Synopsis
This historical novel, Encounter (Mannam), by Hahn Moo-Sook, one of Asia's most honored writers, is a story of the resilience in the Korean spirit. It is told through the experiences of Tasan, a high-ranking official and foremost Neo-Confucian scholar at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Because of Tasan's fascination with Western learning, then synonymous with Catholicism, he is exiled to a remote province for 18 years. In banishment he meets people from various social and religious backgrounds-Buddhist monks, peasants, shamans-whom he would not otherwise have met. The events of Tasan's life are effectively used to depict the confluence of Buddhist, Neo-Confucian, Taoist, and shamanistic beliefs in traditional Korea.
A subplot involves three young sisters, the daughters of a prominent Catholic aristocrat, and affords the reader vivid glimpses into Yi-dynasty women's lives, particularly those of palace ladies, scholars' wives, tavern keepers, shamans, and slaves. In contrast to the long-held Confucian stereotype of female subservience, this story illustrates the richness of women's contribution to Korean culture and tradition.
Encounter's detailed narrative provides a broad and informed view of nineteenth-century Korea, making it a highly useful book for courses on Korean literature and society. It will also be an engaging read for lovers of historical fiction.
A subplot involves three young sisters, the daughters of a prominent Catholic aristocrat, and affords the reader vivid glimpses into Yi-dynasty women's lives, particularly those of palace ladies, scholars' wives, tavern keepers, shamans, and slaves. In contrast to the long-held Confucian stereotype of female subservience, this story illustrates the richness of women's contribution to Korean culture and tradition.
Encounter's detailed narrative provides a broad and informed view of nineteenth-century Korea, making it a highly useful book for courses on Korean literature and society. It will also be an engaging read for lovers of historical fiction.
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
About the Author
Hahn Moo-Sook was born in Seoul, Korea, in 1918. She has received many prestigious awards, including the Republic of Korea Samil Culture Award (1989) and the Korean Academy of Arts Prize for Literature (1991). Ok Young Kim Chang was born in Seoul, Korea, and received the Korean Culture and Arts Foundation's Best New Translator Award. She now lives in Connecticut. Don Baker is Assistant Professor of Korean Studies at the University of British Columbia. He has written widely on Korean religions.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Encounter
A Novel of Nineteenth-Century KoreaBy Mu-Suk HanUniversity of California Press
Copyright © 1992 Mu-Suk HanAll right reserved.
ISBN: 9780520073814
Admonition on the Transitory
Ha-sang arrived six days after Monk Hyejang had been cremated. Although Tasan was not unaware of this Buddhist practice, actually to witness the ritual for his friend Hyejang from the beginning to the endfirst the placing of the body in the coffin, then the incineration, and finally the scattering of the asheswas unbearably painful. Even for Tasan, a man hardened by the vicissitudes of his ill-fated life and no longer perturbed by ordinary worldly events, the experience was deeply shocking. Ten years younger than Tasan, Hyejang had been thirty-nine, in the prime of life. He had been born into a humble and destitute family, but soon after entering the priesthood he became a renowned scholar-monk. His reputation for extraordinary wisdom and scholarship encompassing both Son Buddhism1 and the philosophy of divination spread quickly throughout the entire Buddhist domain. He was also so well-versed in the Confucian classics that Tasan had pronounced him a Confucian scholar of great learning and virtue. And yet, Hyejang had been rough in personality, easily aroused to violent temper, eager to accept the offer of a drink and given to wanton drunkenness. He followed the Son Buddhist teaching, It is not wrong to eat red meat and have women; however, the realm of sainthood only beckoned him from afar.
Never a common monk, Hyejang had been achingly aware of the
Son is the Buddhist sect known largely in the West as Chan Buddhism (in China) or Zen Buddhism (in Japan).
Korea in the Yi dynasty. From Han Woo-keun, History of Korea
(Seoul: Eul-Yoo Publishing Co., 1970). By permission of the publisher.
transitory nature of man's-life. Great, therefore, was his worldly anguish. In wine he sought to appease the suffering and remorse of his life, and his body and soul languished in search of a self free from both. For a long time he had been afflicted with an abdominal swelling caused by his uncontrollable drinking, and recently he had been desperately ill for over ten days in the northern hermitage of Taehung
Temple on Mount Taedun. On the morning of September 15, 1811, Tasan received word from the temple that Hyejang's condition had taken a turn for the worse.2 Upon receiving the news, he left his thatched abode for the temple, which lay at a distance of some twenty-five miles. Though short, Tasan was powerfully built, but he was aware that his strength had dissipated after ten years in exile. For such a man, the journey was long.
On that day, as he hurried, the sea shimmered like silver sands reflecting an autumn sun, and the heavy fragrance of mellowing citrus filled the air. At the foot of the mountain, reeds swayed, shedding silvery powder as the wind swept over them. Wild chrysanthemums grew in profusion along the road that ran close to the sea, and lovely, too, were the autumn tints of the grasses. Beyond anything else, Tasan loved this dreamlike landscape of his otherwise desolate banishment. However, his glance did not linger upon his surroundings that day. His friend was dying; Tasan ran as though it were his first taste of despair and sorrow. A man of many accomplishments, he had weathered myriad hardships in his life, and yet he was now in a state of total disarray.
Esteemed teacher, why don't you slow down? Nothing has happened yet. What if you should become ill? cried Hyejang's disciple, trailing a few steps behind Tasan. The young novice had come from the temple the night before with news of Hyejang's imminent death, and had had no time to rest.
No. We must get there before sunset.
But Tasan's thoughts outpaced his footsteps. The September full moon hung resplendent in the sky by the time he was on the mountain path leading to the northern hermitage where Hyejang lay dying. His mind, which had been somewhat calmed during the day-
In this novel, days and months follow the Chinese lunar calendar, which is about thirty-five days ahead of the Gregorian calendar. Thus, September 15 would be August 11 or 12.
long journey, began to race again, causing him to stumble several times despite the brightness of the night.
Beyond the thick forest of camellia, pine, and nutmeg, light flickered from the lone hermitage, and the grave sound of sutras chanted in unison permeated the air, evoking at once feelings of inscrutable solemnity and terror. Deeply perturbed, Tasan climbed the hill, unmindful of hunger and weariness. He found Hyejang panting beneath an ink-black blanket, facing west in the direction of salvation. A circle of monks sat around him, their palms pressed together in the meditation position, chanting Admonition on the Transitory, a sutra for the dying, to help him cross the bitter sea of life into Nirvana.
Hyejang was now beyond hearing. He fought ferociously against his untimely end, as if his life, though it flickered like a wisp of floating cloud, refused to return to the ultimate beginningthe void. Bereft of consciousness, his flesh, betraying the transcendent soul, obstinately denied death's approach. His was no calm passing into the realm of quiescence. Gruesome was the only word to describe the death scene: eyes wide open, teeth grinding, fists striking the air, he clawed at his chest, howling like an animal. Nowhere were there any remnants of the virtue of the exalted self he had attained through his devotion to the classics of Confucianism, Buddhism, the philosophy of divination, and Son.
Tasan wept in his mind as he watched the death throes. Pity and sorrow like a rising tide overwhelmed him, a soundless wail breaking within him. How he wished that this exit from life could have been serene and detached, as befitted the celebrated monk that Hyejang had been.
For two nights Hyejang lay dying. The monks, now weary from chanting, ceaselessly repeated the sutra for the dying as though hastening his demise. In spite of the cruel pain of the death throes, the end itself came with astonishing ease. It was past midnight and the bright moon rode serene in the crystalline sky.
Tasan sank in sorrow, though with an ineffable sense of release. The chants still went on as a few of the monks moved about in noiseless haste. Obeying Buddhist law, however, Hyejang's two beloved disciples did not keen. On the surface of their pale shaven heads, the thick veins that extended from their temples throbbed
and wiggled like worms. When a young novice carrying a candle passed them, Tasan saw their contorted faces stained with tears.
The cleansing and clothing of the dead began before dawn, while warmth still lingered in the body. Three monks, the sleeves of their black robes rolled up to the shoulders, began shaving the head in the midst of the Chant for the Shedding of the Hair: Awake, now, the soul of Hyejang, one who has just entered the Realm of Perfect Quiescence Soon the body was taken to the bathhouse, and after the washing of the hands and feet and the dressing in an undergarment were completed, a monk's robe was slipped on. While the Chant for the Placement of the Crown went on in unison, a crown was placed on the head.
Tasan, a Confucian scholar well-versed in the classics, had penned many sharp, lucid commentaries on them. He left behind him prodigious volumes of writings, including many on the School of Rites, ranging from a masterwork on major rites called Designs for Good Government to lesser ones on household rituals. But his writings on mourning rites numbered the greatest, totalling more than sixty volumes. Thus, although he sharply criticized the currently followed Family Rites of Chu Hsi as overly cumbersome, he had a thorough knowledge of the established practice of the time.
Nevertheless, as the Buddhist funeral ceremonies unfolded before him for the first time, Tasan was awestruck. The wonder and the impact intensified as the monks began the ritual of placing the corpse in a meditation position. They sat the body, not yet stiffened, in full lotus position, and draped a monk's robe from the right shoulder. In a crescendo of chanting, the body was lowered into a rectangular coffin, and then carried to the crematorium within the temple grounds. Around a large, flat rock stood flags of five colorsyellow, blue, red, black, and whiteeach facing the direction which its color symbolized. On the rock were spread thick layers of charcoal, and next to it piled some sacks of charcoal. The coffin was lifted up and placed atop the rock, upon which a monk threw a wet straw mat. In a moment, several monks opened the sacks and piled the charcoal high around the coffin until it was entirely covered. They lit the pine resins and brought them to the charcoal to be ignited, the Chant for the Fire resounding all the while.
In the crystal-clear day, the splendor of autumn foliage, like a spread of embroidered silk, enveloped the mountain; above, the sky
hung deep blue in sorrow. The charcoal soon caught fire in the brisk wind and shot up in gigantic flames. Smokeless and odorlesswas it because of the wind, or the wet straw mat on the rock?the lovely fire burned on. One had a sense of witnessing sacred fire. Forgetting his own sorrow, Tasan gazed upon a scene of ultimate pathos. Though this was a time of Buddhist suppression, unconsciously a Buddhist prayer, forbidden to a high-born scholar-official like himself, escaped his mouth: May his soul rest in peace.
Autumn dusk came swiftly to the mountain temple, but there was still no end in sight to the cremation ceremony, which had begun early in the morning. The cinnabar and yellow flames, even more beautiful and mysterious as the full moon ascended, burned on. At about seven, the flames finally began to subside. At last, a chant announcing the conclusion of the cremation ceremony was sung, while the straw mat, still wet from repeated soaking, was lifted from the rock. In the early evening, the mountain temple was already shrouded with the thickness of the night.
A shock awaited Tasan next morning. After scarcely touching the offering of food, he went out to the crematorium. There was no sign of fire on the rock. In its place was a neat pile of white ashes. A few monks poked the ashes, exposing a scattering of bones, while others, now less numerous than the night before, intoned the Chant for the Gathering of Bones: Unattainable. Indissoluble. With long wooden chopsticks, they picked up the bones, to the last sliver, and deposited each one in a heavy brass bowl. Still chanting, some of the monks ground the bones to fine powder while others came toward them bearing a large brass bowl full of steaming rice. The powdered bone was mixed with the rice, then scattered over the rock. A dreadful sight followed. Even before the monks left, the birds flocked. In an instant, the snowy white rice was covered with birds. By the time they flew away, nothing remained on the rock. Hyejang had given his worldly flesh in beatitude as the ultimate offering. Overwhelmed by an inexpressible sense of emptiness, Tasan gazed upon the now-vacant rock. It was said that when the flesh had returned to the four elements from which it cameearth, water, fire, and windthe soul, separated from the flesh like a solitary dewdrop, would return to this world in a form determined by the law of transmigration. Where, then, seeking a new karma, had Hyejang's soul departed? Tasan closed his eyes. He had known of
Hyejang's long suffering and painful path as he sought enlightenment in the philosophy of divination, and he had understood Hyejang's atonement for his heresy. A Buddhist monk, Hyejang had come to deny the Buddhist doctrine that life is inescapably bound by the eternal Chain of Causation and had begun to acknowledge its finality as determined by Providence. In his new insight, life was not nothingness, but fulfillment. Finally, he had grasped the truth as revealed in the I Ching.
