found a chance to fly to Chun Yang, who, at first, was much concerned for his health, as his looks denoted a serious illness. When he had made her understand, however, despair seized her, and they gazed at each other in mute dismay and utter helplessness. At last she seemed to awaken from her stupor, and, in an agony of despair, she beat her breast, and moaned: “Oh, how can we separate. We must die, we cannot live apart”; and tears coming to her relief, she cried: “If we say good-by, it will be forever; we can never meet again. Oh, I feared it; we have been too happy—too happy. The one who made this order is a murderer; it must be my death. If you go to Seoul and leave me, I must die. I am but a poor weak woman, and I cannot live without you.”

  He took her, and laying her head on his breast, tried to soothe her. “Don’t cry so bitterly,” he begged; “my heart is almost broken now. I cannot bear it. I wish it could always be spring-time; but this is only like the cruel winter that, lingering in the mountain, sometimes sweeps down the valley, drives out the spring, and kills the blossoms. We will not give up and die, though. We have contracted for one hundred years, and this will be but a bitter separation that will make our speedy reunion more blissful.”

  “Oh,” she says, “but how can I live here alone, with you in Seoul? Just think of the long, tedious summer days, the long and lonely winter nights. I must see no one. I cannot know of you, for who will tell me, and how am I to endure it?”

  “Had not my father been given this great honor, we would perhaps not have been parted; as it is I must go, there is no help for it, but you must believe me when I promise I will come again. Here, take this crystal mirror as a pledge that I will keep my word”; and he gave her his pocket-mirror of rock crystal.

  “Promise me when you will return,” said she; and then, without awaiting an answer, she sang: “When the sear and withered trunk begins to bloom, and the dead bird sings in the branches, then my lover will come to me. When the river flows over the eastern mountains, then may I see him glide along in his ship to me.” He chided her for her lack of faith, and assured her again it was as hard for one as the other. After a time she became more reconciled, and taking off her jade ring, gave it to him for a keepsake, saying: “My love, like this ring, knows no end. You must go, alas! but my love will go with you, and may it protect you when crossing wild mountains and distant rivers, and bring you again safely to me. If you go to Seoul, you must not trifle, but take your books, study hard, and enter the examinations, then, perhaps, you may obtain rank and come to me. I will stand with my hand shading my eyes, ever watching for your return.”

  Promising to cherish her speech, with her image in his breast, they made their final adieu, and tore apart.

  The long journey seemed like a funeral to the lover. Everywhere her image rose before him. He could think of nothing else; but by the time he arrived at the capital he had made up his mind as to his future course, and from that day forth his parents wondered at his stern, determined manner. He shut himself up in his room with his books. He would neither go out, or form acquaintances among the young noblemen of the gay city. Thus he spent months in hard study, taking no note of passing events.

  In the meantime a new magistrate came to Nam Won. He was a hard-faced, hard-hearted politician. He associated with the dissolute, and devoted himself to riotous living, instead of caring for the welfare of the people. He had not been long in the place till he had heard so much of the matchless beauty of Chun Yang Ye that he determined to see, and if, as reported, marry her. Accordingly he called the clerk of the yamen, and asked concerning “the beautiful gee sang Chun Yang Ye.” The clerk answered that such a name had appeared on the records of the dancing girls, but that it had been removed, as she had contracted a marriage with the son of the previous magistrate, and was now a lady of position and respectability.

  “You lying rascal!” yelled the enraged officer, who could ill brook any interference with plans he had formed. “A nobleman’s son cannot really marry a dancing girl; leave my presence at once, and summon this remarkable ‘lady’ to appear before me.” The clerk could only do as he was bidden, and, summoning the yamen runners, he sent to the house of Chun Yang Ye to acquaint her with the official order.

  The runners, being natives of the locality, were loath to do as commanded, and when the fair young woman gave them “wine money” they willingly agreed to report her “too sick to attend the court.” Upon doing so, however, the wrath of their master came down upon them. They were well beaten, and then commanded to go with a chair and bring the woman, sick or well, while if they disobeyed him a second time they would be put to death.

  Of course they went, but after they had explained to Chun Yang Ye their treatment, her beauty and concern for their safety so affected them, that they offered to go back without her, and face their doom. She would not hear to their being sacrificed for her sake, and prepared to accompany them. She disordered her hair, soiled her fair face, and clad herself in dingy, ill-fitting gowns, which, however, seemed only to cause her natural beauty the more to shine forth. She wept bitterly on entering the yamen, which fired the anger of the official. He ordered her to stop her crying or be beaten, and then as he looked at her disordered and tear-stained face, that resembled choice jade spattered with mud, he found that her beauty was not overstated.

  “What does your conduct mean?” said he. “Why have you not presented yourself at this office with the other gee sang?”

  “Because, though born a gee sang, I am by marriage a lady, and not subject to the rules of my former profession,” she answered.

