This impression grew stronger and stronger. How could this calamity be averted? Perhaps if he complied with the dead man’s request it would quiet the departed spirit. So he brought from his strongbox a thousand ounces of silver, about sixty pounds in weight, and tied them securely in one corner of the skirt of the dead man’s coat. But he did not tell his servant this, for even the most faithful of servants might think the silver better spent upon the living than upon the dead. When the servant returned, the body, just as it was, was unceremoniously dumped into the straw bag and placed upon a jige, a porter’s carrying frame. The servant found the load heavier than he had anticipated but finally arrived in Nugakgol. It was just noon of a sultry summer day and the streets were nearly deserted. He set down his burden in a returned corner and wiped the perspiration from his brow.
He glanced around the corner and saw that the coast was clear, so, hastily throwing the bag upon the ground, he shouldered the jige and made off; but some evil chance made him turn back to see if the bag was all right. Oh horror of horrors! A ghastly face was peering at him over the edge of the bag. One eye was winking violently while the other was concealed by the headband that had become displaced. The mouth was screwed into a shape that put to shame the devil guardians of the realms of hell, such as he had seen depicted in the monasteries. With a low moan of terror he started back, but just at that point a ditch crossed the street and, stepping into this, he was sent sprawling on the ground. Another instant and he was up and off at a pace that would bid defiance to the fleetest dokkaebi that ever dogged the footsteps of mortal man.
The face above the edge of the bag watched the stricken fugitive out of sight and then a broad smile took the place of the diabolical grimace that had done its work so well. Jo, for it was none other, emerged from the bag and, as bedraggled, ensanguined, and disheveled as he was, hugged that heavy coat skirt in his arms and slunk into a neighboring doorway, for chance had favored him and he had been put down almost before his own house. Before many days had elapsed, Jo and his family moved to the south, where he invested in piece goods and other products of sunny Jeolla-do.
Three years went by, each one of which doubled the capital of the thrifty Jo, and again we see him in Seoul, dressed in the best the silk shops could offer and standing once more before the gate of the great Han Chun-deuk. No one challenged him this time. His gorgeous raiment was passport enough. He found the philanthropist in his reception room and, after introducing himself, came right down to business. “Didn’t you lend a man a thousand ounces of silver some three years ago?” Great heavens! the murder was out. This man might have the police at his back. He must be “fixed,” and that immediately.
“Hush,” whispered the poor philanthropist, “not quite so loud please. So you know about that little thing, too. Well, I can make it better worth your while to keep still about it than to bring it to the notice of the authorities.” “On the other hand,” replied the visitor calmly, “I am here on purpose to pay back that loan.” “You?” “Yes, you see, I am the man whom you sent away in the bag.” Han was speechless. “Yes, I want both to pay back the money and make a confession. It was a desperate chance with me. I was driven quite to the wall, and if it had not been for that pig’s bladder full of beef blood that I carried under my coat, I don’t know how in the world I could have brought about a change in my fortunes. But I am well off now and am ready to pay back the silver with interest.” And he told the wondering Han about his business venture. It was fully ten minutes before Han had fairly gotten his breath again, and then he exclaimed: “By the shades of Yi Sun-sin, that was the neatest thing I ever heard of! I won’t take back a cent of that money; you earned it all and more. But, I say, come up to Seoul and I can put you onto something much better than piece goods. I want someone to help me handle my property and teach my son to carry on the estate. You are just the man. Say you’ll come.” And Jo came.
THE ESSENCE OF LIFE
It may not be generally known to zoologists and natural historians that if a fox lives five hundred years, its life essence condenses or crystallizes into a jewel and lies in the mouth of the animal. Neither would Yu Seong-ryong have known it had it not been for a fortunate conjunction of circumstances. He was a young man of twenty and unmarried, and he lived in the southern town of Andong.