In the morning, after a sleepless night full of myriad thoughts and emotions, Tasan and one of Hyejang's disciples gathered wild fruits on the mountainside and offered them with some wine at Hyejang's grave. Asking the disciple to keen, for they were now alone, Tasan read a eulogy, and he felt sure that Hyejang must be pleased on his way to Nirvana.
Tormented by the memory of the carnal agonies of Hyejang's death, Tasan lost himself in wine, and wept day and night trying to escape from the thought of his departed friend. Thus five days went by. Finally, becoming aware that he was cold and thirsty, he awoke from a drunken sleep with a moan.
Someone stirred outside. Teacher, called a young voice, barely out of adolescence.
Oh, it's you, Chong-sim. Have you just returned?
Yes. I brought back some nutmeg cake. I'll serve some presently with the tea. Chong-sim, one of Tasan's eighteen disciples, had been away on two days' leave. Though modulated with a slight southern accent, Chong-sim's was correct capital speech. He was nineteen, and years later he would write an epilogue to Investigation into Korean Son Buddhism, which Tasan helped compile. Intelligent and soft-spoken, he served his master with complete devotion.
Nutmeg abounded in Tasan's maternal clan village. It was late September, and the harvest of the nuts would already be coming to an end. Knowing how much Tasan loved nutmeg cake, Chong-sim had taken advantage of his time off to fetch some. Two days would hardly have been enough time to reach the village, have the cake made, and return. How he must have hurried; how tired he must be, despite his youth, to have traveled the distance in such a short time. Touched by Chong-sim's devotion, Tasan's eyes were filled with tears as he thanked him.
The responsibility of preparing tea had been Chong-sim's since before anyone could remember. The youth expertly set the tea kettle on a clay brazier. The tea soon began to brew, its mellow aroma filling the air. Tasan trembled unconsciously as the fragrance of the tea seeped into his nostrils. A longing, like pain, pierced him.
Tea, yes, tea. Hyejang, each year on the Day of the Grain Rains, which usually fell in the middle of March, would climb Mount Mandok to pick the tea leaves, taking care not to miss the right moment when they were just the size of sparrows' tongues. He would send Tasan the tea he had so carefully gathered. The loneliness surged in Tasan, missing his friend. In his trouble-ridden life, how many such partings had he experienced, each wound leaving a scar? Tasan could touch neither the tea nor the cake he so enjoyed. Resting his head on a wooden box-pillow, he closed his eyes. He recalled the time when he first met Hyejang, and events of the past ten years surfaced in his mind, rushing before his eyes like the designs in a kaleidoscope.
It was the spring of 1805, four years after Tasan had been sent to Kangjin as the result of the Catholic Persecution of 1801. He spent days in isolation and mournfulness as the people of Kangjin shunned him, afraid of coming into contact with a treasonous heretic. Taking pity on his homelessness, an old woman who kept a tavern at the outskirts of East Gate gave him a tiny room, which barely sheltered him from the harsh elements outside. He named it the Cottage of the Four Principlespeace, ceremony, stability, and activityand lived there for four years, writing incessantly in that dungeonlike room. Since coming to Kangjin, Tasan had immersed himself in study of the I Ching, spending more of his time and energy on it than on any other Confucian classic. Five years of intensive research and refinement culminated in the completion of The I Ching as Interpreted by Tasan.
Tasan understood well the people of Kangjin, who feared and avoided him. It was here in this region that his maternal cousin, Yun Chi-ch'ung, had been martyred, and this incident had precipitated the Catholic Persecution of 1801. They knew only too well the severity of the laws and cruelty of the punishment. Indeed, they regarded Tasan as a dangerous heretic who could bring divine wrath upon them. Even the Yun clansmen had mistreated him, one of their own, when he visited them. The Catholics' mortal crime was their
faith in Western religion. Their family properties were confiscated, they were executed or died in prison, and their families were forced to disperse. The extreme fear of the townspeople, therefore, was perfectly reasonable.
In the seclusion of his banishment, Tasan was so hungry for human contact that on some rare occasions when a poor man who came to the wretched tavern for a drink happened to exchange a few words with him, it would be enough to cheer him up and sustain him for a few days. In this way a friendship had developed between Tasan and a simple old man called P'yo, the tavern-keeper's brother, who tilled a small lot leased from the Paengnyon Temple. The old man regularly came to the market, held six times a month, and then to the tavern. Each time he came, he knelt in front of Tasan's room to pay his respects to him. He was extremely poor, and even on his outings he was always dressed in rags. How difficult it must be for you, he would say to comfort Tasan, forgetting his own hardships.
The year after Tasan had arrived in Kangjin, the old man had entered the tavern as usual, while the noisy customers were speaking somberly among themselves.
Did his wound become infected?
Such a catastrophe I have never seen before!
He must have been driven to it. What a pity, what a pity!
Whatever it is, it's really a wicked thing to happen, isn't it?
Their conversation had suddenly stopped when they noticed the old man, but each had already had his say, and the story was clear to Tasan.
Old P'yo had a nephew who lived in Nojon. A son was born to him soon after the funeral of his father. Barely three days old, the infant was registered for military taxation, while the grandfather's name was still on the list. Since the family was practically starving, and unable to pay a tax levied on the three able-bodied men in the same family, the family ox was confiscated. The nephew took out a knife and cut off his own penis, wailing, It's because of this damn thing that my family has to suffer. His wife ran to the officials carrying the severed penis, blood still dripping from it. She begged them in vain for mercy. The guards locked the door, and the woman kept on weeping in front of it.
On market days, Tasan usually closed his door tightly, shutting himself away from the noise. That day, however, he realized what
had happened from the exchanges of the crowd outside. He was dumbfounded by the horror and absurdity of the story. Ruefully, he stroked his long beard. Then, taking out a brush, he composed a poem in one sweeping moment. He titled it Elegy on the Castration:
Mournful is the young woman's wail in the reed field.
Echoing against the prison wall, her lament rises to heaven.
Though many a soldier-husband has failed to return home,
Since olden times, no story such as thisno tale of castration
Has ever been told before.
She is already clothed in mourning garb for her father-in-law
And her babe barely out of his mother's womb.
Why, then, three generations listed on the military registry?
Before reaching the age of twenty, Tasan followed his father, the magistrate of the district, to their native town, and had the opportunity to observe him ruling over the people. For a short time, Tasan himself had served as a magistrate with compassion and fairness. However, it was only in banishment that he had become deeply disturbed by the infinite sufferings of the people under the inconsistencies of the system, the breaches of official discipline, and the corrupt officials.
After the mutilation incident, Tasan became closer to the old man. One balmy autumn day, old P'yo came to see Tasan, though it was not a market day. How is His Excellency today? he asked, addressing Tasan in deference to his former official title, Royal Secretary, instead of as the gentleman from Seoul.
As usual, Tasan was immersed in reading in his room, which was dark even in the middle of the day. The books piled near his desk had been borrowed from the library of his maternal clan, for which he had had to walk more than twenty-five miles and endure the displeasure of his unwelcoming kin. Even the small writing table and the ink-slab were pieces that had been abandoned in their barn, and that he had salvaged and repaired.
Watching the scholar preoccupied with reading in a windowless roomand how could one read in darkness?P'yo often wondered if Tasan might not indeed be a heretic who practiced magic as they said Catholics did. Out of reverence, he usually refrained from speaking to Tasan, but seeing no one in the tavern and taking advantage of the door that had been left half open to let the warm,
springlike air in, he called once again. Tasan, who had not heard him the first time, went on reading aloud in a vigorous and proud voice.
Your Excellency.
Pushing his spectacles back on his forehead, Tasan looked toward the old man. His face had become pale during his long confinement. P'yo felt himself to be unworthy in the presence of a man who dazzled him with his imposing featuresthe prominent forehead, noble nose, full cheekbones, large, elongated eyes, and the beautiful, thick black beard. Daunted, P'yo fumbled, Well
What is it?
I have a friend who works as a servant in Mandok Temple
What about him?
He tells me that a monk named Hyejang has been living there since this spring.
Who is Hyejang?
He is a young monk of high esteem. Everyone wants to meet him, but they say he refuses. That makes them even more eager.
Why do they so wish to meet him?
Because, being a high priest, he also reads fortunes from one's countenance, and he's good at soothsaying.
Strange. A Buddhist monk telling fortunes.
No. It's not what you think, the old man added, shaking both his head and hands vigorously. He doesn't do it for a fee. Whatever remarks he drops in passing here and there happen to be astonishingly correct.
A peculiar monk, indeed. Showing no interest, Tasan slid his spectacles back onto his face.
Your Excellency, continued the old man hastily, to tell you the truth, the monk Hyejang says he must meet you.
Meet me? Why? Tasan's eyes widened.
P'yo lowered his head, avoiding Tasan's eyes as though blinded by them. Looking up, he urged Tasan in earnest, saying, He wants to meet you very sincerely. Why don't you go see him? He is a very famous monk.
Who is this monk who anxiously and sincerely wants to meet me, a treasonous heretic, whom everyone else avoids and fears like a demon god? thought Tasan, and yet he was moved.
The next day after lunch, Tasan, guided by the old man, set out
for Mandok Temple. Situated facing the sea on the slope of Mount Mandok, the temple was celebrated throughout the Koryo (9181392) and the Yi (13921910) dynasties for producing famous monks. Tasan wore an informal outfit consisting of cotton trousers and a shirt, and a wide-sleeved outercoat tied with a dark blue sash. He had thought of putting on the more formal long gown left hanging on its stand, unused in his long confinement, but thinking of his circumstances, he had changed his mind, and just added a widebrimmed horsehair hat. Nonetheless, uncommon dignity and nobility exuded from him. Not for him the swaggering, unsteady steps of an aristocrat; Tasan's gait was so swift for a short man that, although accustomed to walking, P'yo was forced to hurry after Tasan breathlessly. During the trip, a distance of five miles from town, Tasan did not pause for a moment to rest and never once stumbled on the way up the rocky slope to the temple, where fall arrived early. The temple lay deep in blazing autumn hues. The dizzying splendor of the foliage, like brilliant colors freshly painted on the sanctuary of a grand Buddhist temple, struck the visitor with awe. The deathly calm, in which all sounds seemed crystallized, contrasted with the grandeur of the colors, simultaneously symbolizing both suffering and deliverance.
I wonder where he is. He must have gone further up the mountain to cut wood. Mumbling to himself, the old man disappeared to look for his friend.
Tasan contemplated a hanging scroll of calligraphy in the style of the Six Dynasties of China, attributed to Kim Saeng, then his eyes rested on the sea before him. In the fickle autumn weather, mist was fast enveloping the sea, and the day soon turned overcast. Only a portion of the island in front, and the summit of the mountain behind, were faintly visible. The reeds growing on the slope swayed in confusion, and fine misty rain like smoke spread from the sea, filling the temple garden.
It's raining. Why don't you come in to keep yourself dry? Tasan turned around and saw a spry monk of about thirty, wearing an inkblack shirt and trousers. He did not wear a monk's robe, nor did he greet Tasan with palms pressed together as was customary for a Buddhist when meeting all living creatures. Tasan noticed a large scar on his shaven head. He had a sharp nose, and even sharper eyes. Instinctively, Tasan knew that this must be Hyejang.
Thank you, Tasan said gently, following the monk to the entrance, where he took off his shoes. As he was about to enter, he could not hold back a bitter smile. The disorder was just as he imagined it would be, unsuitable for a monk's cell. It was clear that a novice's care had not reached this room, with its uncleared bedding, clothing in a heap pushed into the corner, and bottle of wine lying near the door.
Though stories abounded of the eccentric behavior of many celebrated monks, such disorder was repugnant to Tasan, an orderly and rational man. The waywardness of such monks seemed to him mere pretense, impertinent and even vicious. He mused as he recoiled that he had yet to meet a truly virtuous monk. Pushing away the bedding, he sat down.
It seems there is no tea left for this poor monk, muttered Hyejang, picking up the empty bottle, and shaking it, his speech slurred as if from drinking.
A faint smile appeared on Tasan's face. He knew that the sharp eyes he had seen outside were not those of a drunk.
You like to drink, don't you?
Like to drink? No, it's only cereal tea.
Indeed. No doubt, then, it must be fermented cereal.
No matter. In whatever form one eats cereal, boiled, kneaded, or fermented, monks can eat it, too. Isn't Oak in the Garden also the way of the Buddha, I wonder?
