Classical Writings of Korean Women

Translation Copyright Š 2007 Kyung-Nyun Kim Richards & Steffen F. Richards Edited by Alice Paul All rights reserved. All texts thus made available are for personal use only and may not be reproduced commercially without permission from both the original copyright holder and Literature Translation Institute of Korea.

Digitally published by the Literature Translation Institute of Korea in 2016.

LTI Korea, 112 Gil-32, Yeongdong-daero(Samseong-dong), Gangnam-gu, Seoul, 06083, Korea www.ltikorea.org eISBN 9791187947356 Cover design by David Drummond

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

There are many we wish to thank and acknowledge for their help in bringing this work to completion: Ms. Seung Hyun Ha, Researcher at the Korean Classical Translation Institute, in Seoul, Korea for her generous help in the reading of the original text, and Ms. Sze Yun Liu, formerly of Dept. of East Asian Languages at UC Berkeley, for her help with the Romanization of Chinese geographical, personal, and other proper names.

This translation was partially supported by a grant from the Literature Translation Institute of Korea.

We wish to acknowledge not only their support but also the extraordinary patience that they demonstrated during this prolonged project. Ms. Inha Oh of the Institute has been instrumental in overseeing the completion of this work. For that, we are most grateful.

Kyung-Nyun Kim Richards Steffen F. Richards

P art I Short Writings

Eulogy for a Needle

Lady Yu*

On this day in a month and year according to the zodiac calendar, the widow X dedicates this short eulogy to you, My Needle.

In the hands of womenfolk, the one

indispensable thing is a needle. However, they are not deemed to be very precious, because they are everywhere. Small though a needle may be, I grieve for it as I do because of how much it means to me.

Alas, how excruciating is my grief! I miss you and feel sorry for you. It has been twenty-seven years since you came to me and have been in my hands. How could I feel otherwise?

I am sad. Wiping my tears and collecting myself body and soul, I write down quickly what you have done and how I have felt about it, to make good our farewell.

Years ago, my uncle on my husband’s side was appointed envoy to China on the occasion of the winter solstice. On his return from Peking, he gave me a number of packets of needles. I sent some to my family, some to my kinfolk whether distant or close, and some to each and every servant and maid of ours. Owing to unusual misfortune, I broke or lost quite a few of the needles, but you were the only one I managed to hang on to over these many years. Even though you could never know of it, how can I not help but love you and be undone by your absence? I miss you dearly, I feel sorry for you, and I am filled with grief.

My lot has been unlucky, and so I had no child; my life miserable but steadfast, and so I did not die young; our family’s wealth so exhausted, that I took up needlework, and so you helped me to forget my woes and, in no small way, to make a career for myself. Today, alas, I must bid you farewell! The ghosts were jealous, and heaven must have hated me. I miss you, Precious

Needle, my Beautiful Needle. You had an air of mystery and extraordinary wit. You were the very best of the best. Your strength and honesty are the measure of faithfulness, for all times.

Your beak, thin as the hair of an animal in autumn, seemed able to speak, and your unerring ear seemed able to hear. As I embroidered the phoenixes and peacocks on satin and sheer silk-organdy, it seemed that the agility and prodigious skill that came from you came only with divine help. How could human endeavor ever compare?

Oh, how I mourn for you so deeply! A child is precious, but can, at times, be let go of; and a servant, obedient though he may be, will, at times, disobey.

When I consider the

mysterious talent you have of responding always to my every wish, I realize you surpass child and servant. I had a silver case made that was decorated with enameling in five colors, and wore it on the inside tie of my jacket, as a sort of accessory. I touched it whenever I ate and whenever I lay down. You became a friend. During the summer, behind beaded blinds, or in winter beside the oil lamp, I quilted and sewed, using running, whip, back, and rolling-stitches, with double strands of thread. At such times, you seemed to have the tail of a phoenix in every stitch, your head and tail working in harmony, closing every seam. Your accomplishments were infinite.

I had been hoping to live a hundred years with you, but, alas, sadly, Dearest Needle, on the tenth day of the tenth month this year, in the Hour of the Dog, I was attaching the collar of a gentleman’s ceremonial robe in the dim light of the oil lamp nearby, working without much care, when you snapped and broke in two. I was dumbfounded. How it must have hurt you, Dear Needle, to break in two! I was shocked and upset. My heart was pounding, and I felt as if I had been hit in the head. I gasped and fainted. When I came to, I picked the pieces up, hoping to mend them, but it was pointless. Even with the heaven-sent skills of Dr. Pyon-jak**, you could never live forever and be immortal. I thought of asking the master craftsman of the village to try his hand at mending you, but to what purpose? I feel as though I have lost an arm or a leg, so much do I miss you, Dear Needle. I patted my jacket where you had always been, and there was nothing

there.

Alas, indeed, I grieve for you! My carelessness was to blame. I brought your innocent life to an end. It was like Baek-In’s*** death, and all because of me. Could I ever hope to have your ability and your efficiency, or your exquisite talent? Your supremely beautiful form is vivid(before me, and your marvelous character and talent leave my heart empty. I know you are merely an object, but, heaven willing, we will meet again in our next life to perpetuate our lifelong affection for each other, and to share the joys and sorrows of a hundred years, and to live and die together at the same moment. I am counting on it.

*Exact dates unknown. However, she is presumed to have lived during the reign of King Soon-Jo, the 23rd King of the Choson Dynasty, 1800-1834. **A famous Chinese doctor known to have lived during the period of the Spring and Autumn Warring States (770-221 B.C.). ***Identity unknown. Possibly a corruption of Baek-I, a Chinese hermit and philosopher who lived during the Shang Dynasty (1766-1027 B.C.).

The Record of a Dispute Among the Seven Friends of the Ladies’ Chambers

Anonymous

The so-called Seven Friends of the Ladies’ Chambers are friends of the ladies in a manner similar to the Four Friends, or stationery, of the scholars: the brush, ink-stick, paper, and ink- stone.

Women of the Inner Quarters also have their companions.

Women oftentimes gave nicknames to the things that helped them in their needlework.

The needle was called Miss Slender-Maiden, the yardstick, Lady Kinship, (“yard”and “kinship” sounding alike); the scissors, Miss Decapitator; the small iron, Lady Kindler; the iron, Lady Wailer; and the thread, Blushing Miss Blue-and-Red, Black-and-White; and the thimble, Granny Bonnet.

When the ladies of the Inner Quarters finished their toiletry in the morning, the Seven Friends gathered together to discuss their roles.

