Read Ebook: Korean Tales Being a collection of stories translated from the Korean folk lore together with introductory chapters descriptive of Korea by Allen Horace Newton

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Should a king die, the whole nation would be compelled to don this mourning garb, or rather they would be compelled to dress in white--the mourning color. Once, during a period of ten years, three kings died, necessitating a constant change of dress on the part of the people and a great outlay of money, for a Korean wardrobe is extensive and costly. Tradition has it, therefore, that, to be ready for the caprice of their kings in the future, the people adopted white as the national color.

The nobility and wealthy persons who can afford it, dress in rich gayly colored silks, and even the common people add a little blue or green to their outside robes, so that when they wander about over the beautiful green hills in their favorite pastime of admiring the natural beauties of a remarkably beautiful and well preserved landscape, their bright gowns but add to the general effect. And a long procession of monks emerging from their high mountain temple and descending along the green mountain path might be taken for a company of the spirits with which their literature abounds; especially will this be the case if, as is common, the region of the temple is shrouded with clouds.

But little of home life is seen along the streets, and the favored ones who may pass the great gates and traverse the many courts which lead to the fine inclosures of the nobility would see but little of home life, as the women have quarters by themselves, and are only seen by the men of their own family.

It is pleasant, however, to see the little groups of the working class sitting around the fire which is cooking their evening meal and at the same time heating the platform of paper and cement-covered stones which form the floor of their bed chamber, and on which they will spread their mats and sleep. They will all be found to be smoking, and if tobacco was ever a blessing to any people it is to the lower classes in Korea, who find in it their greatest comfort. No one could see the solid enjoyment taken by a Korean coolie with his pipe without blessing the weed.

As the fires burn low, and one by one the smokers have knocked the ashes from their pipes and sought the warm stone floor, a deep stillness settles over the profoundly dark city. The rich, deep notes of a great centrally located bell ring out as the watchman draws back a huge suspended beam of wood, and releasing it, lets it strike the bronze side of the heavy bell, from which vibration after vibration is sent forth upon the still night-air.

Some weird music, which has been likened to that of Scotch bagpipes, is heard from the direction of the city gates, and the traveller, who is still threading the streets to his abode, feels thankful that he has arrived in time, for now the massive gates are closed, and none may enter without royal permission. The street traveller will also hasten to his home or stopping-place, for between the ringing of the evening chimes and the tolling of the bell to announce the approach of dawn, all men must absent themselves from the streets, which then are taken possession of by the women, who even then, as they flit about from house to house with their little paper lanterns, go veiled lest some passing official should see their faces.

The midnight stillness is broken by the barking of countless dogs, but as cats are in disfavor their serenades are seldom heard. Another sound is often, in busy times heard throughout the whole night. It is peculiar to Korea, and to one who has lived long in the country it means much. It is the drumming of the Korean laundry. To give the light-colored gowns their highly prized lustre they must be well pounded; for this purpose the cloth is wrapped around a long hard roller which is fixed in a low frame, two women then sit facing each other with, in each hand, a round, hard stick, something like a small base-ball bat, and they commence beating the cloth, alternating so as to make quite a musical tinkle.

Heard at some distance this rhythmic rattle is not unpleasant, and one is assured that in the deep night that has settled so like a pall over the city, two persons are wide-awake and industriously engaged, while, when the tapping ceases for a bit, one is comforted with the thought that the poor things are enjoying a rich bit of gossip, or welcoming a friend who is more fortunate in having finished her ironing in time to enjoy the freedom of the night.

Inside the Palace the night is turned into day as nearly as can be done by the electric light. The business of the government is mostly transacted at night that the wheels of administration may run smoothly during the day. At sun-down several lights may be seen on the summit of the beautiful ever green south mountain which forms the southern limit of the city; as does a grim stony peak on the north serve a similar purpose on that side. The south mountain faces the Palaces. It also commands a good view of the outlying peaks, upon some of which, situated in suitable localities, are stationed watchmen, so placed as to command a view of others farther and farther removed; thus forming lines from the distant borders of the country to the capital. On these peaks small signal-fires are nightly kindled, and as the lights are seen by the watchman on the south mountain, he builds the proper number of fires upon little altars in full view of the Palace. Then a body of gray old officers go in before His Majesty, and bowing their heads to the floor, make known the verdict of the signal-fires, as to whether peace reigns in the borders or not. Soon after this the officials assemble and the business of the government begins, the King giving his personal attention to all matters of importance.