Tasan tensed slightly. A Confucian scholar, he was unversed in Son Buddhism. However, he had heard of a story told by the Hwadu sect: One day a monk asked a master, Choju, What is the Buddha's way? The master answered, It is in the oak tree in the front garden. Upon hearing this, the monk was said to have attained great enlightenment, realizing that everything contains the Buddha's way.
The paper window squeaked in the wind like a sob as the fine misty rain turned into a heavy downpour.
I am sorry to be a burden to you. I just wanted to shelter myself from the rain, said Tasan, feeling uncomfortable.
It must be our karma to meet each other like this. Since everything has its cause and effect, our meeting, too, is the result of five hundred chains of reincarnations. You, my elderly brother, are the
old yang, and this humble monk the young yin. This meeting is propitious.
What do you mean?
To tell you the truth, a little while ago, this humble monk had some nutmeg cake. Then a strange thing happened. I dropped a chopstick twice. Yin follows yang, and according to the hexagrams of the I Ching, the meeting of the two brings about great attainment.
Impudence! All phenomena constantly change. How dare you discuss good and evil omens by such superstitious methods? said Tasan, gathering his coat and standing up to leave. Capriciously, the weather had changed; the rain had stopped and the clouds were now torn, exposing patches of blue sky.
By the time Tasan reached the tavern, the short autumn day had already given way to dusk. He washed his feet, and was about to enter the room when Hyejang, the monk he had so inauspiciously met, dashed in frantically and prostrated himself in front of Tasan's room.
Illustrious teacher Chong,3 how have you deceived this destitute monk whose only steadfast yearning day and night has been to meet you? I was blind not to have recognized you. I have followed your honorable shadow, Hyejang sobbed, his head still pressed to the ground. Moved by the sincerity of the monk's words, Tasan, in his stockinged feet, came down to the yard and, taking Hyejang's hand, led him to his room. Thus began their relationship, which could not have taken place without the consequential effect of five hundred chains of reincarnations. They spent the night debating the philosophy of divination.
At the time of their meeting, Tasan had just begun to concentrate on studying the I Ching, or Book of Change, the most difficult of the Confucian classics. Even Confucius himself is said to have struggled; he so loved the book that the leather which bound it wore off three times. If one hundred men pursued the path to the understanding of the I Ching, there would be one hundred ways to achieve that understanding; indeed, it was said to be laid out in a labyrinth of darkness. Tasan rejected the idea that the study of divination was a mere practice of magic to determine the principle
Tasan's given name was Chong Yag-yong. As the story explains, he took the name Tasan as his pen name.
of yin and yang. He argued, instead, that it was a systematic theory developed by the sages of ancient times in an effort to divine the mandate of Heaven.
It was their mutual interest in the study of the I Ching that had brought Tasan and Hyejang together, and bound them in deep friendship. Impressive was the picture of the two men huddled together in discourse all through the night under the flickering lamplight, one a somber scholar in banishment, the other a poverty-stricken monk in the time of Buddhist repression. Hyejang's unexpected mastery of the Confucian and Chu Hsi classics prompted Tasan to declare that he was indeed a scholar of great learning and virtue. However, Hyejang, recognizing the superiority of Tasan's commentaries, surrendered himself and became his disciple. Before the end of the year, Hyejang had arranged for his mentor to move into a new residence, called the Mountain Abode of Precious Benevolence, situated on the slope of Mount Ui. Thus, Tasan was finally able to escape from the small, dank room in the tavern. In his new residence, he spent the winter with his son, Hag-yon, devoting himself to the boy's education.
Tasan influenced Hyejang in many ways. The disciple discovered in himself a love for poetry, to which he had previously been indifferent. Since his introduction to Tasan's interpretation of the I Ching, he had begun to doubt the foundation of his philosophy of life, which caused him to suffer further.
Nor was Hyejang's influence on his teacher's growing interest in Son Buddhism insignificant. Though ordinarily acerbic, rough, and stubborn, Hyejang was gentle and considerate to Tasan. Soon after Tasan moved to his new residence, Hyejang sent the fresh tea-leaf buds that grew on the slope of Mount Mandok. It was Tasan's first taste of the beverage, and it converted him into a great lover of tea. His enthusiasm for it was such that he chose for himself the pen name Tasan, meaning tea-mountain.
In the spring of 1808, Tasan again moved, this time to Kyuldong on Mount Tasan, to a villa owned by his maternal kin, Yun Tan, a retired government official. After settling in his new home, Tasan began accepting disciples to whom he taught the Confucian classics.
He did not waste away his exiled days in idle distraction. With his eighteen disciples, Tasan dug out the area near the thatched cottage which had been built through the kindness of Yun Tan for
Tasan to use as his lecture hall. Bringing large stones from the mountain, Tasan fashioned a square pond modeled after a typical Yi dynasty design. He constructed a miniature island, and diverted water from the mountain stream to make a waterfall that cascaded into the pond. He planted irises and placed camellia bushes around the pond, where their evergreen branches would spread over the water. A celebrated physician, he planted medicinal herbs in the patches along the mountain slope.
Mount Tasan, as the name indicated, was covered with tea plants. Joy filled him as he watched their lustrous leaves and white flowers flutter like pear blossoms, filling the air with fragrance. Plum trees and camellia bushes also bloomed on the mountain, and the age-old trees gave forth their perfumed scent. In autumn, the yellow nutmeg flowers intoxicated the entire village with their sweet aroma. Indeed, Tasan's new home would have been a paradise on earth were it not for the loneliness, and even that Hyejang helped him bear by being both a thoughtful friend and an exceptionally sagacious disciple.
That year on the Day of the Grain Rains, Hyejang came to visit Tasan as usual, though his ailment had reached an advanced stage. The swelling had obviously worsened, and it was clear to Tasan that his friend was suffering from a liver disease. He knew of a rare medicine he believed would certainly help; however, since he was living in banishment, it was out of his reach. Feeling desolate, he had his disciples go out and fish for loaches, which he stuffed into an aged squash and boiled, a humble remedy. Tasan persuaded Hyejang to drink the broth in the hope of reducing the swelling.
Hyejang took out a bunch of newly made fur brushes from his shoulder pack. I caught some weasels that were making noises near the furnace; I had some spare moments. Known for his dexterity, Hyejang excelled especially in the art of brush making. It must have required all of his last energy to make these. Tasan's eyes filled with tears.
Because of you it seems weasels will soon be an extinct species in Taehung Temple, he bantered, in a rare attempt at humor. Magnificent work of art! Now I will no longer be able to blame the brush for my poor calligraphy. His face contorted in an effort to smile.
Even as they gathered the tea leaves together, Hyejang had breathed with difficulty. That troubled breathing still rang in Ta-
san's ears, and the pain of remembrance spread in him. The tea Chong-sim had just brought to him was the same that Hyejang had picked on that last holiday.
Where are you from? Tasan heard Chong-sim's voice. Someone must have arrived. A few words were exchanged, then Chong-sim called, Teacher, someone is here from the capital.
From the capital? Who?
It is I, Ha-sang, came a clear, vigorous, young voice in the capital speech Tasan had been longing to hear.
Ha-sang? Tasan could not recall that name at first. He pushed open the door impatiently. Upon seeing Tasan, a fair-complexioned, handsome youth prostrated himself on the spot, and bowed deeply. Suddenly, Tasan felt dizzy, andsupporting himself with one hand on the doorhe moved a half step backward.
There he stooda youth with a luminous face, a clear expanse of forehead, full cheekbones, thick eyebrows, a prominent nose, bright, lively eyesbearing all the characteristic features of the Chong clan of Aphae, which is celebrated for producing handsome men.
Ha-sang was taller by a head than Chong-sim, who stood next to him, and his broad shoulders, too, were unmistakably those of the Chong clan. However, something about the youth struck Tasan as unfamiliar. For a long time, Tasan stared at his nephew abstractedly. Ha-sang's traveling outfit was that of a true commonera shirt and trousers without an outercoat, and the trousers, from just below the knee to the ankle, bound with strings in place of gaiters, and no horsehair hat, but the thick topknot on his head, the size of a young man's fist, was wound tightly with a white kerchief. Seeing his own flesh and blood dressed as a lowly commoner was a great shock to Tasan. A Sirhak scholar,4 who took the initiative in accepting European learning, Tasan prided himself in attacking the obsolete conventions of the time and in preaching a classless society, so he could not grasp the meaning of the strange agitation he felt when he saw his nephew thus attired.
A school of thought which emerged in the eighteenth century and sought a solution to the problems of the day other than the empty formalism and rituals of the Chu Hsi Neo-Confucian school. The Sirhaks advocated an empirical and practical approach to learning as well as to government.
Since his banishment to Kangjin, Tasan had repeatedly used the phrase ruined family in his letters to his sons, Hag-yon and Hagyu. In his cavelike room in the tavern, he wrote anxious letters that were carried back home by the family servant. In one, he wrote, As I try to fathom your thoughts, it seems to me that you are about to abandon your studies. Does this mean that you are to become ignorant commoners? When you come from a family of scholar-officials known for integrity, then there can be no need to worry about military service, provided you are well educated and marry well. But what will become of you if you are both illiterate and come from a ruined family? You may not think it important to study, but a man without knowledge of the requirements of the rituals is no better than a bird or an animal. In another, he asked, Ruined as we are, what will become of you if you remain without learning and ignorant of the rituals? Only if you study thousands of times harder than others can we hope that a few among us will live like human beings. My days in banishment are very painful indeed, but tidings that you are reading and following upright behavior would lessen my worries.
Tasan took unusual pride in his clan, and in his autobiography he reiterated the accomplishments of his family. A scholar with a wide range of learning and possessing an astounding capacity for hard work, he was nonetheless obsessed with reputation. His nephew's apparel, the clothing of a commoner, was forcing him to recognize the agonizing reality of the downfall of the family.
The youth, unable to surmise what was in his uncle's mind, followed Tasan into his room and knelt down gracefully. The humble outfit, covered with dirt from a long journey, did not rob him of his natural dignity and refinement, and the beauty of his features was only heightened by closer scrutiny.
Not looking directly at his nephew, Tasan spoke. So you are Hasang?
Yes.
What is your adult name?
Since childhood, I have been called Ha-sang.
So his nephew had not even had his initiation ceremony; pity and humiliation like a vague pain brushed by his heart. How old are you? he asked tenderly.
Sixteen. When you, my fourth father, left us, I was only six years old.
It has been ten years since then. Where have you been living all these years?
We live in Majae.
In Majae? Tasan could not go on. Though his sons and servants came to visit him occasionally, his thoughts had never once dwelt on the family of his martyred third brother, Yak-chong. In his frequent letters to his family, he never neglected to inquire after his eldest brother, Yak-hyon and his wife, nor did he fail to express concern for the family of his second brother, Yak-chon, banished to Huksan. He had repeatedly instructed his sons to be filial to their uncle as if to their own father. However, he had been completely indifferent to the fate of his third brother's family. Tasan felt a numbness in his heart. And how is your mother? You must have suffered much. A deep silence followed.
Yes. Ha-sang's answer was brief. In that single word, Tasan read days of sorrow and pain that defied description. Silence again; it was Ha-sang who broke it. I am a grown man now. I am strong, too. There is no reason why my family of three should starve. Now his words were vigorous and cheerful.
A family of three, did you say? I remember you had a sister-in-law, and she also had a child. Then?
A shadow of pain crossed Ha-sang's fine forehead. He spoke feebly. My mother told me my father was martyred on February 26, 1801, and it was about a month later, on April 2, that my brother Ch'ol-sang was murdered. After my brother died, there was no place for us to go but Majae. Ha-sang paused for a moment. The villagers arranged a hut for us to stay in. The following year, the child died of smallpox. My sister-in-law, though in the flower of her life, lived in a deathly despair.
The villagers! The words of his nephew swirled in Tasan's mind. No one in the family had cared to look after their own pitiful bereaved ones.
Unable to bear seeing her suffer so much, my mother suggested that she might wish to return to her own family. Although her father, Francesco, had been martyred and her brother, Leo, had also been executed, and the entire clan was about to be wiped out, those who
had survived were said to be very close, and did not suffer too much.
Tasan closed his eyes in pain. The memories of the days gone by surfaced in his mind like nightmares. It was now ten years since he had begun his exiled life, first in Changgi, then in Kangjin, and finally here in Kyuldong. Only recently had he freed himself from the sense of mortification, grief, and anger at those who had plotted and snared him into this banishment. If his crime were his Catholic faith, martyrdom would have been the proof of that faith. On the other hand, if he were to insist upon his innocence and continue to feel angry, would he not be guilty of cowardice and betrayal?