  “Hush!” roared the Prefect. “No more of this nonsense. Present yourself here with the other gee sang, or pay the penalty.”

  “Never” she bravely cried. “A thousand deaths first. You have no right to exact such a thing of me. You are the King’s servant, and should see that the laws are executed, rather than violated.”

  The man was fairly beside himself with wrath at this, and ordered her chained and thrown into prison at once. The people all wept with her, which but increased her oppressor’s anger, and calling the jailer he ordered him to treat her with especial rigor, and be extra vigilant lest some sympathizers should assist her to escape. The jailer promised, but nevertheless he made things as easy for her as was possible under the circumstances. Her mother came and moaned over her daughter’s condition, declaring that she was foolish in clinging to her faithless husband, who had brought all this trouble upon them. The neighbors, however, upbraided the old woman for her words, and a
ssured the daughter that she had done just right, and would yet be rewarded. They brought presents of food, and endeavored to make her condition slightly less miserable by their attentions.

  She passed the night in bowing before Heaven and calling on the gods and her husband to release her, and in the morning when her mother came, she answered the latter’s inquiries as to whether she was alive or not, in a feeble voice which alarmed her parent.

  “I am still alive, but surely dying. I can never see my Toh Ryung again; but when I am dead you must take my body to Seoul and bury it near the road over which he travels the most, that even in death I may be near him, though separated in life.” Again the mother scolded her for her devotion and for making the contract that binds her strongly to such a man. She could stand it no longer, and begged her mother that she would go away and come to see her no more if she had no pleasanter speech than such to make. “I followed the dictates of my heart and my mind. I did what was right. Can I foretell the future? Because the sun shines to-day are we assured that to-morrow it will shine? The deed is done. I do not regret it; leave me to my grief, but do not add to it by your unkindness.”

  Thus the days lengthened into months, but she seemed like one dead, and took no thought of time or its flight. She was really ill, and would have died but for the kindness of the jailer. At last one night she dreamed that she was in her own room, dressing, and using the little mirror Toh Ryung had given her, when, without apparent cause, it suddenly broke in halves. She awoke, startled, and felt sure that death was now to liberate her from her sorrows, for what other meaning could the strange occurrence have than that her body was thus to be broken. Although anxious to die and be free, she could not bear the thought of leaving this world without a last look at her loved husband whose hands alone could close her eyes when her spirit had departed. Pondering much upon the dream, she called the jailer and asked him to summon a blind man, as she wished her fortune told. The jailer did so. It was no trouble, for almost as she spoke they heard one picking his way along the street with his long stick, and uttering his peculiar call. He came in and sat down, when they soon discovered that they were friends, for before the man became blind he had been in comfortable circumstances, and had known her father intimately. She therefore asked him to be to her as a kind father, and faithfully tell her when and how death would come to her. He said: “When the blossoms fade and fall they do not die, their life simply enters the seed to bloom again. Death to you would but liberate your spirit to shine again in a fairer body.”

  She thanked him for his kind generalities, but was impatient, and telling her dream, she begged a careful interpretation of it. He promptly answered, that to be an ill omen a mirror in breaking must make a noise. And on further questioning, he found that in her dream a bird had flown into the room just as the mirror was breaking.

  “I see,” said he. “The bird was bearer of good news, and the breaking of the mirror, which Toh Ryung gave you, indicates that the news concerned him; let us see.” Thereupon he arranged a bunch of sticks, shook them well, while uttering his chant, and threw them upon the floor. Then he soon answered that the news was good. “Your husband has done well. He has passed his examinations, been promoted, and will soon come to you.”

  She was too happy to believe it, thinking the old man had made it up to please his old friend’s distressed child. Yet she cherished the dream and the interpretation in her breast, finding in it solace to her weary, troubled heart.

  In the meantime Ye Toh Ryung had continued his studious work day and night, to the anxiety of his parents. Just as he began to feel well prepared for the contest he awaited, a royal proclamation announced, that owing to the fact that peace reigned throughout the whole country, that the closing year had been one of prosperity, and no national calamity had befallen the country, His Gracious Majesty had ordered a grand guaga, or competitive examination, to be held. As soon as it became known, literary pilgrims began to pour in from all parts of the country, bent on improving their condition.

  The day of the examination found a vast host seated on the grass in front of the pavilion where His Majesty and his officers were. Ye Toh Ryung was given as a subject for his composition, “A lad playing in the shade of a pine tree is questioned by an aged wayfarer.”