There are three palace inclosures in the city, only one of which is occupied. One is an old ruined place that was built for the use of a ruler who chanced to be regent for his father, and as he could not reside in the Palace proper this smaller place was prepared for him. The buildings now are in ruins, while the large grounds are used by the foreign silk expert as a nursery for mulberry-trees.

The present Palace includes some hundreds of acres, and is the home of more than three thousand attendants. The grounds are beautifully diversified by little lakes of several acres in extent, one of which surrounds a magnificent and stately pavilion, supported on great stone pillars,--a fine picture and description of this, and other parts of the Palace, may be found in Mr. Lowell's "Chosen." The other lake possesses a bright little pagoda-like pavilion, around which plays a steam launch, dividing the lotus flowers which grow in the water, and startling the swan, duck, and other aquatic animals that make this their home.

These lakes are fed and drained by a mountain stream that enters and leaves the Palace inclosure, through water-gates built under the walls. Some of the bridges spanning this brook are quaint pieces of artistic masonry, having animals carved in blocks of stone, represented in the act of plunging into the liquid depths below. This carved stone work abounds throughout the Palace buildings; the largest of which is the great Audience-Hall, with its mast-like pillars supporting a ceiling at an elevation of near one hundred feet above the tiled floor.

The dwelling-houses of the Royal Family are built upon the banks of one of the small lakes, and are surrounded by walls for greater seclusion. The rooms are furnished with costly articles from European markets, together with the finest native furniture. Foreign-trained cooks are employed, and the dinners sometimes given to distinguished foreign guests are in entire accord with modern western methods. Royalty is never present at these banquets, which are presided over by one of the heads of departments; the Royal Family, maybe, witnessing the novel sight from a secluded place where their presence may not be known.

The King only leaves the Palace upon certain occasions, as when he goes to bow before the tombs of his ancestors. On these occasions the streets are cleared of the little straw-thatched booths of the petty retail merchants as well as of all other unsightly objects. The street is roped off and sprinkled with fresh earth, and the people don their holiday garb, for it is indeed a great gala day to them. The procession is a gorgeous relic of mediaeval times, with bits of the present strangely incorporated. There may be regiments of soldiers in the ancient fiery coats of mail, preceded or followed by soldiers dressed in the queer hybrid uniforms of the modern army, and bearing the bayoneted rifles of the present day, instead of the quaint matchlock-guns and ugly spears of the ancient guard. The wild, weird music of the native bands may be followed by the tooting of the buglers of the modern soldiery.

The strange one-wheeled chair of an official, with its numbers of pushers and supporters, will probably be followed by an artillery company dragging Gatling guns. His Majesty himself will be borne in a great throne-like chair of red work, supported on the shoulders of thirty-two oddly attired bearers, while high officials in the government service may be mounted on horse back, or borne in less pretentious chairs. The length of the procession varies, but it is seldom less than an hour in passing a given place.

THE RABBIT, AND OTHER LEGENDS.

STORIES OF BIRDS AND ANIMALS.

The Koreans are great students of Nature. Nothing seems to escape their attention as they plod through the fields or saunter for pleasure over the green hills. A naturally picturesque landscape is preserved in its freshness by the law that forbids the cutting of timber or fuel in any but prescribed localities. The necessity that compels the peasants to carefully rake together all the dried grass and underbrush for fuel, causes even the rugged mountain sides to present the appearance of a gentleman's well kept park, from which the landscape gardener has been wisely excluded.

Nature's beauty in Korea may be said to be enhanced rather than marred by the presence of man; since the bright tints of the ample costume worn by all lends a quaint charm to the view. The soil-begrimed white garments of the peasants at work in the fields are not especially attractive at short range; but the foot-traveller, clad in a gorgeous gown of light-colored muslin, adds a pleasant touch to the general effect, as he winds about the hills following one of the "short-cut" paths; while the flowing robes of brightly colored silk worn by the frequent parties of gentry who may be met, strolling for recreation, are a positive attraction. Nor are these groups uncommon. The climate during most of the year is so delightful; the gentry are so pre-eminently a people of leisure, and are so fond of sight-seeing, games, and music, that they may be continually met taking a stroll through the country.