One day, the Seven, having gathered, took up a discussion of their merits. The yardstick, showing off her long waist, said, “Pay attention, all of you. When one is making clothes, whether for men or women, using, say, fine silk, or rough silk, or white linen, or fine linen, or gossamer silk, whether it is blue, red, or green, or a heavy silk brocade, how can one figure length and width, seam allowances, and patterns without me? So my contribution in the making of clothes is paramount.'

Miss Decapitator ran up posthaste on her two legs, and said, “Lady Kinship, it doesn’t matter how well you measure cloth. If I don’t cut it, how can it become part of a garment? So don’t boast about your merits, as everything depends on mine and my virtue.”

Bowing at her thin waist, Miss Slender-Maiden, wagging her tongue, said, “My friends,

neither of you make any sense. Even if you had ten bowls of pearls, you could not make any jewelry out of them unless they are strung together. So you’re good at measuring and cutting. What good does that do without me? Except for my speed and nimbleness, how can one make the loose stitching, or the tight, tiny stitches that are used to make fine quilted clothing, or plain quilted things, or thin hems, or robes? Lady Kinship may measure well, and Miss Decapitator slice well, but these skills count as naught unless I am there. So why do you keep bragging about nothing?”

Blushing Miss Blue-and-Red, turning blue and red in the face, said angrily, “Miss Slender-Maiden, your merits are actually mine. Don’t brag. You say you are good, but if it weren’t for me, how could you make a single stitch, or even half a stitch?”

Granny Bonnet smiled and said, “All right, ladies, that’s enough! I am old and use few words. I help in the sewing by protecting fingers from getting hurt. There is an old saying: Better to be a rooster’s beak than a cow’s tail. Blushing Miss Blue-and-Red, you’re always chasing behind Miss Slender-Maiden: what’s there to be proud of in that? Indeed, you’re not doing your face justice. Mine is thick-skinned, as I’m used to being poked by Miss Slender- Maiden’s head. I can endure anything. Enough said.”

Sunrise Over the Eastern Sea

Lady Eui-Yu-Dang*

I was so fearful that we might not be able to watch the sun rise that I could not sleep during the night. I asked Young-Jae several times to query the boatman. His response was that we should certainly have no problem in viewing it in the morning. But I was not altogether convinced, and my impatience grew. When a cock crowed in the distance, I had the kisaeng girls and servants roused from their sleep. A minion of the District Office appeared, informing us: “The Director says it is too early for our departure.”

However, I paid no heed. Even though there was a soup of rice-cake slices, we skipped it and rushed up to Kwi-Gyong-Dae to our viewing spot. The moonlight shone over everything, and the sea gleamed even whiter than it had the previous night. A strong gust of wind cut us to the bone, and the crashing of the waves sounded as if it could move a mountain. Twinkling stars, arrayed in the eastern sky, declared that daybreak was far off. A sleeping child was awakened roughly by the harsh cold. The kisaeng girls' and the servants' teeth were all chattering from the cold. The official on duty there was beside himself and shouted, “No one has ever come this early before! Look what you’ve done! You’ve made all the women and children terribly ill!”

This disturbed me and left me speechless. I did not dare reveal how cold I was, and just sat there as if dead. It seemed the dawn would never come.

I summoned Young-Jae and asked him, “Is the sun coming up?” He replied that it would take a good while. The crashing of the waves was thunderous, and the wind grew bitterly cold. My attendants on either side were so cold that they tucked their chins into their chests, to breathe under their clothing. After a considerable length of time, I noticed that there were fewer stars in the

eastern sky. The moonlight had gradually become faint, and red was clearly in evidence.

As I stepped out of the palanquin, my attendants from both sides, and the kisaeng girls, gathered around me, urging me to have a look. The day was dawning at last, and the red had spread out in the east as if someone had unfurled several bolts of scarlet silk. All at once, the vast blue ocean turned red, filling the sky, and the rage of the pounding waves grew stronger. The water, turned to red silk, was sparkling and dream-like: it was indescribable. As the red intensified, it was reflected on the faces and clothing of those standing before me.

The sea had been extremely turgid and the breakers white as jade during the night, but they were now like red jade, and stretched to the sky. The magnificence of the scene was beyond compare. Red had spread everywhere, and the sea and sky were both a glowing red, and yet the sun was not in sight. The kisaeng girls, patting their hands impatiently, sang: “The sun is up already but is hidden behind the red. And the red will turn to blue, and to clouds.”

Crestfallen, we just wanted to go back. My uncle, and the official, told us, “It’s not true.

You’ll see.” But I-Rang and Cha-Seom snickered, saying, “We’re not new to this: we’ve seen this before, many times, so we know. My Lady, you must hurry back or you will catch your death of cold.”

At this, I got back into the palanquin, and sat down. Bong’s mother yelled, “I know the servants are all saying otherwise, but the sun is just about to rise. Why leave? The young kisaeng girls don’t know a thing. They’re just being ridiculous.”

I-Rang clapped his hands and said, “Pay no attention to them. They don’t know what they’re talking about.” So we told him to find out what the boatman thought. “The boatman said,” he reported, “that the sunrise today is going to be spectacular.”

I got back into the palanquin. Seeing this, Cha-Seom and Bo-Bai went ahead of me.

Three of the woman servants also went ahead.

The red of the sky was glorious, and flickering. I-Rang called out to me in a loud voice, “Look over there, in the water!”

I looked up quickly. Separating the red clouds from the water below was a red line, thick like a thread, the hue of which was so unusual and marvelous. A scarlet spot grew to the size of the palm of a hand. It glowed like a charcoal ember, as dim as the last moon of the month. It gradually emerged, and above it was a small, round chestnut, red like an amber bead. It was clear and transparent; it was more beautiful than any amber bead.

Circles over the red were swirling, and the red grew to the size of a half-sheet of rice paper. The darkness of the night was receding with the coming of daylight. The square grew to the size of a tray, and the red and the brilliance leapt here and there. Red covered the ocean. The earlier red was gradually being replaced, and the sun seemed to dart about in the sky, even more than it had. It was like a large jar, or crock, moving sideways one way and then the other, glistening mysteriously. I was dazzled, and the red split and the sky became clear, as if a tray had been pushed up into the sky from beneath the water, like the wheel of a chariot. The jar, or crock, vanished, and now the red reflected on the surface, elongated like a cow’s tongue, seemed to plunge into the water completely. As the sunlight emerged, the red on the surface of the water gradually faded.

The sunshine was brilliant and lucid. There would be no spectacle like this anywhere in the world. To my way of thinking, the first red, that of the size of a half-sheet of rice paper, was so intense because it held the sun as it was about to be born. The chestnut indeed induced the birth.

The sense of saturation gradually abated. The reason for the jar, or crock, was because of how beautiful the sun was. The spectator was mesmerized to the point where the whole thing seemed an illusion.