But Tasan considered himself different from those who had died defending their faith. He was merely curious about the new learning from Europe and studied writings on Catholicism but did not worship its God. Therefore, he felt no shame in the petition declaring his innocence, which he had presented to King Chongjo in 1799. He defended his position and rebutted the memorial calling for his impeachment which his adversaries had presented to the king. In his petition he stated that although it was true that he had been interested in the teachings of Catholicism, he had soon realized that they were merely offshoots of Buddhist teachings, and that what he had taken to be a more advanced system of thought had turned out to be nothing but a stale, obsolete, and contradictory doctrine. His desperate attempt to justify himself had deeply disappointed the Catholic faithful. A great scholar of the daya renegade!
Tasan saw his action not as a betrayal of faith, but rather as springing from disillusionment with Catholic doctrine. He had begun to have doubts about this religion, which had brought upon his people such terrifying consequencesdisrupting traditional morals and manners, causing confusion in society, bringing destruction to families, and leading to the violent deaths of the faithful. He questioned the need for such a religion and thus believed his confession to the king was an expression of his beliefs and integrity, not a vindication of self-preserving action. To him, it did not follow that anyone who studied the doctrines was necessarily a heretic. Take, for instance, Yi Ki-gyong, who had obsessively pursued Tasan to his downfall. Yi Ki-gyong had spent days with Tasan, studying Catholic teachings and copying its writings. Had they not, in their youth, espoused Catholicism with enthusiasm, it would have been impos-
sible for those outstanding disciples of the greatest Sirhak scholar, Yi Ik, to have produced their powerful repudiations of Catholic doctrine.
Thus, Tasan felt helpless rage and mortification at having been falsely accused of mortal crime, and banished as a treasonous heretic; he, the scion of an illustrious family whose members had served as royal secretaries to kings for eight generations. Now the family was on the verge of extinction. He wondered if he could have borne the loneliness and humiliation were it not for his passion for the pursuit of knowledge.
And yet, had it not been for his third brother, Yak-chong, and his disciple, Hwang Sa-yong, with his Silk Letter Although he admitted that it was wrong to blame them for the family's downfall, the memory of his brother and his martyrdom filled him with confusion.
Yak-chong had indeed been an unusual man. He alone had remained in Majae, while all the othershis second brother, Yakchon; his brother-in-law, Yi Sung-hun; the Kwon brothers,Ch'olsin and Il-sin; a brother of his sister-in-law, Yi Pyokattended a reading society for ten days in the winter of 1779.5 This meeting was held in Ch'onjinamchuo Temple on Mount Aengja, Kwangju, twenty miles from Seoul.
Yak-chong had not sought fame by serving in public office. Although possessing superior learning and statesmanship, he had preferred to pursue a life of leisure in the countryside, studying Lao-tze's Taoist doctrine, with wandering clouds as his only companions, and instructing the disciples who gathered around him. However, finally persuaded by the eloquence of Yi Pyok, and the powerful arguments of Kwon Ch'ol-sin, a giant among Confucian scholars, he decided to accept Catholicism. His godfather was KwonCh'ol-sin, whose brother, Il-sin, baptized him.
The baptism took place in the spring of 1790, when the Catholics in Korea were in a great turmoil. As a result of a papal ruling in 1742 that deemed ancestor worship incompatible with Christianity, they had received instruction from the Bishop of Peking forbidding them
A group of scholars, led by Kwon Ch'ol-sin and Chong Yak-chon, retreated to this remote temple to study Western Learning intensively. This meeting is significant because it acted as a catalyst for their conversion to Catholicism.
to perform Confucian ancestor-worship rites. Yak-chong had become a Catholic late, unlike many of the other high-born scholar officials, who had converted to Catholicism earlier but had lately been persuaded by such denouncements to give up the religion. His baptismal name, Augustine, was fitting for one who had so long hesitated to make his decision.
The following year, a death had occurred in the Yun clan, a prominent family in Chinsan, Cholla Province. The mother of Yun Chich'ung, a Catholic, had requested in her will that her funeral take place according to Catholic ritual. Yun Chi-ch'ung, or Paul, and his cousin Kwon Sang-yon, or Jacob, following the wishes of the deceased, gave her a Catholic burial instead of performing the Confucian funeral rite, with its ancestral tablet. This was a capital crime of heresy, for which they were beheaded.
The Yun Chi-ch'ung incident provided an opportune moment for those who had long plotted the destruction of the Catholics. Among them were Hong Nag-an and Yi Ki-gyong. Yi Ki-gyong, a member of the Southerner faction, was a close friend of Yi Sung-hun, the first Korean to be baptized in a Catholic church in Peking. Yi Sung-hun had brought many books on Catholicism back from China. Yi Ki-gyong, who read them voraciously, was a close acquaintance of Tasan. Who could have foreseen that Yi Ki-gyong would later betray them, becoming a leader in the relentless persecution of Catholics? It was difficult to understand precisely how he had come to harbor such evil intentions, but his betrayal might have originated in an incident that took place in Panch'on in 1787.6 Renting a room there, Tasan and Yi Sung-hun were giving lectures on Catholicism to the students of the National Confucian Academy. Yi Ki-gyong did not like the idea of Confucian students reading books on Catholicism and neglecting their studies of the Confucian classics. He expressed his feeling to his friend, Hong Nag-an. Hong, an ambitious man, wanted to use the incident for his own advancement by reporting it in a memorial to the king, a not uncommon practice of the period. Yi Ki-gyong objected, and the incident was for a time kept from becoming a major issue.
Panch'on refers to the area around the National Confucian Academy inhabited by a group of people who supplied sacrificial meat to the academy for ceremonial occasions, such as the festivals in honor of Confucius, which were held twice annually.
But Hong Nag-an persisted. In the following year on January 7, during the National Confucian Academy examination at which the king himself was a judge, he attracted attention by composing a vehement attack on Catholicism as heresy. As a result of this polemic, Hong Nag-an took second place in the examination. With this success, he intensified his unyielding assault on Catholicism.
He sent a long, emotional letter to Prime Minister Ch'ae Chekong, the leader of the Southerner faction, pointing out in violent language the wrongs of Catholicism and clamoring for the severe punishment of Tasan and Yi Sung-hun for their heretical belief. Neither benevolent King Chongjo nor gentle Ch'ae Che-kong had any intention of allowing the incident to escalate further. Moreover, Ch'ae, as the leader of the Sip'a clique of the Southerner faction, made up mostly of scholar-officials who had fallen out of power, knew that many of the able members of his faction were Catholics themselves. In addition, Tasan's half-sister was the wife of Ch'ae's illegitimate son.
The king, unable to resist the persistent demands of Hong and his group, gave in and ordered the imprisonment of Tasan and Yi Sung-hun. However, the accusers could not produce enough evidence and, furthermore, it became known that they had once been Catholics themselves. The wrath of the king was great. He immediately ordered Yi Ki-gyong banished to Kyongwon. Tasan, freed, took to visiting Yi's household, now without a master, to amuse the young son and give small amounts of money to Yi's aged mother. Tasan did not grudge his concern for them.
In 1795, there was a large-scale amnesty to celebrate a national holiday, but Yi Ki-gyong was not among those who were pardoned. Although Yi's intention had been to wrong him, Tasan did not wish to see his adversary impoverished by the lengthy legal process necessary to clear his name. Seeing him caught in his own trap gave Tasan some satisfaction; nevertheless, he feared that Yi might become a source of future trouble. Tasan expressed these thoughts to Yi Ig-un and asked his consent to appeal to the king for his enemy's freedom. The King was moved by their entreaty and granted Yi Ki-gyong's release.
After his long banishment, Yi did not have many close friends among those of his rank in the court with whom he could share his thoughts. Tasan alone remained kind to him. Nevertheless, in his
heart Yi Ki-gyong harbored a deep resentment. With Hong Nag-an, he plotted the capture of the Chinese missionary, Father Chou Wenmu. His scheme was dark, tenacious, and precise.
Once a Catholic himself, Yi was well-versed in Catholicism. Unlike Hong's outbursts, his cool, well-ordered attacks were fearsome in their lucidity and correctness. To the king's questions, he would begin by saying, There are many good points in the books;however , and end by arguing point by point that Catholicism was a heresy.
Among the members of the Westerner faction, a loud voice of condemnation was raised: Catholicism was the way of bestiality; its teachings deluded society and deceived the people; it was licentious and mysterious, undermining the very foundations of Confucian teachings; Catholic dogmasthe existence of God, the virgin birth, the redemptive death and resurrection of Jesus Christwere totally foreign to them. They were appalled by such an outrageous religionone that not only prohibited the faithful from performing Confucian rituals, but even forced them to burn their ancestral tablets, a sin beyond salvation. The concepts of Heaven and Hell were absurd to them, incompatible with traditional thoughts and ways. Of the Ten Commandments, two were against adultery; even coveting another man's wife was strictly forbidden. Nevertheless, this religion allowed men and women to worship togetherwanton behavior in a society where separation of the sexes was rigidly observed.
Yi Ki-gyong's attack went beyond Catholic dogma, extending to protocol and rituals. He wrote: They have already rejected our ethical principles of loyalty to king and filial piety to parents; instead they engage in magic and sorcery. They are no different from Yellow Turbans, the Taoist zealot, of the Han Dynasty in China.
He continued on the subject of Holy Communion: They worship their god by offering noodles and wine; eating noodles is like eating the flesh of the god and drinking wine is like drinking the blood of the god. How weird and monstrous; indeed, beyond expression!
When Catholicism came to Korea during the Yi dynasty it encountered enormous resistance because it challenged existing belief systems as well as the social order, and so caused great internal strife in society. Catholic belief was totally incompatible with the Confucian ideals of the Three Cardinal Bonds (faithful ministers, filial sons,
and chaste women) and the Five Ethical Relations (the relationships between sovereign and subject, father and son, husband and wife, elder and younger brother, and senior and junior). It was not through the efforts of missionaries that Catholicism spread in Korea. In the beginning it was studied as an academic interest by scholarofficials of the Southerner faction, who had by then lost political power. Disillusioned with the empty, obsolete, and contradictory metaphysics of the day, they developed a profound interest in the Western books brought into Korea by the annual mission to the Peking court. With an insatiable thirst for new knowledge, they marvelled at the newly introduced learning, more logical, scientific, and practical than any they had known. Scientific advances in mathematics and calendrical computation hitherto unknown to them greatly stimulated and influenced these scholar-officials. They joined forces in a new scholarly trend known as Sirhak, or practical learning, which used an empirical approach aimed at institutional reform in government and economic enrichment in society. True Principles of Catholicism, by Matteo Ricci (a Jesuit missionary working in China), was one of the most frequently read books of the movement. Written in Chinese, it was easily understood by those who were fluent in the language. In it, Ricci publicly announced that he had come to China to supplement Confucian belief, and to attack the absurdity of Buddhism. He argued that the Catholic God and the Confucian Lord-on-High were equivalent, and that the Confucian term Heaven, or Providence, was compatible with the Catholic concept of God the Creator. Citing passages from Confucian classics, he demonstrated that the concepts of the soul's immortality and good and evil in Catholicism were analogous to the fundamental teachings of Confucianism. The scholars found Catholicism, although strange and alien at times, easily accessible for the most part. As their research deepened, many decided to accept it as their religion, among them the Chong brothers, Yak-chon and Tasan.0
Catholicism also spread swiftly among people of the lower classes. At this time, the nation had not fully recovered from the devastation of two warsthe Japanese invasion of 1592 and the Manchu invasion of 1636. The common people suffered under a government rampant with corrupt officials, factional strife, and inconsistencies in the system. The concept of equality, the gospel of love and redemption, the idea of rewarding good and punishing evil
gave fresh hope to their otherwise dismal existence; though they suffered interminably in this life, they would enjoy an afterlife in Heaven. They would die gladly for God, believing their deaths God's blessing.
In 1784, those who studied Catholicism under Yi Sung-hun, who had just returned from Peking, where he had been baptized, received baptism from him. Tasan's baptismal name was Johann. There were about ten converts altogether. In the winter of the same year, the Korean mission was established. The first Catholic church was born in Seoul in the house of a chungin court interpreter, Kim Pom-u.7 Services were conducted each Sunday, and other religious activities took place there as well.