As has been said, nothing out-of-doors seems to have escaped their attention. The flowers that carpet the earth from snow till snow have each been named and their seasons are known.

The mah-hah in-doors throws out its pretty sessile blossoms upon the leafless stem sometimes before the snows have left, as though summer were borne upon winter's bare arm with no leafy spring to herald her approach. Then the autumn snows and frosts often arrive before the great chrysanthemums have ceased their blooming, while, between the seasons of the two heralds, bloom myriads of pretty plants that should make up a veritable botanical paradise. Summer finds the whole hill-sides covered with the delicate fluffy bloom of the pink azaleas, summoning forth the bands of beauty seekers who have already admired the peach and the plum orchards. Great beds of nodding lilies of the valley usher in the harvest, and even the forest trees occasionally add their weight of blossoms to the general effect.

The coming and going of the birds is looked for, and the peculiarities and music of each are known. As a rule, they are named in accordance with the notes they utter; the pigeon is the pe-dul-key; the crow the kaw-mah-gue; the swallow the chap-pie, and so on. One bird--I think it is the oriole--is associated with a pretty legend to the effect that, once upon a time, one of the numerous ladies at court had a love affair with one of the palace officials--a Mr. Kim. It was discovered, and the poor thing lost her life. Her spirit could not be killed, however, and, unappeased, it entered this bird, in which form she returned to the palace and sang, "Kim-pul-lah-go," "Kim-pul, Kim-pul-lah-go," then, receiving no response, she would mournfully entreat--"Kim-poh-go-sip-so," "Kim-poh-go-sip-so." Now, in the language of Korea, "Kim-pul-lah-go" means "call Kim" or "tell Kim to come," and "Kim poh go sip so" means "I want to see Kim." So, even to this day, the women and children feel sad when they hear these plaintive notes, and unconsciously their hearts go out in pity for the poor lone lover who is ever searching in vain for her Kim.

Another bird of sadness is the cuckoo, and the women dislike to hear its homesick notes echoing across the valleys.

The pe chu kuh ruk is a bird that sings in the wild mountain places and warns people that robbers are near. When it comes to the hamlets and sings, the people know that the rice crop will be a failure, and that they will have to eat millet.

The crow is in great disfavor, as it eats dead dog, and brings the dread fever--Yim pyung.

The magpie--that impudent, noisy nuisance,--however, is in great favor, so much so that his great ugly nest is safe from human disturbance, and his presence is quite acceptable, especially in the morning. He seems to be the champion of the swallows that colonize the thick roofs and build their little mud houses underneath the tiles, for when one of the great lazy house-snakes comes out to sun himself after a meal of young swallows, the bereaved parents and friends at once fly off for the saucy magpie, who comes promptly and dashes at the snake's head amid the encouraging jabbering of the swallows. They usually succeed in driving the reptile under the tiles.

Should the magpie come to the house with his song in the morning, good news may be expected during the day; father will return from a long journey; brother will succeed in his examination and obtain rank, or good news will be brought by post. Should the magpie come in the afternoon with his jargon, a guest--not a friend--may be expected with an appetite equal to that of a family of children; while, if the magpie comes after dark, thieves may be dreaded.

This office of house-guard is also bestowed upon the domestic goose. Aside from its beauty, this bird is greatly esteemed for its daring in promptly sounding an alarm, should any untimely visitor enter the court, as well as for its bravery in boldly pecking at and, in some cases, driving out the intruder.

The wild goose is one of the most highly prized birds in Korea. It always participates in the wedding ceremonies; for no man would think himself properly married had he not been presented by his bride with a wild goose, even though the bird were simply hired for the occasion. The reason for this is that these observing people once noticed that a goose, whose mate was killed, returned to the place year after year to mourn her loss; and such constancy they seek, by this pretty custom, to commend to their wives. They further pledge each other at this time in these words: "Black is the hair that now crowns our heads, yet when it has become as white as the fibres of the onion root, we shall still be found faithful to each other."