One day as he sat at study, he looked up and saw a most beautiful woman pass by. He was simply fascinated and could not but follow her. This was very bad form, indeed, but he was hardly accountable for his actions. The next day, his old teacher looked at him sharply and upbraided him, and the young man confessed his fault but pleaded as his excuse that he had been virtually hypnotized. He told the old man that every time the woman opened her mouth to speak, something like a diamond flashed between her teeth. The old man gave a violent start and exclaimed: “The next time you see her, get possession of that jewel and swallow it instantly in spite of her tears.” A few days after, the fair vision passed his window again, and as before, he felt the mesmeric attraction, but he followed this time with a fixed purpose. He overtook the woman and entered into conversation with her, during the course of which he said, “What is that beautiful jewel that I see in your mouth?” “Ah, I mustn’t tell you that,” she answered. He pretended to be much offended. “Let me see it—just once,” he said.
She took it from her month and held it up between her thumb and finger. The ungallant Yu snatched it from her and swallowed it in a trice. The woman uttered a piercing scream and fell to the ground, writhing as if in agony and weeping in a most heartrending way. Yu was almost sorry for what he had done, but when he saw the form of the woman begin to assume the shape of a white fox, his pity was changed to exultation. The fox slunk away up the hill and Yu went home.
He had swallowed the Essence of life, and from that day on he had but to read a book once to master it. One glance at a page and he could repeat every word by heart. After passing before a line of ten thousand men he could tell, the next time he passed, whether the position of any one of them had been changed. It hardly need be said that he became the most famous scholar in the land. But he had no wife, and it was high time that his bachelor days should be finished.
One day as he was on his way to Seoul, he stopped at an inn by the Hangang River. The innkeeper was a gentleman in reduced circumstances, and that night his young and clever daughter dreamt that she saw a dragon climbing a willow. In the morning she saw through a hole in the window the young man Yu standing in the yard. She was much taken with his appearance and so far set aside the dictates of modesty as to ask her father what his name was. “His name is Yu Seong-ryong, I believe.” “Is it possible?” she cried. “Why that means, ‘Willow becomes dragon!’” Then she told her dream. The father saw the point and approached the young man with a proposition that needed no urging after he had once accidentally caught a glimpse of the girl’s face. And the wedding came off all in good time.
THE GOOSE THAT LAID
THE GOLDEN EGG
His name was Lee, which by interpretation means Plum Tree. Now Mr. Plum Tree was a Korean of a nomadic turn of mind. He spent his time wandering about the country, seeing the sights and enjoying himself generally. He was not encumbered with superfluous wealth but had enough to keep him on the road. Having traveled over all the eight provinces,* he crossed the border into China and worked his way south till he approached Nanking, then the capital of China.
One afternoon as he was approaching a village, he saw a magpie seated on the crossbeam of a gateway, but on coming near he found that if was only a painting of a magpie, but done so skillfully as to deceive the eye at a little distance. Wondering who the artist could be, he called out to the gateman but instead a girl came out and asked what he wanted. The girl was the most beautiful he had ever met. He asked who the artist might be and she said, “I painted the magpie. You see, I am an orphan and have not enough money to pay the funeral expenses of my mother. So I painted the magpie hoping that someone might come along to whom I would se
ll myself as a slave for a single day and thus gain the necessary money to bury my mother.”
Young Plum Tree was a good-hearted fellow and pitied the girl so much that he then and there put in her hands all the money he had about him and told her to go into business and earn enough to bury her mother. Her gratitude exceeded all bounds, for he had saved her from an awful fate. She took the money and Plum Tree went on his way as a beggar. A year later as he was wandering about the streets of Nanking, he met this same girl and she gladly told him that she had succeeded and would like to reward him, but the only thing she had was a screen on which was a magpie that she had embroidered. She told him to carry it home, put it in a closet, and look at it only once a day. He wondered at this injunction but obeyed.