The rumor of strange gatherings spread on the quiet, and came to the attention of the authorities. One day the house was raided. Once inside, the agents of the Board of Punishment were confronted with an amazing sight. A few dozen men wearing blue scarves draped from head to shoulders, their faces powdered white, each holding a book under his arm, sat in front of an image of Jesus Christ. A tall man, Yi Pyok, was in the midst of a sermon. The officers dared not touch the aristocrats; instead they detained the owner of the house, a commoner. The high-born scholar-officials demanded the return of the image of Jesus and the release of the man; otherwise they, the aristocrats, would insist on being arrested as well.
The chief of the Board of Punishment became fearful because his actions had not been directly ordered by the king. He attempted to placate the aristocrats but sent Kim Pom-u, the chungin, into banishment. The man eventually died in exile. In the end, no aristocrat was punished by the law, but the incident remained a matter to be settled within the families directly concerned in the episode, and their pressure on the converts mounted. When Yi Pyok's father threatened to hang himself unless his son abandoned the religion, Pyokcaught between his faith and his humane ethical obligationfinally succumbed. Yi Sung-hun, also reprimanded by his father and brother, burned all his books on Catholicism and wrote a vague defense of Confucianism, at the same time denouncing Ca-
Chungin was a social stratum in Yi dynasty Korea, immediately below that of yangban, or nobles. It was made up primarily of technical specialists in the government; namely, interpreters of foreign languages, medical doctors, transcribers, copyists, and so on.
tholicism. The Chong brothers, Yak-chon and Tasan, were severely reprimanded by their father.
During the few years preceding the incident, Tasan had been living an exalted life. At the age of twenty-one, in February of 1783, Tasan passed the Augmented Examination in commemoration of the Crown Prince's investiture; in April of the same year, he passed the Classic Licentiate Examination. As a result, he was granted an audience with King Chongjo; the occasion marked the beginning of their relationshipthe meeting of a brilliant king and a wise subject. In September, Tasan's first son, Hag-yon, was born. Felicitous events continued through the following year. In the summer of 1784, he presented to the king his Lecture on the Doctrine of the Mean. The book was written in response to the eighty questions the king had asked, while Tasan was a student at High College, on the subject of the Four Virtues and Seven Emotions of Man and Natural Forces. The king was greatly pleased with Tasan, recognizing his scholarly prowess. In September, Tasan passed the First Stage Examination toward Licentiate. At the banquets held on February 25 and 27, the king himself served food to Tasan, an almost unprecedented honor. In the same year, Tasan passed the First Stage Examination toward the Erudite Level. The king, seeing Tasan's examination paper, bestowed his praise on it, saying that he would no doubt be a changwon a man who takes first place in a Palace Examination held in the presence of a kingand those who were present thought it certain that Tasan would some day become prime minister.
The king's favor and the affection bestowed upon him prevented Tasan from becoming involved in controversy. Thus, it was not out of cowardice that he failed to display the passion and daring of other converts, but because of his favored position. A short ten-day banishment to Haemi and frequent shuffling between the central and provincial governments resulted from the king's desire to protect Tasan from the venomous hostility and fearsome surveillance of his enemies. Aware of this, Tasan wept in gratitude. How dare he trouble such a king? Herein lay the true reason for his confession, in which he defended himself with every argument available, even claiming that he had never been a Catholic. He forced himself into the delusion that he had merely read books on Catholicism, but had not believed in the religion. Finally he retired from the cabinet. His
decision to return to pastoral life, giving up everything before he was forty, stemmed from his weariness at having to endure the attacks of the members of the Westerner faction. More important, however, Tasan could not bear to trouble the king any further.
In the spring of 1800, Tasan returned to his native place with his family. A few days later, upon hearing of Tasan's retreat, the king sent for him with the message of royal intention to recall him to the Crown Prince Tutorial Office. The message read: It would be only a matter of time. We would not forsake you; therefore, we implore you to await our order to return to the Royal Archive as soon as a suitable residence can be found. On the luminous night of June 12, Tasan was alone viewing the summer moon when someone knocked. It was an official from the Royal Archive, bearing ten books written in Chinese that had been sent by the king. When he told Tasan how the king's august countenance had clouded with deep feeling for him, Tasan wept. But on June 28, the king died, only sixteen days after the night when Tasan had shed the tears of gratitude for the king's benevolence. It was as though the heavens had fallen. Tasan had lost his great protector, and thus it was the end of his day.
The king had been suffering from abscesses since the end of May. They first appeared on his head and then spread to his back, gradually reaching the size of two-inch water-droppers. The copious discharge soaked his clothes and pillows. As the large ones, oozing pus, healed, smaller ones appeared around them, swelling red with venom. The king was unable to sleep or touch the royal meals, and his health steadily declined. In the beginning, the courtiers and palace ladies thought nothing of the abscesses; however, they became alarmed when they realized these were not ordinary ones. The officers of the Royal Pharmacy sucked out the pus from the abscesses, administered acupuncture, and used every means of treatmentdisinfection, medicines, ointmentsbut they failed to halt the spread of the abscesses. Finally, an order was sent throughout the nation calling every medical officer to the court. The doctors prescribed all the rare and esoteric medicines known to them, but all in vain. Unable to bear the pain any longer, on June 28 the king summoned to the palace a few of his closest subjects. He was already incoherent. His trembling finger pointed in the air, but no one could understand the meaning of this gesture. Only by bringing their ears
closer to the king's face were the words Sujongjon Palace, the residence of the Queen Dowager, finally deciphered. Without any further words, the king expired at about six o'clock in the evening at the age of forty-eight, his reign having lasted for twenty-four years. Why did the king, summoning up his last strength, speak these words?
The Queen Dowager, Chong-sun, was of the Kim clan of Kyongju and had become a queen at the tender age of fifteen by marrying Yongjo, the grandfather of King Chongjo, who was then sixty-three years old. Chong-sun was the daughter of Kim Han-ku, a destitute scholar-gentleman, and her marriage turned a dream into sudden reality for her family. Overnight, the penniless scholar became a Meritorious Retainer of the First Degree, a title given solely to the king's father-in-law, and the other members of the clan were given high government positions.
The Kim clan belonged to the Old Doctrine clique of the Party of Principle. The queen's brother, Kim Ku-ju, turned his back on his past impoverishment and appointed himself the leader of the party. Two factions had taken shape over the conflict between King Yongjo, on the side of Party of Principle, and the opposition party, or Party of Expediency, on the side of Crown Prince Changhon and the royal grandson, who would later ascend to the throne as King Chongjo. The leader of the Party of Expediency was Hong Pong-han, the maternal grandfather of King Chongjo.
Kim Ku-ju was uncomfortable. King Yongjo, in advanced age, might pass away at any moment. Kim feared the time when the robust, middle-aged crown prince should become king. Moreover, his adversary, Hong Pong-han, was a man of impeccable virtue, with a depth of learning no one could equal. A man of prudence and upright character, Hong commanded the trust and respect of everyonefrom the king to his fellow scholar-officials in the court, to the lowly petty officers and the middle-class citizenry. Kim was determined to eliminate Hong at any cost.
Having been born and raised in poverty, the queen lacked refinement in manner and barely managed to escape being ugly. But she was a blooming girl of fifteen; her freshness was what the king cherished and loved in her. Manipulated by her brother, she played a considerable role in the royal family scandals and in an upheaval of national importance. She spied on the activity of the crown prince
and reported to the king his frequent outbursts of madness, thus escalating the ill feeling between father and son. Playing on the unusual dislike the king already had for his heir, she was among those who, in 1762, instigated the murder of the prince.
Kim went further. After the cruel murder of the crown prince, he schemed to eliminate the prince's son as well, declaring that since the royal grandson was the son of a criminal, he could not succeed to the throne. Some Confucian scholars hailed the statement, which resulted in the further isolation of the boy. At the suggestion of his maternal grandfather, Hong Pong-han, the royal grandson was adopted into the household of Prince Hyojang, the elder brother of the murdered crown prince, a move that saved the ten-year-old prince from the evil hands of Kim Ku-ju, and later enabled him to succeed to the throne as King Chongjo.
Although benevolent and forgiving, once he ascended to the throne King Chongjo banished Kim Ku-ju to Huksan Island, where he eventually died years later. At the time of her brother's death the Queen Dowager was a young woman of about twenty; harboring a deep grudge for more than twenty years, she had been living in solitude, hidden deep in the Sujongjon Palace.
When the Queen Dowager found out that the health of King Chongjo showed no sign of improvement, she began frequenting the bedside of her royal grandson by marriage, who was yet her contemporary in age. Her face clouded with concern and anxiety, she would order the courtiers to send messengers to every corner of the country to find medicines secret and sacred for the king, who had become increasingly emaciated after many days without sleep or food. She urged him to take some restorative tonic, remarking, Your Majesty seems very exhausted. Please take something to protect your noble personage.
The chief physicians of the Royal Pharmacy were members of the Party of Principle, the group responsible for the murder of Crown Prince Changhon, the father of the king. So deep was the queen's apparent anxiety over the king's illness that the chief physicians visited her frequently in Sujongjon Palace to report to her. At her request, a restorative tonic had been prescribed for the king. It was known that a mixture of the root of Japanese monkshood, powdered ginger, and ginseng was most effective in augmenting an enfeebled yang-spirit and restoring exhausted vitality. The physicians no doubt knew of this tonic and must have prescribed it to the
king. However, it was midsummer, and the king had been suffering for a long time from the painful abscesses. The tonic, too potent for the king's weakened body, acted like oil on fire. Had the physicians been ignorant of this inevitable reaction? Or knowing what might happen, had they dared to administer the potion to the king? Accident or not, it was regicide.
The king, whose passing was utterly needless, had been a wise sovereign, filial to his parents, lofty and pure in his living, his character humane and generous; above all else, he loved knowledge and able scholars. In an effort to pacify factional strife and maintain equilibrium in society, he had continued the Policy of Impartiality, first adopted by his grandfather King Yongjo, which aimed at according equal favor to men of all factions in any appointments to office. Thus, he had appointed Ch'ae Che-kong, a man of the then-declining Southerner faction, as a prime minister, and his trust in him was such that Ch'ae's tenure lasted ten years. The king had greatly favored and held high expectations of such young elites as Chong Yak-chong and Yi Sung-hun. However, the king himself had been felled, a victim of the very factionalism he had tried to circumvent.
On the day the king died, extraordinary phenomena appeared, causing trepidation in the entire nation. It was reported that the sun's rays collided with each other, sending forth sparks in the air, and that a loud wail came from Mount Samgak. A few days before, the rice plants that had been growing vigorously in many provinces suddenly withered. Watching the sight, people trembled in fear. What catastrophe was about to strike? It foretells mourning, a sign of some great sorrow soon to occur, whispered wise old folk, frowning with apprehension.
With the passing of the old order, the new king, Sunjo, ascended to the throne at the age of ten. Miraculously, the Queen Dowager emerged out of her retirement deep in the Sujongjon Palace and, sitting behind the young king's throne, conducted political affairs on his behalf.
On the first of November, King Chongjo was buried. After less than twenty days, on the seventeenth of the same month, the nation was swept up in a whirlwind of Catholic arrests. The dagger of revenge, which the Queen Dowager had been hiding deep in her bosom for twenty years, had finally been drawn. On January 9, 1801, the leader of the Korean Mission, Ch'oe Ch'ang-hyon, was arrested.
On the eleventh, the Queen Dowager issued a royal decree banning Catholicism as treasonous heresy. The curtain had finally gone up on her drama of revenge, which became known as the Persecution of 1801. It was more a political move than a religious one, intended to bring down the Party of Expediency, the majority of its leaders being the Southerner Catholics. The bloody roundup intensified. One after another, the leaders of the party were arrested. After severe interrogation, some were beheaded, and some sent into banishment. Of the Chong brothers, the third, Yak-chong, persisted in his faith, choosing martyrdom; Yak-chon and Tasan declared apostasy, and were banished to Sinchi Island and to Changgi, respectively.
What caused Tasan to recant, once the king, with his boundless love for him, had gone, and his own days were numbered? While the king was still on the throne, Tasan's loyalty and love for him had led him to declare publicly his innocence of the taint of Catholicism, using the lame excuse that his interest in it had been purely academic. That was then; what about now? His action was inscrutable even to himself. Why? To spare his wretched life? Or was his faith too feeble? Wasn't he a Catholic with the Christian name of Johann? Wasn't he man enough to uphold his principles to the end?