  The young man long rubbed his ink-stick on the stone, thinking very intently meanwhile, but when he began to write in the beautiful characters for which he was noted he seemed inspired, and the composition rolled forth as though he had committed it from the ancient classics. He made the boy express such sentiments of reverence to age as would have charmed the ancients, and the wisdom he put into the conversation was worthy of a king. The matter came so freely that his task was soon finished; in fact many were still wrinkling their brows in preliminary thought, while he was carefully folding up his paper, concealing his name so that the author should not be recognized till the paper had been judged on its merits. He tossed his composition into the pen, and it was at once inspected, being the first one, and remarkably quickly done. When His Majesty heard it read, and saw the perfect characters, he was astonished. Such excellence in writing, composition, and sentiment was unparalleled, and before any other papers were received it was known that none could excel this one. The writer’s name was ascertained, and the King was delighted to learn that ‘twas the son of his favorite officer. The young man was sent for, and received the congratulations of his King. The latter gave him the usual three glasses of wine, which he drank with modesty. He was then given a wreath of flowers from the King’s own hands; the court hat was presented to him, with lateral wings, denoting the rapidity—as the flight of a bird—with which he must execute his Sovereign’s commands. Richly embroidered breast-plates were given him, to be worn over the front and back of his court robes. He then went forth, riding on a gayly caparisoned horse, preceded by a band of palace musicians and attendants. Everywhere he was greeted with the cheers of the populace, as for three days he devoted his time to this public display. This duty having been fulfilled, he devotedly went to the graves of his ancestors, and prostrated himself with offerings before them, bemoaning the fact that they could not be present to rejoice in his success. He then presented himself before his King, humbly thanking him for his gracious condescension in bestowing such great honors upon one so utterly unworthy.

  His Sovereign was pleased, and told the young man to strive to imitate the example of his honest father. He then asked him what position he wished. Ye Toh Ryung answered that he wished no other position than one that would enable him to be of service to his King. “The year has been one of great prosperity,” said he. “The plentiful harvest will tempt corrupt men to oppress the people to their own advantage. I would like, therefore, should it meet with Your Majesty’s approval, to undertake the arduous duties ofUssa”—government inspector.

  He said this as he knew he would then be free to go in search of his wife, while he could also do much good at the same time. The King was delighted, and had his appointment—a private one naturally—made at once, giving him the peculiar seal of the office.

  The new Ussa disguised himself as a beggar, putting on straw sandals, a broken hat, underneath which his hair, uncombed and without the encircling band to hold it in place, streamed out in all directions. He wore no white strip in the neck of his shabby gown, and with dirty face he certainly presented a beggarly appearance. Presenting himself at the stables outside of the city, where horses and attendants are provided for the ussas, he soon arranged matters by showing his seal, and with proper attendants started on his journey towards his former home in the southern province.

  Arriving at his destination, he remained outside in a miserable hamlet while his servants went into the city to investigate the people and learn the news.

  It was spring-time again. The buds were bursting, the birds were singing, and in the warm valley a band of farmers were plowing with lazy bulls, and singing, meanwhile, a grateful song in praise of their just King, their pe
aceful, prosperous country, and their full stomachs. As the Ussa came along in his disguise he began to jest with them, but they did not like him, and were rude in their jokes at his expense; when an old man, evidently the father, cautioned them to be careful. “Don’t you see,” said he, “this man’s speech is only half made up of our common talk; he is playing a part. I think he must be a gentleman in disguise.” The Ussa drew the old man into conversation, asking about various local events, and finally questioning him concerning the character of the Prefect. “Is he just or oppressive, drunken or sober? Does he devote himself to his duties, or give himself up to riotous living?” “Our Magistrate we know little of. His heart is as hard and unbending as the dead heart of the ancient oak. He cares not for the people; the people care not for him but to avoid him. He extorts rice and money unjustly, and spends his ill-gotten gains in riotous living. He has imprisoned and beaten the fair Chun Yang Ye because she repulsed him, and she now lies near to death in the prison, because she married and is true to the poor dog of a son of our former just magistrate.”

  Ye Toh Ryung was stung by these unjust remarks, filled with the deepest anxiety for his wife, and the bitterest resentment toward the brute of an official, whom, he promised himself, soon to bring to justice. As he moved away, too full of emotion for further conversation, he heard the farmers singing, “Why are some men born to riches, others born to toil, some to marry and live in peace, others too poor to possess a hut.”

  He walked away meditating. He had placed himself down on the people’s level, and began to feel with them. Thus meditating he crossed a valley, through which a cheery mountain brook rushed merrily along. Near its banks, in front of a poor hut, sat an aged man twisting twine. Accosting him, the old man paid no attention; he repeated his salutation, when the old man, surveying him from head to foot, said: “In the government service age does not count for much, there rank is every thing; an aged man may have to bow to a younger, who is his superior officer. ’Tis not so in the country, however; here age alone is respected. Then why am I addressed thus by such a miserable looking stripling?” The young man asked his elder’s pardon, and then requested him to answer a question. “I hear,” says he, “that the new Magistrate is about to marry the gee sang, Chun Yang Ye; is it true?”