Reaching home at last, he put the embroidery away and would have forgotten all about it had not poverty driven him to think of pawning it. When he opened the box in which it lay, he was astonished to see a little bar of silver drop from the beak of the embroidered bird. Was ever such a thing seen before! He took the money and bought rice and wood. The next day he looked again, and another bar of silver rewarded him. And so it went on, day after day, until he was a very wealthy man.
At last the time came for him to die and, calling his son, he told him the secret and charged him to look at the bird only once a day. The boy promised to obey, but after the three years of mourning were over, he became a spendthrift and, forgetting his father’s words, began to take a peep at the bird two or three times a day. This made him reckless, and one day he kept looking every few minutes all day long, and each time was rewarded by a silver bar. But the next day when he opened the box, the bird looked tired and sick, and instead of silver, tears dropped.
The young man then remembered his father’s words and was struck with remorse. That night a beautiful young girl came in his dreams and chided him for his folly, saying his good fortune had flown. And so it proved, for when he went to see the bird the next day it was gone, and the silk panel on which it was embroidered was a blank. So Plum Tree Jr. died of starvation.
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* Refers to the eight provinces of Korea during the Joseon Dynasty: Chungcheong-do, Gangwon-do, Gyeonggi-do, Gyeongsang-do, Hamgyeong-do, Hwanghae-do, Jeolla-do, and Pyeongan-do.
AN AESCULAPIAN EPISODE
He was only five years old when his father died and left him heir to a large property, and by the time he was twelve his relatives had succeeded in absorbing the whole estate. Cast upon his own resources, he wandered away in search of something to do to keep body and soul together. In course of time he came to the great salt works at Ulsan and hired himself out to one of the foremen there. Down beside the sea, about on a level with the tidewater, were scores of little thatched hovels. In each of them was a huge vat for holding salt water, with a fireplace beneath. Across the top of the vats heavy ropes were hung, and these, being dipped frequently in the boiling brine, became covered with crystals of salt, which were removed and sent to market. In one of these hovels our hero, Je-gal, was employed in bringing up sea water in buckets and feeding the fires. It was not long before his only suit of clothes became so saturated with salt that they formed a true barometer; for, as salt attracts moisture, he could tell whenever it was going to rain by the dampness of his clothes. When it was dry, his clothes were always stiff with the dry salt.
One bright morning when everyone was putting out his rice in the sun to dry, Je-gal begged his master not to do so, as it was sure to rain. His master laughed at him but complied, and in a short time a heavy rain came on that wet the other people’s rice and caused a heavy loss. His master was astonished and asked Je-gal how he knew it was going to rain, but the boy kept his secret. In time, everybody in that district found it well to wait for Je-gal’s master to act before they would sow or reap their crops or put out their damp rice to dry. The boy’s reputation spread throughout all the countryside and he was looked upon as a genuine prophet.
One day news came that the king had been attacked by a very mysterious malady that none of the court physicians could cure. Everything was done for him that human skill could do but still he sank. At last royal messengers came to Ulsan saying that the king had heard of Je-gal and wanted him to come up to Seoul and prescribe for him. The boy protested that he could do nothing, but they urged and commanded until he could do nothing but comply. When the road to Seoul had been half covered and the way led up the steeps of Bird Pass, three brothers intercepted the party and begged that the boy Je-gal turn aside to their house among the hills and prescribe for their mother, who was at the point of death. The royal attendants protested, but the three brothers carried sharper arguments than words, so the whole party turned aside and followed the brothers to their house, a magnificent building hidden among the hills.