Remorse tormented Tasan from time to time, but he was also a man vulnerable to the conditions of man. He could not free himself from feelings of rage and humiliation when his thoughts dwelt on Catholicism; how was it possible that he had ever been enticed by it? His illustrious family had served in the Office of Special Advisers to the King for seven generations, but it had been out of office during the reigns of the past three kings because of its membership in the disfavored Southerner faction. Only since his late father's time had the family begun a recovery, and with Tasan in the office its fortunes had slowly improved. Had he never come into contact with Catholicism, he would not have been tempted by it, nor would he have become a despicable renegade. He could not reconcile the conflicts within him. How horrible and loathsome was Catholicism! It pursued them relentlessly to the end, driving the clan to extinction. How to explain the deep silence of God, omnipotent and omniscient, for whom the wretched faithful suffered pain that defied expression? Where were His saving hands?
As the days of banishment multiplied, however, Tarzan's thoughts gradually withdrew from Catholicism. There were no Catholics
around him to remind him of his religion. His days were filled with activitylecturing his disciples, pursuing research, enjoying tea with Hyejang, and tending flowers and medicinal herb gardens. During this time he also began reading some Japanese books that reinforced his opposition to the civil service examination system. In a letter to his sons, he mentioned his then-controversial views:As we look back, we see that the Japanese managed to become literate only through the books the Koreans sent them. Since then, by opening a direct contact with the Chinese, they obtained the finest books from them. Unlike us, however, the Japanese were not guilty of unwisely selecting government bureaucrats through civil service examinations, a waste of scholarship. Because of this, they are far ahead of us in the advancement of knowledge. A great shame indeed.
Tasan had been sitting for a long time with his eyes closed. Hasang, watching his uncle, waited in silence. No sign of impatience showed on Ha-sang's face; since childhood, hardship had taught him patience unusual in one so young.
A deep silence settled in the room. An autumn fly appeared out of nowhere and alighted on the paper window, the flutter of its listless wings disturbing the calm.
His reverie shattered by the insect's delicate tremor, Tasan opened his eyes. Ha-sang remained seated with his back against the sliding door. His robust body filling the entire width of a single door, and silhouetted against the light behind him, he looked like a shadow having substance. His lusterless, clumsy topknot protruded as if it were a part of that shadow. He was full of confidence and trust. Staring at the funny-looking topknot, Tasan asked, When did you get married?
I am still a bachelor.
What? No initiation ceremony, no wedding, and you wear a topknot?
The shoulders of the shadow shook, and Ha-sang smiled shyly. It's because I am so tall and large for my age. He touched the back of his head. There was a childish innocence in the movement. In the darkness, Tasan imagined a blush rising on those fresh
cheeks. He was smiling in spite of himself. At the age of sixteen, it's about time you had a wife.
Getting married? It's out of the question, Ha-sang interrupted abruptly.
Why not? Are you going to grow old a bachelor? There was a hint of mischief in Tasan's words. Such light moments seldom occurred to Tasan, who was beginning to take a liking to this youth at the threshold of adulthood.
Separated from his own sons, Tasan had been constantly preoccupied with their proper deportment and decorum. Although both were exceptional youths, they disappointed Tasan, who expected more from them. Even their effort to obtain a pardon for their father seemed to him more an act of degradation and a bending of their principles than a fulfillment of their filial duty. Tasan worried most whether they had begun to display the ignominy of character that was the sign of a ruined family, but the young face in front of him betrayed no such baseness, no trace of gloom; it expressed only strength and integrity. He wondered at the source of that glow, that cheerfulness, which he was unable to see on the faces of his sons, or on those of his disciples.
I think it's about time you got married and had sons and daughters. It is a filial duty to your mother. Don't you agree with me?
I am not to be married, Ha-sang answered quietly.
Then, you, you Tasan searched for words.
Ha-sang continued in a still hushed voice, I have too many things to do. I have no time to have children. Mother gave me her willing consent.
What is it then that you have to do which is so important, more urgent than having a family?
His soft, clear face tensed, and then with a lowered voice Ha-sang answered, I have to travel to Peking.
Tasan almost jumped up from his seat. What did you say just now? To Peking, did you say, to Peking? Why?
We have to bring a Catholic priest here.
Tasan's heart stopped. His low voice now bore added force. You don't know the enormity of what you are saying. Did you come here just to tell me such a preposterous thing?
That's not all for which I have come. I wanted to see you. I
have heard so much about you. Ha-sang looked at his uncle's face, dazzled as though looking at something blindingly bright.
True to the stories he had heard, Ha-sang thought his uncle's eyebrows were different from those of any other men. They said such eyebrows were called three brows. Tasan had recovered almost scarless from smallpox. However, one tiny scar just above his right eyebrow divided it in two, which, together with the left eyebrow, made it look as if he had three brows. Having heard so much about the brows, they gave him a feeling of familiarity as he now looked at his uncle. They looked more distinguished than his uncle's celebrated sideburns and beard. Such an abnormality might well have been considered a deformity on others. On Tasan, however, there was nobility rather than discord in the long, thick brows.
Ha-sang had heard much about his uncle, for Tasan was a man of such esteem that there were numerous stories about him. Since even his relatives shunned Ha-sang like a plague, a son of the beheaded heretic, he played in the servants' quarters, where he felt more comfortable even though it was windowless, dank, filthy, and foul-smelling. In a household where the masters lived in quiet seclusion and sorrow as the families of treasonous brothers, one executed and the other two banished, in the servants' quarters, too, there were no frequent gatherings of neighborhood servants. However, an old servant, Sok, who had been with the family for generations, had a few acquaintances, and they came to pay their respects to him as the elder among them. Sok alone treated Ha-sang as a young master and cared for him, while even others of the servant class despised him. It was this old man, young Ha-sang's only solace, who told him the family history with pride. Among the many stories he related, the most interesting was about Tasan's wedding day.
Mischievous tricks customarily accompanied weddings. The groom, as he dismounted from his horse, would walk to the wild geese table, which was covered with a crimson cloth, and make a deep bow in front of it. Then, placing a pair of carved wooden geese, the symbol of conjugal bliss, on the table, he would again make a deep bow and step onto the carpet provided for the groom, which was spread on the path from the table to the ceremonial hall. Before his arrival, playful youths from the bride's family would place rocks, millet stalks, or some such rough objects under the carpet to cause
the young groom, in the full formal attire of the ceremony, to stumble. If caught unguarded, he would fall, delighting the anticipant spectators, who burst into laughter.
Even before meeting the young groom, a cousin of the bride, Hong Tae-ho, a prodigy himself, had been scheming to play such a trick on Tasan. Suppressing a gleeful smile, he was waiting for his new in-law, whose reputation as a child genius was well known. Not yet fully grown, an adolescent of fourteen, Tasan was a tiny bridegroom. The bride's family was dumbfounded when he appeared at the nuptial ceremony. He looked too young and too small for his age. It was as if a child actor in full regalia had appeared on stage. But the groom, clever as he was small, anticipated the antic at his first step, and with his head held high walked on, pushing away the rocks with his feet, and finally reached the hall without missing a step. It was Hong who stumbled in front of the terrace stone as he led the bridegroom to the hall, waving his arms right and left in a ceremonious gesture, which caused delighted laughter among the spectators.
Hong loved this precocious young in-law. He thought to himself, How could a fellow as tiny as a jujube seed have amassed so much knowledge for one so young, and distinguished himself in the composition of poetry? Why don't I test his literary genius? Hong shouted at Tasan with patronizing admiration, Look here, groom, since your ability to compose poetry is so celebrated, how about matching my rhymes and ideograms?
I expected a brother-in-law,
But what I see is a three-foot child
What is this but a midget's trick?
To this quip, Tasan answered, smiling, with a sonorous voice:
I expected the grandson of a mighty gentleman,
But what I see is a fool's son
What is this but a devil's farce?
Everyone present was struck with admiration. I still remember vividly how pleased was the old master of the bride's household. Sok's eyes were full of longing. It's all because they studied so hard. You, too, my young master, must make an effort to study. This old servant watched with his own eyes how hard His Excellency
studied. Being so intelligent by nature and studying so diligently was like adorning a beautiful woman with flowers. Even though he suffers hardship now, he is still this generation's greatest man of letters.
Then Sok told Ha-sang the way Tasan went about acquiring knowledge.
Tasan was a young boy of barely twelve, with a thick plait of hair swinging behind his back. A scholar on his way to the capital to take the civil service examination happened to pass him on a mountain path, leading a heavily loaded donkey. Struck by the uncommon brightness in the boy's eyes, the scholar asked, Whose young master are you and where are you heading?
I am the fourth son of the Minister Chong of Majae. I am on my way home.
And what are those on the donkey?
Books. I borrowed them from my uncle's place, the boy answered, smiling sweetly.
Who reads all those books?
I do. I borrowed them for myself, he replied nonchalantly, still smiling.
They parted, and days later, dejected after failing the examination, the scholar immediately headed for his home. As he was walking on the same path he had taken before, he saw the young lad he had seen on his way to the capital. Just as before, he was leading the donkey with a full load on its back. Ah! We meet again, the scholar said.
How are you sir? the boy greeted him affably. You are returning home so soon?
Yes. I cannot stay in a place not my own for too long. But, what is that on the donkey this time?
The books. I am returning the books I borrowed.
Why? Does the owner want them back so soon?
No. I have read them all. I am returning them so I can borrow some more. They have so many more books. Again a smile lit up young Tasan's face; he had read all the books in less than ten days.
His Excellency worked so hard. Young master, you too must honor his example, the old servant entreated Ha-sang.
Except for his scorned, widowed mother, no one looked after young Ha-sang, and consequently at the age of ten he had not
learned The Thousand Characters, a primer of Chinese characters for children. A woman of wisdom and virtue, his mother worried about Ha-sang's education day and night.
Ha-sang, instead of going to the servants' quarters all the time, why don't you go visit your cousins and study with them?
They give me dirty looks.
Of course. You are still too young for them. You must study even if it means looking over their shoulders.
They shout at me to get out.
You must endure all hardships. You must never forget how your father died. You have a mission, a holy mission, indeed. For this, you must study.
Why did my father die? What was he like?
He was a saint of a man. For Jesus Christ he was martyred. Her face was solemn, and her voice stern.
But everyone torments me, saying I am a heretic's son.
They say such things because they are ignorant. Don't blame them; just uphold your principles. Before it gets too late, let us offer our evening prayers. The mother took out a rosary from her bosom.
Kneeling on a straw mat on the floor of the shed blackened with pinewood soot, this family of three, the mother, Ha-sang, and Chong-hye, offered prayers morning and night. The books of religious creeds and prayers having been confiscated, and without fellow believers around them, they were ignorant of Catholic ritual. They merely repeated what the mother still remembered. In those moments, when her roughened hands joined together in singleminded devotion, her eyes were always filled with tears. The brother and sister recited the prayers devoutly, though the meaning was unintelligible to them. They forgot for a time the poverty and persecution they endured daily, for this was the only time that their hearts were joined together.
They loved their mother most when she was filled with peace, even though her face was streaked with tears. In offering prayers, she was meticulous, never shortening or omitting any passages. Reciting the Three Mysteries, her voice was passionate, intoning the Lord's Prayer, solemn, and her Hail Mary was ardent. Their mother taught them to believe in the existence of the one who looked over them in their sufferings, and to praise and offer gratitude for such a being. Clothed in tatters as they were, the young siblings betrayed
neither poverty of spirit nor servility. On the contrary, their faces were always cheerful and at peace.
Ha-sang was twelve years old when he learned for the first time about his father from someone other than a family member. Taking after his uncle Tasan, he had been slow in growth, and at the age of twelve, he looked no bigger than eight. It was autumn then. The neighborhood urchins gathered together to steal some ripening soybeans from a field ready for harvesting. As the day of the Harvest Moon neared, the soybean plants were heavy, their pods bursting. The children uprooted whole stalks and roasted the beans on a boulder on the hillside, hidden from view. The tender, juicy, fresh beans tasted swooningly delicious for these rascals, but more important, the raidsin early spring of wheat fields and in early autumn of soybeanswere childhood games of unforgettable joy and seasonal pleasure.