*The author of this journal is variously said to be Lady Eui-Yu Dang, Lady Kim of Yon-An Clan, or Lady Nam of Eui-Ryong Clan. The trip occurred on September 17, 1832 (by the lunar calendar), and the journal was written three days later.

Three Laments Lady Kim Sam-Eui-Dang1

A Lament In Memory of Our First Daughter Alas, I am weeping for grief! How long does a human being live once born? Even if he lives to be a hundred, it would not be enough. What about someone who does not even make it to twenty? When a young person dies, even if he has no parents or siblings, his neighbors and relatives cannot help but be shocked and grieve. What would the surviving parents and siblings feel when they are left suddenly some morning? Han Yu and Sip I-Rang of ancient times were uncle and nephew. When you see the lament that the uncle wrote, you can tell their affection for each other was intense, for his language is full of sorrow. So between you and me, daughter and mother, how deep do you suppose our love and language might be?

I began living in Jin-An in the Year of the Rooster. The year after, the Year of the Dog, an epidemic of measles broke out, and the number who died in the area stretching from Seoul to southern Cholla Province was innumerable. In January of the Year of the Wild Boar, measles hit our family, and you fell very sick. But who would have thought that you would die? We were certain you would recover, and it never crossed our minds your illness would grow more serious and you would leave us in the end. Oh, how grieved I am! You lived in this world for only eighteen years, and did not even make it to twenty! You did not even manage to come of age.

Since we did not have any domestic help, you had to help with the cooking and to weave at the loom. You never balked no matter how hard the work, and never shirked difficult chores.

You made every effort to help me, your mother, but I have not done so much as one tenthousandth of the duty I owed you as a mother. This is the reason why I am so much more saddened and grieved, something I cannot describe.

When you became ill, I only thought you would get better. I never thought you would die.

So we did not even try any herbal remedies for you. The day you died, it was cold with wind and

snow. The whole world felt chilled and people seemed to have lost their energy so that they were afraid. There was no one to look after this large empty house of ours and to keep an eye on it.

Your four sisters were also ill with the measles, and I could not carry out my duty to you as your mother. I am so grief-stricken that every bone and joint in my body hurts. But no amount of regret will reverse things. A month after your death, a wedding proposal arrived from Seoul, and I fainted before I had finished unfolding the proposal.

Alas, I am so sad. When a young person dies, there is so much regret and unfulfilled longing, especially in your case when your wedding was forthcoming. Any parent would be saddened and grieved at the loss of a child, but could anyone be as sad as I am?

Ah, it is all over and done. Time goes on, as does life. We let two months go by after your death. We buried you on the eastern slope of Nae-Dong-San, in Dong-San-Dong, on the Day of the Rooster in the leap-month2 of February. Who would have guessed that you, born and raised in the Seo-Bong area of Nam-Won, would end up being buried in the soil of Ma- Ryeong, in JinAn? Alas, I can only wail in my grief. This is all fate, and we cannot put a stop to it. My only wish is that you rest in peace.

Lady Kim Sam-Eui-Dang was born in the Seo-Bong area of Nam-Won, in Cholla Province, in 1769. The year of her death is unknown. She was married to Ha Wook (pen-name, Dam-RakDang), a scholar from the same town. She studied Chinese classics and was good at both poetry and prose. A productive writer, she has left a large body of poetry, letters, correspondence, and essays. Also called an “intercalary month�.

Grieving the Death of Our Third Daughter To live and to die is something that all human beings go through and the longevity of life is not something we can control. How can we consider that moving about for a short time in our life is a joy and returning back at death a sorrow? If you become a cause for worry while living, it is not as good as being dead. If you live a long life but are not a good person, it is probably better to be gone early in life. You were born in May, in the Year of the Tiger, and died the next year, in March of the Year of the Hare. So how many days did you live in this world and how many months were you loved by me, your mother?

I consider your death a blessing and will not mourn. If you had grown up and followed the instructions of your teachers to speak modestly and be gentle in demeanor, had learned to weave hemp into linen, to spin fine thread from cocoons into silk cloth, to sew clothing out of cloth, and to embroider; if you had learned all this woman’s work in the proper manner and suddenly died one day, how great would my sorrow be?

If you had grown up to be an adult and brushed your teeth and washed your face at the first cock-crow in the morning, had tied your hair up in black silk, combed your thick hair, hung the jeweled ornaments on your short jacket, and tied the sachet of perfume inside your skirt so that when you came in the room to greet us in the morning, there would be a fragrance surrounding you, thus serving us as a dutiful daughter and suddenly, one evening, you died betraying us, how deeply hurt would I be?

This did not happen because you died early. I think of your death as a blessing and do not mourn. These days, children don’t seem to grow up to repay all the love and care they owe their parents and they often do not live long enough to witness their parents’ death. There is no greater unfilial thing than this. Isn’t it better for one to die like you did? Enjoying a long life but behaving unfilially at home and disrespectfully away from home so that your word is not trustworthy and your actions not honorable, nothing could be worse than that. Isn’t it better, as you did, to die young? Therefore, I do not consider the matter of living or dying a worry or a joy.

Lament for My Sister-in-Law, Lady Lee, Wife of my Husband's Fourth Younger Brother If a lady has a face like jade, one can imagine the rest. If she has a heart of ice, there must be love within. There are many people in the world who appear rich on the outside but are lacking on the inside. I can say that you had perfect harmony inside and out. Your family were descendants of the Royal Family who lived in Seoul for generations until your grandfather’s generation. Your greatuncle, in his middle age, happened to settle, quite by chance, in Jeong-O Village in Woon-Soo. When you were barely eight years old, you lost both parents and grew up with your grandmother.

At age twenty, you married into our family. You bore a son in four years but ended up leaving this world due to complications arising from childbirth.

Alas! I am truly saddened. You were born a gentle and pure soul, with a warm heart and mild disposition. You served your parents-in-law with a filial heart and treated your husband with respect. You were kind to our relatives and friendly to the neighbors. You had exceptional talent and were fluent in the old classics and writings. You were good at sewing and weaving as well. I expected you to be a great blessing to our family and here Heaven has taken you away from us in such haste! It is a great misfortune for our family. However, life and death have their own distinct order and one cannot stop them. Indeed, I am deeply grieved!

P art II Travelogue by Kim K eum-Won

The writings of Kim Keum-Won

Kim Keum-Won, who was born in 1817, was from Won-Joo, in Kang-Won Province.