What was Je-gal to do? He did not know the use of a single drug. To gain time he said that he could do nothing for the patient till the following morning. In the middle of the night he heard a voice outside the gate calling softly, “O, Mr. Hinge, Mr. Hinge.” A voice from within replied and the visitors asked eagerly, “Can’t we come in now?” The person addressed as Mr. Hinge replied in the negative and the visitors reluctantly departed. Now who could Mr. Hinge be? Je-gal had never heard such a queer name before, so he investigated. Going to the gate he called, “Mr. Hinge, Mr. Hinge.” “Well, what do you want?” came from one of the iron hinges of the door. “Who was it that just called?” asked the boy. “To tell the truth,” answered the hinge, “the visitors were three white foxes masquerading as men. They have bewitched the old lady who is sick and came to kill her, but I would not let them in.” “But you surely are not in league with these rogues. Tell me how I can save the old lady from them.”
The Hinge complied and gave the boy explicit directions on how to act upon the morrow, and at dawn the three brothers came to take his orders. He commanded that three large kettles of oil should be heated hot and that six men with three saws and six pairs of tongs should be secured. These things having been done, he led the way down the path till he reached three aged oak trees standing by themselves. These he had the men saw off six feet from the ground. They all proved to be hollow. Then two men stood upon each stump and, reaching down with the tongs, lifted the kettles of hot oil and poured it down the hollow stumps. Two of the white foxes were scalded to death but the third one with nine tails leaped out and made its escape.
When the party got back to the house, the old lady appeared to be in articulo mortis, but a good dose of ginseng tea brought her around and in an hour she was perfectly well. The three brothers, and in fact the whole party, including the royal attendants, were amazed and delighted with this exhibition of medical skill, and the brothers urged him to name his fee. He replied that the only thing he wanted was a certain old rusty hinge on one of the doors beside the gate. They expostulated with him but he firmly refused any other reward. The hinge was drawn out, and with this strange talisman safely in his pouch Je-gal fared gaily toward the capital, feeling sure that he held the key to the situation.
Late one afternoon he was ushered into the presence of his royal patient. He felt his pulse and examined the symptoms in a knowing way and then said that the next morning he would prescribe. At dead of night he took out the hinge and held a long consultation with it, the result of which was that in the morning he ordered six kettles of hot oil and five men with a garae, or “power-shovel,” as it might be called. Leading the way to a secluded spot behind the king’s private apartments, he ordered the men to dig at a certain point. Half an hour’s work revealed a hole about eight inches in diameter. The oil was poured down this hole, and to the consternation of all the witnesses, the earth began to heave and fall above the spot and there emerged, struggling in his death agonies, an angleworm eight feet long and eight inches thick. When this loathsome object expired, they all hurried in to the king, who seemed to be breathing his last, but a good drink of ginseng soup brought him round again and he was entirely recovered.
> Je-gal said that the symptoms plainly pointed toward angleworm enchantment due to the fact that the worm had tasted of the king’s bathwater. Honors were heaped upon the young “physician,” and he became the pet of the court. This might have finished his medical career had not news come from China that the Empress was the victim of some occult disease which defied the leeches of Peking, and the King of Korea was ordered to send his most distinguished physician to the Chinese court. Of course, Dr. Je-gal was the one to go.
The rich cavalcade crossed the Yalu River and was halfway across Manchuria when Je-gal felt the hinge stirring in his pouch. He took it out and had a consultation with it, in the course of which the hinge said: “When you come to the next parting in the road, make your whole company take the right hand road and take the left yourself, alone. Before you have gone far you will come to a little hut—call for a cup of wine. The old man in charge will offer you three bowls of a most offensive liquor, but you must drink them down without hesitation and then ask as your reward his dog and his falcon.”
The young man followed these queer directions, but when the old man offered him the three bowls he found them filled with a whitish liquid streaked with blood. He knew the hinge must be obeyed, however, and so he gulped down the horrible mixture without stopping to think. No sooner was it down than the old man overwhelmed him with thanks and called him all sorts of good names. It appeared that the old man had been a spirit in heaven but for some fault had been banished to earth and ordered to stay there till he could find someone to drink those three bowls of nauseating liquid. He had been waiting two hundred years for the chance that had now come and released him from his bondage.
Eerie Tales from Old Korea Page 3