Because soybean plants did not grow tall, if a big boy crawled close to the ground among them, he could be seen, but if a child was too young, he might not be strong enough to pull them up by the roots. That task fell on Ha-sang; the raids were the only time these village pranksters included him in their play. Old enough to be strong, yet small and agile, he was perfectly suited for their purpose, and he, in turn, wanted to hear them say how well he had done the job. Since he was so often alone, the pleasure of their company made him forget the commandment that had been sternly instilled in him by his devout mother: Thou shalt not steal. Indeed, it did not seem an act of theft so much as a game of much fun and daring. However, retribution struck him. Suddenly, the owner of the field appeared. The other children fled as they spotted the owner, while Ha-sang alone, unaware of his approach, was caught in the act. The memory of the humiliation and bitterness would remain in his mind the rest of his life. Though it had been a mere child's game, his aunts, who had always ignored him before, became fiercely agitated by the incident, heaping upon him the words heretic's son.
Ha-sang's mother was summoned. The fourth aunt, Tasan's wife, was the most vicious in her accusation.
Sister-in-law, whose fault is it that this illustrious household has come to this pass? It's all because of that cursed Catholic faith. If your husband had confessed and repented his wrongs at the time of
the persecution in 1801, as our second brother-in-law and my husband did, we could all have been spared this wretched fate. You may not realize it, but we all know that in the morning and evening you chant some kind of incantation. Is it your intention to drive us into complete ruination? Are you so bitter because we are still holding onto this shred of dignity? She was hysterical. Because of her husband's position, she had enjoyed the capital life-style and had the taste of the fame that accompanied her husband's official position.
Her son's behavior was causing her infinite sorrow, and Ha-sang's mother was unable to speak.
The second sister-in-law, Yak-chon's wife, continued prudently, At his age, he should be married soon. Certainly he is too old to be getting into trouble with low-born children. Even though our family has become what we are now, how dare he behave like some commoner?
Tasan's wife again spoke in consternation. Sister, you never seem to come to your senses. You let your son rummage in the soybean field, mixing with the commoner brats! What next? A still greater disaster? Either you must go away, or we should move elsewhere. We must come to a decision.
It was now the eldest sister-in-law's turn. The wife of Yak-hyon, she had so far been silent.
Master Hwang Sa-yong, at the age of sixteen, in the presence of the king, took a first place in the Lower Level Examination, and had the honor of having his hand stroked by a royal hand. His death, his unspeakable deathI have been afraid to say this, but I must nowyour husband was responsible for it. He was sure to pass the Higher Level Examination and after that, his success in the government would have been assured. And, such a man to meet such a fate She could not finish. That poor, poor woman, my stepdaughter, was exiled to a remote land as the wife of a treasonous heretic, and has become, I hear, a slave. The child has been abandoned in Ch'uja Island. Who knows if it is still alive? She touched her eyes with the ties of her blouse. She had conveniently forgotten her cruel treatment of her stepdaughter, the wife of Hwang Sa-young: she had not even allowed the family into her house when they returned to Majae.
Tasan's wife continued the unyielding attack. You are so right.
He brought ruination not only upon the Chong clan but on his inlaw's family as well. He lured Master Hwang, who had been devoting himself to preparation for the civil service examination, into that cursed Catholicism. My heart is seared at the thought of that poor lady, the mother of Master Hwang, widowed young, and her son born after the death of her husband. Her only wish in life was to see her son rise to a high position. I heard she has been exiled to Koje Island. I wonder if she is alive or dead.
Ha-sang's mother stood in silence, her head bowed. In reality, their accusations seemed altogether correct. Because her husband had upheld the Catholic faith, an act of high treason, he and Hwang Sa-yong had cruelly met martyrdom, and his two brothers, because of their involvement with the religion, had been banished to remote islands. She understood the reasons for the consternation of her sisters-in-law. Tasan's wife was right when she said that Yak-chong had been responsible for extinguishing the life of young Sa-yong, for whom worldly fame was within reach.
Hwang Sa-yong was born soon after the death of his father, Sokpom. Studying as a disciple of Yak-chong, he was a student of great promise. At the young age of sixteen, when he received first place in the Lower Level Examination, King Chongjo, filled with royal pleasure at a scholar of such tender age, commanded Sa-yong to come forward, whereupon he stroked his hand, an unprecedented royal act beyond court protocol.
When you reach the age of nineteen, we wish you to stay with us in our presence, the king told him. Thus heralded by glory and great expectation, his future success seemed firmly assured. Sa-yong shed tears of gratitude. For the rest of his life, he kept a red silk brocade scarf wrapped around his left wrist, the one that had been caressed by the royal hand.
Having passed the Lower Level Examination, one could either become a lower grade bureaucrat or be admitted to the National Confucian Academy. The Higher Level Examination was the prerequisite to higher office. Showing no inclination to enter the academy, Sa-yong stayed in Majae to prepare for the Higher Level Examination under the tutelage of Yak-chong. At first, Yak-chong advised Sa-yong to enter the academy, discreetly declining to tutor him on the pretext that he had nothing further to teach him, but at Sa-yong's persistent entreaty he reluctantly consented to keep him.
Good fortune continued in Sa-yong's life. A marriage had been arranged between him and Nan-ju, the eldest daughter of the eldest Chong brother, Yak-hyon. With a beautiful wife at his side and now the son-in-law of an illustrious family, Sa-yong worked even harder. As the only son of a widowed mother, he felt obliged to pass the examination at the earliest possible date in order to please her, whose only wish in life had been to see him rise in the world and attain fame. He made great progress in his studies. His innate intelligence and hard work assured his successful passing of the examination.
However, Yak-chong's mind was in turmoil. He was torn with doubt whether his student, untainted by such worldly success, should be thrust into the blind pursuit of fame, as illusory and fleeting as a floating cloud, where lurked the entrapments set by those who harbored jealousy and greed. The path would be strewn with the pitfalls of vicious factional strife. Yak-chong did not want to let this youth of impeccable character throw himself into such a path. Witnessing the sufferings of his two brothers, Yak-chon and Tasan, Yak-chong had seen how these men of character had not been able to free themselves from the ambition for power and fame. They had forsaken the scholarly, more primary and higher values only to be mired in the turbid current of mundane affairs. Now what fate would await this unblemished youth? Such a life might well be preserved mounted on a hanging scroll, like priceless writings on pristine paper, but this young man was wasting his youth in pursuit of the rainbow of hollow fame. Pity and regret for Sa-yong seized upon him.
On the other hand, Sa-yong could not comprehend his teacher's mind. Though he felt a profound admiration for his teacher's encyclopedic erudition, he questioned why Yak-chong was reluctant to take upon himself the responsibility of entering public office to counsel the throne of a benevolent government.
Yak-chong was quite different from the other distinguished Chong brothers, less rigid and introspective than Yak-hyon and lacking the refinement of Yak-chon or the brilliance of Tasan. He was prudent and sincere, a man of sober habit. Always gentle in his countenance and bearing, he treated everyone equally, which made Yak-hyon, a man of conservative values, grimace in displeasure. At a time when the line between legitimate and illegitimate offspring
was severely drawn, his illegitimate brother felt comfortable enough with Yak-chong to address him as brother, although he could address the rest of his family members only by their official titles. Stories of Yak-chong's egalitarian spirit were circulated among the people. It was said that in his household everyone ate at the same table and that he once carried home on his back a servant's child who had fallen from a tree. The other brothers disliked such behavior. You must not confuse a clearcut division of hierarchical order. The family reputation must be considered, Yak-hyon would chide him.
As the saying goes, a novice thief is unaware of daybreak: it is because he is a recent convert that he really practices what Catholicism teaches. A bitter smile rose to Yak-chon's lips, who had become a Catholic before anyone else and had also been the first to renounce it.
He has no need to go that far. Tasan, too, was uncomfortable; a sharp needle of conscience was pricking him, for he had renounced his faith at the same time as Yak-chon.
Until then, Sa-yong had not come in contact with Catholicism; he had been too preoccupied in preparing for the civil service examination. But one day Sa-yong had to visit his teacher unannounced, having encountered some difficulty in his reading. He made his presence known, but there was no answer from inside. Since the steward had informed him that Yak-chong was in the study alone, he waited awhile on the threshold stone. Master, he called out, but no stirring came from within. He went into the main hall and opened the paper sliding door ever so gently. He saw Yak-chong's body swaying almost imperceptibly left and right; his lips were quivering. Unaware of Sa-yong's presence, Yak-chong was singlemindedly reciting something. The solemnity of his face prevented Sa-yong from saying a word; he could neither speak to him nor leave him, but stood transfixed. Still unaware of Sa-yong's presence, Yak-chong made the sign of the cross with his right hand over his chest, and finally opened his eyes. Seeing Sa-yong, he was perturbed for a moment, but soon composed himself and said serenely, Sorry to have made you wait so long.
After the incident, there was no change in Yak-chong's attitude. Sa-yong made great strides in his studies. However, he often recalled the incident; his teacher certainly must be in the process of
acquiring some strange magic, he thought to himself. The face, aweinspiring in its intensity of purpose, the quivering lips reciting some indecipherable incantation, and the strange symbol he had made across his chest, all caused curiosity, wonder, and apprehension in Sa-yong's mind.
Another day soon after, Sa-yong again witnessed the same scene. This time, Yak-chong, though aware of his presence, did not stop what he was doing. Everything was just as he had seen it last time, the solemn face, pursed lips, the sign of the cross on his chest; however, this time there was no sign of perturbation in Yak-chong's eyes when he opened them momentarily. You must have waited for a long time, he said, just as calmly as before.
After having observed the same scene three times, Sa-yong could no longer suppress his curiosity. He had to find out. My esteemed teacher, who are you? What is it that you are doing? he asked, coming straight to the point.
Yak-chong smiled gently. He closed his eyes again and remained so for a long time. When he opened his eyes, his face was weighed down with an expression of majesty, determination, and beatitude. He opened a chest, took out a book, and handed it to Sa-yong. On the oiled-paper cover was written in Chinese, True Principles of Catholicism. For the time being, Sa-yong put aside the books he had been reading in preparation for the examination. For three days and three nights, without sleep or food, he was totally consumed by a book that he had never known existed. It brought him new, wondrous insight, even though many things in it were unintelligible and unconvincing to him. On the fourth day, Sa-yong sought out his teacher. At first glance, Yak-chong understood the turmoil in his mind. During the past few days, Sa-yong had become unrecognizably emaciated. In his pale face his bloodshot eyes burned. It was the face of someone who was in the midst of a conflict born of the astonishment and shock of new discovery, a face that spoke of the intertwined emotions of anguish, longing, and joy.
I have so far lived without being aware of the existence of such a book. What is it that disturbs my whole being like this? Is it because I am so inspired by the discovery of new truth? Or am I merely being sucked into some mire of confusion by the capricious writing? I do not understand the meaning of all this.
Yak-chong shut his eyes, sensing a glow, glorious as sunrise, filling them.
Sa-yong advanced his query desperately. What is God? What is the meaning of the Trinity? The book tells us that God is the Holy Trinity, that is, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. How is it possible that the three become one, and one three? The idea of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ is absurd. And how about the notion of Immaculate Conception? How is it possible that a virgin can be impregnated without a man's intervention and bring forth a human child, the only son of God?
Yak-chong's eyes remained closed. In Sa-yong's voice, he heard his own echoing down the years from the time when he had first read the book. It was as though he were confronting himself once again, that young man who, struggling to comprehend, had been overwhelmed by the same powerful force. His brothers seemed to have grasped the truth in a flash with the help of the passionate and eloquent persuasion of Yi Pyok, the brother-in-law of Yak-chon. However, he had been modest and prudent in his acceptance of the teachings. For several years, he had struggled, questioning and meditating in order to understand. He had lost interest in everything but the Catholic dogmas. He had sent away all his disciples. His lonely and painful pursuit continued for several years, but his heart was filled with gladness. Finally, he had come to accept the Catholic religion in its entirety.
Yak-chong corrected his posture, fixed his eyes upon Sa-yong, and finally answered his young student. It was the first of many lectures, lucid and rich in allusions, quoting freely from his deep knowledge of the Confucian classics, which facilitated Sa-yong's understanding. Yak-chong had written a book entitled A Summary of Catholic Teaching, which the Chinese Father Chou Wen-mu had praised as far superior to many books written in China on Catholicism. Sa-yong's enthusiasm was so great that he completely abandoned the study of the classics, which he had been reading in preparation for the examination. He renounced gladly, too, the world of wealth and fame that lay before him; instead, by 1801, he had chosen the path to a spiritual life.