Becoming a secondary wife, she married Kim Deok-Hee, who held the rank of Vice Minister. The year of her death is unknown. Her travelogue, Ho-Dong-Seo-Nak Ki, is a record of what she saw and heard during her trips to Je-Chon (referred to as Ho, the Lake) where she went, at the age of 14, disguised as a boy; her tour of the famous Keum-Gang Mountains (the Diamond Mountains, referred to as Dong, the East); and her marriage to the minister, Kim Deok-Hee. Following her marriage, she went to Eui-Joo in the Northwest (referred to as Seo, the West) with her husband, who had been assigned to be Governor of Eui-Joo. Later, she and her husband returned to Seoul (referred to as Nak, the Capital, which is the Chinese-character Lo, from the name of the Chinese capital, Lo-Yang) and established a residence in Yong-San. Their residence was named Sam-Ho-Jeong, Three-Lakes Pavilion.

This travelogue was finished in the late spring of 1850, the Year of the Dog, the first year of the reign of King Cheol-Jong. In her book of poems entitled Goose Tracks from Je-Chon and Yong-San, there is a poem called “Chanting Four-Syllable Poems�, a footnote of which mentions that she had exchanged poems with Woon-Cho, Kyong-San, Jook-Seo, and Kyong-Choon, whenever possible. This is the first indication of the existence of a poetic society among women of the Joseon Dynasty. Such poems were written in classical Chinese.

One controversy surrounding the life of Kim Keum-Won arises from what is said in the eleven poems contained in Kwan-Tong-Jook-Ji-Sa (Poems from Among Bamboo Branches on the East Coast), which was written by Seo Yu-Young and presented to Kim Keum-Won. In the poems, she is depicted as a kisaeng (a female artist-entertainer), Keum-Aeng, who had outstanding talent in singing and dancing, as well as in poetry, calligraphy, and painting. There also exists a poem by Woon-Cho, which was presented to Keum-Aeng. Judging from this, it seems

fairly certain that Kim Keum-Won was also known as Keum-Aeng.

However, the travelogue under consideration gives no inkling of her having been a kisaeng. She did not record the precise date of her marriage. She did, however, write that, after her tours of the Keum-Gang Mountains and Seoul, she gave up her male-disguise and resumed her female role, as an unmarried woman. Kim Deok-Hee and she were married and, several years later, they went to Yong-Man. It is difficult to imagine she would act as a kisaeng while married to Kim prior to going to Pyong-An Province. It seems more likely that, having toured the East —namely the Keum-Gang Mountains and other sights of the East Coast—, she gained a reputation as a kisaeng poet and, for a time, might have had contact with the literary masters of the period. It is possible that she then might have settled down as one of the secondary wives of Kim Deok-Hee.

Often afflicted with illnesses in her childhood, Keum-Won was saved from having to learn domestic skills. Instead, she studied reading and writing, and was able to master the classical texts and literature. She herself states that it was her good fortune to have been born a human being and not a beast, and born in a civilized country such as Korea and not in a barbaric country.

However, she considered it a misfortune to have been born a woman and not a man, and to a poor family rather than a prosperous one.

Judging by her lament at having been born to a poor family, and by her abilities in learning to read and to write, one wonders if she might have been born of a secondary wife herself, or at least from a middle-class, but not an aristocratic, family.

Comments on Ho Dong Seo Nak Ki: Travels to the East, to the KeumGang Mountains, to the Northwest, and to the Capital Travels to Je-Chon in Northern Chung-Cheong Province; to the Eastern Province of Kang-Won; to the Western Town of Eui-Ju in Pyong-An Province; and to Her F inal Destination, the Yong-San District of Seoul.

Born A Woman

The rivers and mountains of the world are vast; the sun and moon of ancient times and the present are eternal. Human affairs come and go; nothing stays the same. All living creatures of the world are not the same, whether in shape or in color. Mountains have one origin, but they are spread out in ten-thousand different ranges, and take on all manner of shapes that are not the same. Rivers form from ten-thousand different streams, but gather into one flow, with thousands of waves and ten-thousand bends that are different.

The similarities and differences of all the marvelous forms of animals that fly in the air and swim in the water and of plants show nothing less than the signs of the wonder of creation. When human beings are born, they come with the spiritual essence of the Yin and Yang energies and the energies of the Five Elements. This is why humans are more spiritual than all other creatures, but also why a man and a woman are not the same. All are different in the measures of their talent and wit, how much knowledge they have, their bearing, their longevity, and the degrees of their wealth and social status.

The greatness of Emperor Yo (Yaowang) and Emperor Soon (Shunwang), and the brilliance of Confucius and Mencius were possible because they lived at different times, and the reason that An Yeon (Yan Yuan) died young and Do Cheok (Dao Tuo) had a long life1 was because their luck with longevity was different. That Jik (Ji) and Seol could serve2 Emperor

Soon, and I Yun (Yi Yin) and Yeo Mang (LĂź Wang) become important subjects3, and Young Ja was foolish4 while Ki-Ja (Jizi) was considered crazy5, all had to do with differences in luck, and with whether or not one met the right person at the right time.

There are those who jump at the opportunity to serve the king and to bring grace and blessings to the people, and who leave their names in history; and then there are those who are born at the wrong time and rot in the woods, even while having precious talent at their fingertips.

Some make their name through writing, some through loyalty and a sense of justice. The reason some wander through nature with noble thoughts, some chant poetry while drinking wine and having a good time is generally because, having failed to achieve their dreams, they are discouraged and give vent to their disappointment.

In spite of this, if one cannot see the greatness of nature, and minds cannot fathom the importance of things or grasp the principles behind them, one’s capacity will be restricted and one’s knowledge incompetent. Thus, a benevolent man enjoys the mountains, and a wise man the waters.

This is also the reason why traveling to various places is considered an important part of life for a man.

A woman, on the other hand, is not allowed to set foot outside the gate, and is only proper, as is expected, when she discusses the making of wine or food. But the mothers of old King Wen and King Wu and of Confucius and Mencius were all considered virtuous and left their names to posterity. There are only a few women whom we can recall as having been brilliant heroes, but how could there be, among so many, none whom we would consider outstanding? If there were none, would it not indeed be tragic if, buried deep in their inner quarters, women were to perish without ever broadening their intelligence and knowledge?

I am from Bong-Rae Mountain6 in the province of Kang-Won, and have taken the penname Keum-Won. When I was little, I was ill so often that my parents felt sorry for me. They

did not force me to learn the domestic skills of a woman, like cooking and sewing, but instead taught me how to read. My learning advanced with each passing day, and in a few years I mastered, to a degree, the classical texts and history of China. I attempted to write following the models of the old masters and, on occasion, I tried singing about the blossoms and the moon, when I felt so inclined.

I also thought to myself: I feel lucky to have been born a human being and not a beast. I am fortunate to have been born in a civilized country such as ours, instead of in a barbarian country.