The white heron seems to be the especial friend of man. Many are the tales told of the assistance it has rendered individuals. In one case the generous-hearted creature is said to have pecked off its bill in its frantic attempts to ring a temple bell for the salvation of a man. One of the early stories relates how a hunter, having shot an arrow through the head of a snake that was about to devour some newly hatched herons, was in turn saved by the mother bird, who pecked to death a snake that had gotten into the man's stomach while he was drinking at a spring. The pecking, further, was so expertly done as not to injure the man.

The swallows are everywhere welcome, while the thievish sparrows are killed as often as possible; the former live in the roofs of the houses, and usually awaken the inmates by their delighted chattering at each recurrence of dawn. A charming story is told of a swallow's rewarding a kind man who had rescued it from a snake and bound up its broken leg. The anecdote is too long to be related in this connection further than to say that the bird gave the man a seed which, being planted, brought him a vast fortune, while a seed given to his wicked brother, who was cruel to the swallows, worked his ruin. The bird held in the highest favor, however, is the stork. It is engraved in jade and gold and embroidered in silk, as the insignia of rank for the nobility. It is the bird that soars above the battle, and calls down success upon the Korean arms. In its majestic flight it is supposed to mount to heaven; hence its wisdom, for it is reputed to be a very wise bird. A man was once said to have ridden to heaven on the back of a huge stork, and judging from the great strength of a pair the writer once had as pets, the people are warranted in believing that, in the marvellous days of the ancients, these birds were used for purposes of transportation.

The animals, too, have their stories, and in Korea, as in some other parts of the world, the rabbit seems to come off best, as a rule. One very good story is told concerning a scrape the rabbit got himself into because of his curiosity, but out of which he extricated himself at the expense of the whole fraternity of water animals.

It seems that on one occasion the king of fishes was a little indiscreet, and while snapping greedily at a worm, got a hook through his nose. He succeeded in breaking the line, and escaped having his royal bones picked by some hungry mortal, but he was still in a great dilemma, for he could in no way remove the cruel hook.

His finny majesty grew very ill; all the officials of his kingdom were summoned and met in solemn council. From the turtle to the whale, each one wore an anxious expression, and did his best at thinking. At last the turtle was asked for his opinion, and announced his firm belief that a poultice made from the fresh eye of a rabbit would remove the disorder of their sovereign at once. He was listened to attentively, but his plan was conceded to be impracticable, since they had no fresh rabbit eyes or any means of obtaining them. Then the turtle again came to the rescue, and said that he had a passing acquaintance with the rabbit, whom he had occasionally seen when walking along the beach, and that he would endeavor to bring him to the palace, if the doctors would then take charge of the work, for the sight of blood disagreed with him, and he would ask to absent himself from the further conduct of the case. He was royally thanked for his offer, and sent off in haste, realizing full well that his career was made in case he succeeded, while he would be very much unmade if he failed.

'Twas a very hot day as the fat turtle dragged himself up the hill-side, where he fortunately espied the rabbit. The latter, having jumped away a short distance, cocked his ears, and looked over his back to see who was approaching. Perceiving the turtle, he went over and accosted him with, "What are you doing away up here, sir?"

"I simply came up for a view. I have always heard that the view over the water from your hills was excellent, but I can't say it pays one for the trouble of coming up," and the turtle wiped off his long neck and stretched himself out to cool off in the air.

"You are not high enough; just come with me if you want to see a view," and the rabbit straightened up as if to start.

"No, indeed! I have had enough for once. I prefer the water. Why, you should see the magnificent sights down there. There are beautiful green forests of waving trees, mountains of cool stones, valleys and caves, great open plains made beautiful by companies of brightly robed fishes, royal processions from our palaces, and, best of all, the water bears you up, and you go everywhere without exertion. No, let me return, you have nothing on this dry, hot earth worth seeing." The turtle turned to go, but the rabbit musingly followed. At length he said:

"Don't you have any difficulty in the water? Doesn't it get into your eyes and mouth?" For he really longed in his heart to see the strange sights.

"Oh, no! it bothers us no more than air, after we have once become accustomed to it," said the turtle.

"I should very much like to see the place," said the rabbit, rather to himself, "but 'tis no use, I couldn't live in the water like a fish."