At about this time, a rumor began circulating that the Korean Christians were scheming to ask certain Western nations to send naval forces to take over the country. The authorities were unable
to determine the source of the rumor. They made a desperate effort to arrest Chou Wen-mu, who had eluded them in the past. The bloody pursuit of the converts spread throughout the nation, accompanied by inhuman atrocities. Many prominent Catholics met with cruel punishment, were forced to denounce their faith, or were banished. Witnessing the intolerable suffering of his flock, Father Chou Wen-mu voluntarily surrendered himself and was beheaded. However, the persecution only grew in intensity.
Finally, in Chinju, Yu Kwan-kom was arrested as one of the conspirators, and under severe torture he was forced to make a false confession. Armed with this confession, the authorities mounted a great manhunt in search of Hwang Sa-yong, suspected of being responsible for the plan. He was finally traced to his hiding place in a subterranean potters' cave in Paeron. Hwang Sa-yong was in possession of a long letter he had written on silk, addressed to Bishop Alexandre de Gouvia in Peking, that reported the persecution of the Catholics in Korea and proposed the measures he believed would deliver the faithful from persecution; foremost among them was a plea to the Western nations to dispatch their military forces to compel the Korean government to grant religious freedom. The Silk Letter, as it came to be known, was a missive sixty-two centimeters long by thirty-six wide containing more than thirteen thousand letters. It would never reach its destination. The government, enraged at the enormity of the message contained in the letter, ordered that Sa-yong be hacked to pieces, and Yak-chong be executed. In the aftermath, Tasan and Yak-chon were imprisoned. Once cleared of involvement in the plot, they were sent into banishment again, Tasan to Kangjin, and Yak-chon to Huksan Island.
The incident of the soybean field marked a turning point in Hasang's life. Although he could endure the evil castigation and insults of his aunts, the boy of twelve had no way of alleviating the sorrow of his mother. As soon as he was released from the frantic clutches of the women, he ran to the comfort of the old servant, Sok. His mother followed him, begging and threatening him to get him out of the servants' quarters, but he stubbornly refused. Giving up the effort and sighing heavily, she returned to her room. Ha-sang buried his head between his knees and sobbed bitterly, until he felt the touch of a rough hand first on his ears and then caressing his hair. Soon, he heard the old man begin to talk in a croaking voice. Young
master, you must not feel sad. You may be young yet, but you are the son of a noble and distinguished man. You must lift your head up high and be proud.
Ha-sang looked up in amazement, Old man, you are saying that my father was not an evil man? Many a time young Ha-sang was plunged into confusion. His mother followed devoutly the religion everyone else denounced as heretical. She told him that his father was a truly noble man whom everyone cursed and abused, and that he must honor his father's will. In spite of what his mother told him, he could not understand why his first uncle never let him come near him, condemning him for being the son of the one who had brought ruination upon the family.
The servant shook his head violently. Of course not. There never lived a man like him, compassionate and gentle, always aware of the suffering of others, even those low-borns. This wretched servant, too, owes much to him.
Ha-sang stopped crying, Old man, please tell me more about my father. I want to be sure that he was never a wicked man.
Yes, of course. I will. I certainly will.
After clearing his throat a few times, Sok continued the story. First of all, I must tell you about his honorable countenance. If you want to know how he looked, you are only to behold His Excellency's face. Only two years apart, they looked like twins. He was a tall, truly handsome man, and his earlobes, too, were ample, a sure sign of longevity. But he never lived beyond forty-two he sighed. And on his temple there was a black mole which His Excellency does not have. It was just like yours on your temple, in the same spot With his thick finger, he touched the mole gently. Ha-sang, too, traced it; he could feel it there. For the first time he came to realize its existence, for he had never looked into a mirror. Occasionally he gazed at his distorted reflection on the surface of water, but he had no desire to know how he looked. Now that he knew about the mole, it seemed wonderful and amusing.
The old man coughed, and continued, Young master, perhaps you may remember men by the names of Han-bin and Il-gwang, who were stewards in your household? Although Han-bin was lowborn, the son of a seamstress, he was an upright man. At the time of the persecution, he brought your family back here to Majae from the capital.
Oh yes. I do remember him.
Han-bin had removed the family, reduced to beggary after Yak-chong was beheaded, to the safety of Majae. He worked tirelessly for the church and was executed at the time of the Silk Letter incident. Ha-sang still remembered the broad back that had carried him. Your father even took meals with him from the same table. He never discriminated against anyone because of his station in life.
The lamplight flickered. The old man turned up the wick and went on. That's not all. Il-gwang was the son of a butcher, a man from the most despised class in the world. He was originally from Hongju, but he could not endure the discrimination and moved to Kyongsang Province. Even there, they found out who he was, and he was about to leave the place when your father rescued him. He became a convert and was baptized as Alexandre. Your father treated him as an equal even though he was so low-born.
What happened to him?
He was sent back to his hometown, and there he was executed. He was caught on his way to buy some firewood. It was said that he did not show the slightest sign of fear. He shouted at the soldiers, I, a magistrate of Namwon, was transferred here to Okch'on. Indeed, what a paradise this Okch'on is
Ha-sang's eyes widened; he was unable to catch the joke. Sok let out a laugh with his throat full of phlegm, making a sound of gusty wind, and explained, He was playing the word-game of Chinese and Korean puns. You see, the Chinese ideograms for Namwon have the same sound as the Korean word for wood and for Okch'on the same as prison. Having been treated so badly because of his low birth, he was happy to have been treated as an equal since his conversion. In the district office when he was arrested, he shouted with pride, I have two paradises; one is the church on earth, and the other the eternal paradise in Heaven! It's all because he was so deeply touched by your father's benevolence.
Usually a man of few words, Sok was talkative that day. Ha-sang wondered if he, too, might not have been a secret convert. The old man continued, still coughing, Your family was celebrated for producing many scholars of great accomplishment. They were handsome men, too. Your father, though not in public office, was well known for his high learning, no less so than His Excellency. Although he never took the civil service examination himself, do
you realize how many of his many disciples passed the Higher Level Examination? So, scholars from all over the country gathered around him.
Ha-sang could not remember anything that the old man told him.
So, young master, you must now study. How is it possible that a son of such a man cannot read at your age?
His heart, which had been filled with pride listening to the old man, suddenly sank in shame. He mumbled as though to himself, I, too, want to be able to read books.
Afterward, his mind was never again clouded or troubled with pain, but the desire for learning increased as each day went by.
Now, facing his uncle, an eminent scholar, Ha-sang was ashamed of his illiteracy. Tasan, too, wondered how it had come about that, though he had tried desperately and obsessively to make sure that his own sons were being well-educated, the thought of Ha-sang's course of life had never entered his mind, even though his nephew shared a kinship no less close than that of his own sons and brothers. He could not suppress the surging sense of guilt, though he vehemently resisted it. Ha-sang's voice, so full of love for his uncle, whipped his conscience. With an infinite longing, Ha-sang looked at Tasan's face, said to be a twin of his father's. Sok had told him that if one were to take away the three brows from the face of Tasan and put the black mole on the temple, it would be the face of his father. Father, Ha-sang shouted in his heartmy father, my great father.
Tasan's face betrayed his fear lest he once again become disturbed, and lose his hard-earned peace of mind. Ironically, he had turned his misfortune into advantage. In prison or in exile, his life constantly in danger, he sent letters to his sons. Alone between heaven and earth, he wrote, my fate was so decreed that books and writing brush alone sustain my existence.
Having lost his mother at the age of nine, Tasan had moved often with his father, a district official; he was only fourteen when he went to the capital to study. Looking back, he felt that he had acquired a superficial knowledge in many areas but had accomplished very little of substance. In preparing for the Lower Level Examination and in High College, he had only learned definitions of words or studied belles lettres, the main requirements for passing the Higher Level Examination, but this did not constitute true scholarship.
Moreover, since entering public life during a time of turmoil, Tasan had had no time to spare for the pursuit of learning. It was only in exile that he was able to devote his time and energy to meditation, writing, and reading. The destitution and loneliness of his exiled life finally freed him to question, analyze, and comment upon what he had studied. His tragedy had brought him unexpected opportunity and leisure. Thus, he was later considered as the one who left more writings behind than any scholar since the introduction of Chinese characters. This passion for learning had been Tasan's fate as well as his mission. No one, nothing must now disturb such a calm. He was absolutely unwilling to let anything once again entangle him in a messy affair. Therefore, now, to this chaste young nephew, toward whom he had begun to feel affection, Tasan acted heartlessly without being aware of it.
Ha-sang was already determined; he was neither saddened nor resentful. He had known since early childhood the meaning of rejection and persecution. He spoke calmly, At present, the churches are in a pitiful state. Almost everyone with advanced learning and high moral repute has been sacrificed; the only Catholic priest we had has been martyred. Only the weak, women, and children remain. We don't know where to go. It is urgent that we bring a priest here to lead the church, now torn like shreds of paper, to look after our souls.
The church, the priest, martyrdom, soulTasan trembled at these words, which he wished he would never again have to hear for the rest of his life. With clenched fists, he sprang to his feet, saying, I don't wish to hear any more. Go away immediately. When you return to the capital, do not ever again be part of such a throng. I forbid you to bring further ruination upon our family with such a false belief. Tasan's voice was low, fearing someone might overhear him, but each word carried the weight of his strength.
Ha-sang, a shadowy presence, still sitting with his back against the door, went on undaunted. Soon the annual emissary to Peking will be leaving. Our plan is to send a secret messenger among them, who will deliver a letter to the bishop of Peking explaining the situation of the Korean churches and asking him to send us a priest. My fourth father, I beseech you. There is no one left in our church with learning enough to write that letter. Please write us a letter
that will move the bishop. Save our wretched people. Ha-sang was sobbing now, his head pressed to the ground.
The sight did not touch Tasan with pity. Anger only grew in him. Leave here at once, he said. I have heard enough of your outrageous talk. I have no more patience. Do you want to see the Chong clan driven into total extinction? Tasan was out of breath with rage. Why? Who gave you, a mere bachelor not yet twenty, this awesome task?
I did not come here alone.
What? Who else came with you?
I came with Francesco, our leader.
Where is the man now?
We had to stop once before arriving here. He did not show up at the place we had agreed to meet. In order to prevent our paths from crossing, he is to stay where he is.
You must not let it happen again. Go immediately to him. You must not let him come here.
Fourth father
Do what I say right now. You are an outrageous and wicked boy. So, you are going to Peking, a mere stripling like you?
I am not going this time. I am not only too young, but also illiterate. I cannot even write my own name. However, I am determined someday to go to Peking; I shall study for that day. Please help us.
An illiterate who cannot even write his own namean heir to a family with a reputation for scholarly virtue. Stunned, Tasan was speechless. Ha-sang handed his silent uncle a pouch wrapped in white paper.
Elizabeth made this for you. The old servant, Sok, told us that you wore spectacles. She embroidered it with much love and care.
Elizabeth?
Yes. My younger sister. My older sister died a few years ago.
She shouldn't have gone to the trouble, Tasan said icily.
Then I shall leave immediately as you command. But I will come again with Francesco.
Tasan, raising his voice, slid open the door behind Ha-sang. Ha-sang, if you insist upon mentioning such grotesque names to me, I shall never want to see you again! Never come back here. Ha-sang followed his uncle into the inner courtyard. The sky, the tranquil
sea, and the silvery tassels of reeds, everything was enveloped in a pinkish hue. A flock of migrating birds was flying through the twilight like a drift of smoke. The scarlet setting sun, quivering in flame, hesitated for a second, and then suddenly sank, leaving no trace. Twilight lingered on for a while after the sunset, but it soon trailed off into a lavender wisp.
The heavy fragrance of citrus hung in the air. Ha-sang was no longer able to appreciate the dreamlike loveliness of the sun setting in the sea. He waited for his uncle, who contemplated the scene before him. When Tasan turned around, Ha-sang bowed deferentially. He stood up and spoke feebly. I am leaving for today. I will return.
When Ha-sang lifted his face, the twilight's last glow reflected upon it. Tasan had a sudden impulse to shout, My brother!for he saw his brother standing there with all the features he remembered as a young man, even the black mole on his temple.
An icy arrow passed through his spine, an echo of love, a cry of the blood. Without thinking about what he was doing, Tasan grasped his nephew's rough hands. It's too late now. It's better you leave tomorrow after a good night's rest.
Continues...
Excerpted from Encounterby Mu-Suk Han Copyright © 1992 by Mu-Suk Han. Excerpted by permission.
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