It is a misfortune that I was born a woman and not a man, and that I was born into a poor and humble family, and not a rich and prestigious one. But Heaven favored me with a fine disposition towards wisdom and intelligence, as well as with the ability to listen and to observe. How can I enjoy the mountains and waters and not broaden what I see and what I hear? Since Heaven has endowed me with intelligence and skill7, shouldn’t I be able to achieve something notable in a civilized country? Just because I was born a woman, must it be that I should be buried in the depths of the inner quarters of the house, its doors locked, and follow the rules of law prescribed by the texts? Just because I was born into a poor and humble family, must I lead a modest life suitable to my station and have my name disappear, never to be known to the world?

There has been no turtle such as the one used by the great fortune-teller Cheom-Yun (Zhan Yin) for his prophesies, and it is difficult to know what advice was given to Kul-won (Qu Yuan, a loyal subject under the Ch’o Dynasty, who wrote odes), but Cheom-Yun did tell him, “Even good strategies may contain shortcomings and lesser wisdom strengths: follow your own will.”8 Thus was I persuaded on the strength of this dictum.

Prior to my nubility, following the example of Jeung-Jeom (Zen Dian), who, “having bathed in the waters of Ki-Soo (Yishui), refreshed himself in the breezes of the foothills of Mount Mu-Wu (Wuyu), and returned chanting poems, asked whether the Great Sage, Confucius himself, wouldn’t approve of this endeavor of mine”, I toured the great scenic spots of the land. Following the example of Jeung-Jeom, I put all worldly things out of my mind and bathed in the clear waters of

nature and, up above the rain clouds, recited poetry. Who can say that this is not as good a life as a sage lives?9

On the Road to J e-Chon

Having made up my mind to travel, I tried very hard to get my parents’ permission, begging them many times. When, after a long while, my request was finally granted, I felt my heart open and expand with the force of a hawk, let out of a cage, soaring high into the sky, and felt I had the will-power of a good horse running a thousand li (244 miles), its bridle and harness taken away.

That same day, I changed into a man’s clothing, packed my belongings, and started on my journey to the four counties.

It was springtime, in the month of March, the Year of the Golden Tiger (1830), and I was just fourteen. I had braided my hair like a little boy’s, and rode in a covered carriage. The carriage was draped with a screen of fine blue silk cords, and the front was open to my gaze.

The first place I went was Lake Eui-Rim-Ji in Je-Chon. The beguiling flowers were ready to break out smiling and the lovely grass looked like mist. The green leaves were just opening. The greenery of the mountains utterly surrounded me on every side. It was as if I were entering a place draped in embroidered silk, such that I could feel my heart being pleasantly refreshed, and my lungs cleansed, as it were, of all dust.

When we arrived at Lake Eui-Rim-Ji, the perimeter of which was about five miles long, the blue water was so clear and bright that it looked as if a roll of Chinese silk had been unfurled.

Sweet-roots had pushed up above the water and had either been submerged or remained floating.

Thousands of willow branches drooped, half in the water and half sweeping the ground. A pair of cuckoos sang beautifully, flittering above the willows on their silky wings. White gulls startled us as they flew by overhead. I turned and teasingly asked, “Isn’t there a line in one of our songs that goes, ‘Dear seagulls! Don’t fly off! Am I not your friend?’ I only want to tell them the same thing.”

Suddenly, I heard a fisherman singing through the willows and saw an old man dressed in

green short pantaloons and wearing a blue straw hat in the shape of an umbrella. He was bringing up a fish out of the blue waves with his fishing pole. When at last we could hire a fishing boat, we set out to look for the place the sound was coming from. The wind was calm and the water peaceful. I sat in the boat, which was so picturesque it did not seem real. The water was so clear, like green jade, that it seemed a mirror of some precious jewel had been laid deep in the pond.

Beautiful water-chestnuts and mint, water-grass and water-birds were moving in and out of the sunlight and shadows of the clouds, making for a scene one sees only in a painting.

I paid a few copper coins in exchange for a white-fish, and had it served raw. When I bit into the slices of the fresh fish, I would have bet that the flavor of the sea-bass that Song-Gang10 is said to have enjoyed so much could not have topped it. I also got some water-lilies and took them to a small thatched hut on the shore. The old lady who owned the hut invited me in and taught me how to enjoy water-lilies. They were first dipped into a pot of hot water and then a tea, made from the berries of the Chinese magnolia-vine, was added to it. The liquid tasted very pure and sweet, and I wondered if the flavor was the same as that of the water-lily which Jang KyeEung (Zhang Jiying)11 of the Chin Dynasty had remembered as one of the unforgettable things of his hometown. It refreshed my throat.

The lake is beautiful, one of the most renowned of scenic spots. In the spring, petals of peach blossoms float on the lake so as to make the boats appear to be in Heaven. In the summer, the lake is so thick with lotus, the waterfowl fly over it like it is the gate to the Arctic. In the fall, the lake captures the moon, which looks like a frozen jar, and in the winter, the lake is covered with snow and resembles a jade mirror.

If a scholar at leisure in his hermitage were to see it, he would turn into a magnanimous sage, a Chang-Ja (Zhuangzi), and if any beautiful woman were to go there, she would be compared to Seo-Shi (Xizi), who went to visit the great Five Lakes of China. Were one to spend a year or

more exploring the scenic beauty of the lake, one would never be able to see it in its entirety. My mind was wandering, and I could not leave.

Refreshing poetic thoughts came to me and here is what I chanted.

The willows on the shore of the lake drooping green Seem to sense the gloom I feel this spring.

The cuckoos above cannot cease lamenting; Cannot subdue the sorrow of our parting.

After enjoying myself for the good part of a day, I took my leave. The birds of the forest and the seagulls on the beach made my leaving all the more sad.

I returned to Dan-Yang and entered a deep valley among the green mountains. I looked carefully, from top to bottom and in the middle, at the great rock known as Seon-Am. It resembled a go-board with black and white stones on it. The two peaks of the rock looked like the heads of two opponents, deeply engrossed in a game. The name of the rock, Seon-Am, Rock of the Sages, must derive from this.

From ancient times, it is said that what little is known of the sages is very mysterious and spiritual. It is said that four old men12 , having found refuge on Mt. Shang, were playing a game of go. One of them stuck his leg out of the mountain and was never seen there again.

There is another story of two old men13 playing go inside a tangerine. When one of them revealed his form, he was unable to re-enter the tangerine. So I wonder if these six who could not return to their places had gathered here to play go.

A woodcutter is said to have gone into the mountains and, while watching some sages play a game of go, was unaware that the handle of his axe had rotted away. When he returned

home, the country was the same, but the people had all changed. He had no idea how many hundreds of years had passed and so he asked the owner of the house. It turned out that he was his grandson, five generations later.