"Why, certainly not," and the turtle concealed his excitement under an air of indifference; "you couldn't get along by yourself, but if you really wish to see something that will surprise you, you may get on my back, give me your fore-paws, and I will take you down all right."

After some further assurance, the rabbit accepted the apparently generous offer, and on arriving at the beach, he allowed himself to be firmly fixed on the turtle's back, and down they went into the water, to the great discomfort of the rabbit, who, however, eventually became so accustomed to the water that he did not much mind it.

He was charmed and bewildered by the magnificence of every thing he saw, and especially by the gorgeous palace, through which he was escorted, by attendant fishes, to the sick chamber of the king, where he found a great council of learned doctors, who welcomed him very warmly. While sitting in an elegant chair and gazing about at the surrounding magnificence, he chanced to hear a discussion concerning the best way of securing his eyes before he should die. He was filled with horror, and, questioning an attendant, the whole plot was explained to him. The poor fellow scratched his head and wondered if he would ever get out of the place alive. At last a happy thought struck him. He explained to them that he always carried about two pairs of eyes, his real ones and a pair made of mountain crystals, to be used in very dusty weather.

Fearing that the water would injure his real eyes, he had buried them in the sand before getting upon the turtle's back, and was now using his crystal ones. He further expressed himself as most willing to let them have one of his real eyes, with which to cure his majesty's disorder, and assured them that he believed one eye would answer the purpose. He gave them to understand that he felt highly honored in being allowed to assist in so important a work, and declared that if they would give the necessary order he would hasten on the turtle's back to the spot where he had buried the eyes and return speedily with one.

Marvelling much at the rabbit's courtesy, the fishes slunk away into the corners for very shame at their own rude conduct in forcibly kidnapping him, when a simple request would have accomplished their purpose. The turtle was rather roughly commanded to carry the guest to the place designated, which he did.

Once released by the turtle to dig for the eyes in the sand, the rabbit shook the water from his coat, and winking at his clumsy betrayer told him to dig for the eyes himself, that he had only one pair, and those he intended to keep. With that he tore away up the mountain side, and has ever after been careful to give the turtle a wide berth.

THE ENCHANTED WINE-JUG;

OR, WHY THE CAT AND DOG ARE ENEMIES.

In ancient times there lived an old gray-haired man by the river's bank where the ferry-boats land. He was poor but honest, and being childless, and compelled to earn his own food, he kept a little wine-shop, which, small though it was, possessed quite a local reputation, for the aged proprietor would permit no quarrelling on his premises, and sold only one brand of wine, and this was of really excellent quality. He did not keep a pot of broth simmering over the coals at his door to tempt the passer-by, and thus increase his thirst on leaving. The old man rather preferred the customers who brought their little long-necked bottles, and carried the drink to their homes. There were some peculiarities--almost mysteries--about this little wine-shop; the old man had apparently always been there, and had never seemed any younger. His wine never gave out, no matter how great might be the local thirst, yet he was never seen to make or take in a new supply; nor had he a great array of vessels in his shop. On the contrary, he always seemed to pour the wine out of the one and same old bottle, the long, slender neck of which was black and shiny from being so often tipped in his old hand while the generous, warming stream gurgled outward to the bowl. This had long ceased to be a matter of inquiry, however, and only upon the advent of a stranger of an inquiring mind would the subject be re-discussed. The neighbors were assured that the old man was thoroughly good, and that his wine was better. Furthermore, he sold it as reasonably as other men sold a much inferior article. And more than this, they did not care to know; or at least if they did once care, they had gotten over it, and were now content to let well enough alone.

I said the old man had no children. That is true, yet he had that which in a slight degree took the place of children, in that they were his daily care, his constant companions, and the partners of his bed and board. These deputy children were none other than a good-natured old dog, with laughing face and eyes, long silken ears that were ever on the alert, yet too soft to stand erect, a chunky neck, and a large round body covered with long soft tan hair and ending in a bushy tail. He was the very impersonation of canine wisdom and good-nature, and seldom became ruffled unless he saw his master worried by the ill behavior of one of his patrons, or when a festive flea persisted in attacking him on all sides at once. His fellow, a cat, would sometimes assist in the onslaught, when the dog was about to be defeated and completely ruffled by his tormentor.

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