The black and white of this rock, Seon-Am, show only the go-board with a scattering of black and white stones, and do not show the game being played. It looks as if the next stones are yet to be played, and it is impossible to tell how long the game will take.

So I immediately altered the course of my walking staff. The valley was deep and silent, and the mountain peaks tall and prominent. Each peak looked like a sculpted lotus blossom, and the succession of marvelous shapes made it seem that I was surrounded by a standing silk-screen.

Narrow paths among the rocks made a passage between the tall treacherous peaks. Streams were flowing from small waterfalls. Peach blossoms on both sides of the path filled the air with their fragrance.

Among the reds and the blues, in the hidden shadows of the green foliage, bees busily buzzed about, and butterflies fluttered past. Truly marvelous animals were crying out, and strange birds made calls that made me feel cut off from the dust of the mundane world. In his Journal from the Peach Orchard, Do Yeon-Myong (Tao Yuanming), a Chin Dynasty recluse, expressed his thoughts in words so profound, they do not make sense to this world. To this day, people imagine that there are immortal sages lurking in the Peach Orchard. Since the very place I was in was another Peach Orchard, why should one harbor any great regret at not seeing Do Yeon-Myong’s Peach Orchard in the wayward and wild limits of illusion? I wrote a poem.

Spring streams lead naturally into the Peach Orchard; No need to inquire whither east or west of a passer-by, even should one come along.

Wandering the whole day, drunk from floral fragrances,

I find myself in the mountains among landscapes green and beautiful.

Afraid of removing myself from this sacred realm, I could not bear to take a step, but neither could I remain too long. I fully realized that, in this mundane life, the sensation of exquisite pleasure does not last long. I turned to go to Sa-In-Am, the Rock of the Officials. All of the rocks rose into the sky, as if metal chimes had been turned upside down and were holding up the sky. A small stream flowed quietly by at the foot of the rocks, and smooth sand lay white as freshly bleached silk, not a speck of dirt showing.

The colors on the mountain rose harmoniously with it far up high where it met the lowered clouds. Evening smoke rose to obscure the shadows, another unusual sight. The birds in the woods, too busy with their own enjoyments, do not know human pleasures. Since I am yet to turn sixteen years of age, there will be time again for me in the future, and I need not be so regretful at leaving. Obviously, I need to go on and take in the unending sights.

On my way to Yeong-Choon, I sought out the two caves whose names are Keum-Hwa and Nam-Hwa. The morning fog had not yet lifted, and I went down to the river to hire a boat and follow the current. We anchored at the mouth of the caves. A guide led the way into one, torch in hand. There was a rock across the cave like the latch of a large gate. Inside, the water was deep and blue like a pond’s. All the rock formations before us looked like different things. Some stood like steel pestles. There was a profusion of ringing, as if bells were striking the rocks. The sound was magnificent.

I was reminded of a story: there was a stone bell at the entrance to Lake Paeng-Lyeo (Peng Li). Lyok Do-Won (Li Dao Yuan) thought that if rocks were to hit each other, it would sound like a large bell being struck. Lee Bal (Li Bo) said that he found a pair of stones at the top of the fall. When he struck one with the other, he could hear a southern Chinese voice echoing back in a northern Bavarian howl, making a clear intersection of the sounds. So Dong-Pa (Su Dongpo) expressed his judgment on this by saying that Lyok Do-Won was correct, and he made fun of Lee

Bal, calling him shallow.

But I have had my doubts about this story. Seeing the rocks in the cave today, I realize that there is, indeed, a sound of bells, and it is not something that Lee Bal made up. I was sorry that So Dong-Pa had never been here.

Stalactites hung from the roof of the cave. I reached for one and it quickly dissolved in my hand, as spring snow melts in the sun. The two caves were similar and indeed a pair of marvelous sights.

Before going to Cheong-Poong to view Ok-Soon Peak, I got into a small slip of a boat and traveled upstream. The array of mountain peaks suggested coral brushes in a jade brush-holder, or white lotus blossoms on a golden pond. The mountain peaks appeared to be so high, so treacherous and sharp, that surely they had been tempered by Empress Wa-Hwang.14 Because the peaks are also so very unusual and gloriously marvelous, they must have been moved there by Woo Gong.15

As I stood there in awe, a light rain settled over the woods. Returning birds seemed tired and glad to be at rest on the blue cliff. A white moon appeared and a fresh breeze began to stir.

Flowers near the woods exuded a fragrance, and the peaks in the distance stood shrouded, making for a yet more vivid and picturesque scene.

When we turned our boat around and got back on shore, I pondered over what I had seen.

I regretted not having climbed to the top of the mountains and explored each little valley to see what countless, interesting, and extraordinary sights there must be. Although I lay down and was quiet, I could not fall asleep. So I composed a poem:

There is not a moment for a poet to sing;

Being jealous of Man, the Creator expels me from the mountains.

The birds of the mountains know not what happens elsewhere.

They seem to tell me that spring has come to the forest.

The Keum-Gang M ountains, Eight Beautiful Sights, and the Sorak M ountains

Having toured all the scenic spots of the four counties, I headed for the Keum-Gang Mountains. From the height of Tan-Bal Pass, I could see the twelve-thousand peaks of the KeumGang Mountains in the distance. They seemed like upright pieces of sculpted jade, and they were white, as though covered with snow. Even the snowy Seo Mountains (Xishan) could not have been more spectacular than this. The Seo Mountains are that foremost range near Yeon- Gyeong (Yanjing), China. The many rows of rugged peaks and sheer drops behind the Man-Soo Mountains (Wanshoushan) suggested the unreal setting of the Taoist immortals and heavenly beings. After a snowfall, the mountain peaks seemed even more wondrous, and that’s why the snow-capped Seo Mountains have been counted as one of the Eight Wonders of Yanjing.

The rows of peaks and jutting rocks of the Keum-Gang Mountains rise into the clouds.

The brilliance of the snow on the peaks is outstanding all year round. When people talk about an especially scenic spot, they use expressions like, “a landscape where Taoist Immortals abide”, or “the landscape of a painting”. I don’t know what “a landscape where Taoist Immortals abide” looks like, but there would be no use trying to paint “a landscape” of the Keum-Gang Mountains, because even a great painter wouldn’t be able to do it. It was well into spring, and the green leaves were luxuriant, but the red flowers were gone.

Noisy were the cuckoos singing

everywhere, often calling out “cuckoo” and helping to stir the emotions of the traveler.

As I entered the grounds of Jang-An Buddhist Temple, there was a stretch of golden sand and thin grass a few miles long. Tall pines soared into the air. The main building of the temple stood in the valley three or four stories high. The scale of the building was expansive and enormous. The abbot was an old monk who exuded venerability. He came down from the main hall holding his crozier upside down, to greet me politely and lead me into the main hall. He had seen to it that a table full of wild greens was prepared for me for lunch. As everything tasted so clean, pure, and

refreshing, I was indeed delighted to eat my fill.

After seeing Shin-Shon-Lu, the Hall of the Immortal Sages, I went to Ok-Kyong-Dae, Jade Mirror Rock. The slopes on both sides seemed to have been blocked by clumps of rugged rocks.

Turning south, I entered a small valley in a spur of the range which Seokka (Sakyamuni) Peak is a part of. Enclosing its southern end was an amazing precipice that seemed to jut into the sky. It must have been several tens of times the height of a man, and its width at least half-a- hundred feet. It was as sheer as a whetstone and as wide as the straw-mat sail of a boat when fully spread.

The face of it seemed to have a veneer of glass and carved white jade. I could see my face reflected in it and this is why it is called Myong-Gyong-Dae, or Clear Mirror Rock. It is also called Eop-Kyong-Dae, or Karma Mirror Rock. At the foot of Myong-Gyong-Dae, there is a pool. The color of the water is a deep yellow and so it was called Hwang-Cheon-Gang, or Yellow Springs River, which also meant “The River of No Return�. On the south side of the pool is Ok-Kyong-Dae, Jade Mirror Rock. The name was carved in the rock and colored with vermillion.

I climbed up a rock and had a look. There was a pool and I could see a low stone wall shaded by trees. When I went in closer for a look, I found there a door in the stone wall. The entrance had enough room to allow one or two foot-soldiers to pass through, and the door was called Ji-Ok-Moon, the Gate of Hell.

According to legend, when the Shilla Dynasty fell, the last Crown Prince went there to hide. He built a palace and fortified walls behind Myeong-Gyeong-Dae, and used this little entrance to go in and out of his refuge. He wore rough hemp clothes and ate only wild greens, which grew in the mountains, and there lived out his life. The fortress is now buried under water, but the stonework can clearly be seen.

Pyo-Hoon Temple

I set out for Pyo-Hoon Temple. On the right stood narrow Joong-Hyang-Bong, ManyFragranced Peak, and on the left, Ji-Jang Peak, which stands very high. The atmosphere was profound and dark, and the stone path extremely treacherous. Crossing Dok-Mok-Kyo, SingleLog Bridge, I arrived at the small pavilion above the gate of the temple, known as Neung-Pa-Ru, or Ocean Prospect Pavilion.

After looking around the main temple building and its many small chapels, I went up to Paek-Un-Dae, White Cloud Rock. As I climbed holding on to the steel cable, which was as thick as my arm, I had the strong sensation that I was climbing into the sky. When I managed to look down from the top of the escarpment, which was ten-thousand times the height of a man, the temple could be glimpsed through the moving clouds and fog. The whole landscape looked like a painting.

Bo-Deok Cave was beneath Mu-Gal Peak, and a small hermitage was located above the cave. One side of it was supported by the rock protruding from the mountain, and the other side was out over a sheer cliff, several hundred times the height of a man. At the foot of the cliff, several hundred rocks had been stacked high to make a pier and a bronze pillar had been erected on top of it to support the building above.

The hermitage of a few square yards was basically held together by cables and suspended in mid-air. Also, there was a steel cable attached at the top of the bronze pillar, and one end of it had been lowered so that people could use it to climb up. But it moved around so much and felt so precarious that one’s gall bladder would curdle in horror, and one’s thighs would be set quivering.

One did not dare glance down.

A Buddha carved out of jade sat peacefully at the altar, and there was a golden incense burner, the size of a large flower pot in the shape of a firebird. It was so heavy that one could

neither lift nor move it. It is said to have been dedicated to Buddha by Princess Jeong-Myeong16 .

The hermitage was not large, but considering how much expense must have been incurred, the sum must have been tidy, indeed.

A monk told us that a Buddhist nun, who had been devoted to prayer and meditation, had died in the cave while seated in prayer, and her followers built the chapel in her honor and dedicated prayer ceremonies to her. They named both the cave and the chapel Bo-Deok.

There is a waterfall beside Bo-Deok Cave, and the force of its waters made two pools in succession: one round and the other square. The spray from the fall made it so cold that I could not get near it.

Next to it is Baek-Cheon-Dong, or Waterfalls of a Hundred Streams, and in the valley there is a cascading one of such force that it has made a hole in the rock. The hole is so deep that the pool in it is known as Myong-Yeon, or Roaring Lake. The stream is hardly worth a glance, and I wonder how it got its name. Within a few li of Baek-Cheon-Dong, the lakes Byok-Ha-Dam, or Blue-Mist Pool, and Bi-Pa-Dam, or Lute Pool lie adjacent to each other. As though jade had been shattered or rolls of silk had been laid out sideways, the scenery became more unusual and magnificent as I proceeded. A rock in the stream along the way had a hole in the middle where water sprang forth as from a fountain. A rock in the shape of a bow along the path was like an empty house that could provide shelter where one could wait out a rain shower. Not one thing was unworthy of our admiration.

I went up a little further and found a small pool. It was called Baek-Ryong-Dam, or WhiteDragon Pool, and its name must have been taken from the color of the water. Still, it was not a part of the Pal-Dam, or Eight Pools. Not far from there, perhaps less than a hundred paces, there was a cascade shooting off the rocks. The water was called Heuk-Ryong-Dam, or Black- Dragon Pool, because it was so dark and blue. As I pushed ahead, I saw a large flat rock with a large dip in the

middle like a mortar, which was filled with water. This was called Se-Su-Boon, or Wash Basin. A few more steps ahead and yet another waterfall appeared whose water was so blue that it was known as Cheong-Ryong-Dam, or Blue-Dragon Pool. This was indeed the beginning of the PalDam, or Eight Pools.

I traveled all day. The roar of the waterfalls was formidable enough to raze mountains and explode valleys. The flowers, birds, and animals were all so exotic and marvelous that it is impossible to describe them. Past O-Seon-Bong, or Five-Sages Peak, and So-Hyang- Ro-Bong, or Small-Incense-Burner Peak, a lot of water flows down the strata of the mountains to form a lake.

Here is the Man-Pok-Dong, or Ten-Thousand Waterfalls.

On a huge boulder next to the lake was an inscription of eight large characters, which read Bong-Rae-Poong-Ak-Won-Hwa-Dong-Cheon. According to legend, they were written by the sage, Yang Bong-Rae, who was a magistrate of Hoi-Yang, where the Keum-Gang Mountains officially belong. The characters were shaped like hooks of silver and lines of steel, as though dragons and serpents were soaring up.

Above it was a small rock spread out like a folding screen, and on it was inscribed “The Most Celebrated Mountain in the World� in the style of characters used on seals. It was written by Kim Kok-Woon.

A bit off from Five-Sages Peak, near Cheong-Hak-Dae, or Blue-Crane Rock, there are another two rocks in the shape of a bow, which form an arch as they overlap. This is called KeumGang-Mun, or Diamond Gate. Cheong-Hak-Bong, or Blue-Crane Peak, looked like a jar or a bird cage because it was built of stacked rocks. Pointed rocks topped by square rocks resembled Buddhist stupas and others resembled a man wearing a hat. The blackbirds that fly there have left so many of their arrow-like streaks on the rocks that the traces of them made it seem truly a place where the immortal cranes might have lived. According to legend, there was once a blue crane which built a nest and hatched her young. They took away the energy from the large characters that

Yang Bong-Rae had inscribed on the peak. The blue crane flew away and never returned. I too, at last, inscribed my name and wrote a poem which goes like this:

As I turn and enter the realm of ever-new fragrances, Falling blossoms and green grass mourn for the outside world.

The fresh green trees have painted a picture of springtime; The roar of torrents fills the valley.

As I am about to spend the night under a full moon of the 15th, my homesickness is becoming such that even if I had a trillion bodies, I could find it hard to bear.

In the deep mountains, as dusk settles, a flock of cranes flies away.

All that remains for me is a companion I dreamt of last night.

I turned back and went to see Su-Mi Tower. It is under Su-Mi Peak, which soars high into the sky between two layered sheets of black and white silk-brocade. In front of it, a huge slab of rock lies flat, and from above flows a waterfall. Snow and ice still lingered.

When I arrived at Jeong-Yang Temple, I climbed to the Heol-Seong Pavilion, which was above the gate, and I could see the true extent of the entire range inland. The view was open in all directions and nothing obstructed it. All twelve-thousand peaks of the Keum-Gang Mountains lay spread out before me.

Some were like pendulums of snow, some like seated Buddhas in meditation, and some like ladies’ chignons decorated with jeweled ornaments; some like sword-guards, some like lotus buds, and some like plantain leaves; one looked like a man standing with folded hands, another like someone bowing; another still was vertical and another horizontal; yet another stood while another crouched. Representing a thousand shapes and ten-thousand images, they are beyond the ability of

words to describe them.

To the south are Jang-Gyong and Kwan-Eum Peaks, under which are Ji-Jang Peak and Sokka Peak. Between the south and east are Ji-Jang Peak, Baek-Ma Peak, Si-Wang Peak, Sol-li Peak, and Cha-Il Peak. To the west are Mang-Go Rock, Mi-Reuk Peak, Hyol-Mang Peak, and Seok-Eung Peak. Below Mang-Go Rock is Song-Ra Rock, and below Seok-Eung Peak is EunJang Rock; under Baik-Ma Peak is Yeong-Won Canyon, and the rocks ranging below them are all called O-Seon Peak, or Five-Sages Peak. The many peaks in the northeast form the Joong- Hyang Wall. In the fall, when the leaves turn and dusk is reflected on them, the scenery is absolutely breathtaking, as if red silk and bamboo-curtains were glistening in a landscape painted on a screen.

To the west of Joong-Hyang Peak is Yeong-Rang Post, and to the east of Su-Mi Peak is Pi-Ro Peak, which is the highest peak. There are, in addition, Ka-Seop Peak and, lower down, Sa-Ja Peak. Below Joong-Hyang Wall are Paek-Woon Peak, Paek-Woon Rock, and Man-Hoe Rock. On the spurs off Sa-Ja Peak are the Great and Lesser Hyang-Ro Peaks, and to the west of them is none other than Cheong-Hak Bong, or Blue-Crane Peak.

Our escort, pointing off in the distance, said that even if we can make out a place from afar, it is no substitute for actually walking there and seeing the site itself. Isn’t it something like sitting in a fabulous pavilion, enjoying a conversation, but not knowing how full one’s stomach is?

In a few short minutes, the red sun appeared at dawn and slowly rose against the morning glow. The atmosphere was clear, as if an autumn moon shone over an unruffled river; and silverwhite walls with a cluster of jade shone resplendently. One can truly believe that out in the deepblue ocean there must exist Sam-Shin San, or the Mountain of Three Gods, and Mu San, or the Mountain of Sorcerers, and Yo Ji, or Jade Pond, where the immortals live.

Although no

imaginary nan bird, phoenix, or unicorn could be seen, many rare birds and unusual animals were everywhere, such that I felt I had become a true sage and was treading on Mounts Bong- Rae and Yeong-Joo, where only gods live. My mind and body became so clear and bright that I was moved

to take a brush and write this poem.

Heol-Seong Pavilion holds down the sky over the valley.

Upon entering the gate to the mountains, I find a picture of a forest.

A thousand spots of wonderment and marvel point to the capital.

An infinite number of lotus flowers bloom late in the evening.

In the temple lived an old Buddhist monk named Master Seor-Ak. He was sitting and reciting the sutras. He was 97 years old and ate no regular food. He was said to have lived the last three years on gruel cooked with pine needles. He seemed completely serene: a veritable Buddhist sage.

I went back up again to Kae-Sim Peak and gazed at Joong-Hyang Wall. Each peak seemed to be more outstanding than the next, and the more one looks at them, the more unusual and extraordinary they become. They seemed sculpted out of white jade and looked like lotus blossoms. Their brilliant light seemed to reach up to the stars Altair and Vega. Every essence of the universe and the supreme energy of nature seemed to be concentrated here. My spirit was so refreshed and exhilarated that I felt myself, as it were, soaring above the clouds in the company of flying immortals.

As the sun set behind the mountains, the bay seemed blanketed by a fog, as if an endless bolt of red silk had been unfurled there. The amazing sight was so unusual that no words can describe it. We reached Maga Pool. There at the foot of Joong-Hyang Wall was a small, Buddhist hermitage. I pushed open a window to survey the panorama.

Dae-Hyang-Ro Peak, the Great Incense-Burner Peak, glowed as if it were inside the moon.

Beside the peak, two other peaks, Hyeol-Mang and Mang-Go, faced each other, like two men seated at a table. Hyeol-Mang Peak is very steep and straight, and was so bright and glorious that

its white spotted patterns showed through the green of the trees.

At the summit of Hyeol-Mang Peak, there is a hole in the rock that looks like a gate. From a distance, it looked large enough for a man to fit through. This must be how it was named HyeolMang, or Peep Hole. The two peaks appeared to be part of the same mountain range, but they were separated, like two brothers.

Another peak, Ka-Seop Peak, rose in the background of these two, and was an outstanding marvel in its own right. Exiting the hermitage by the rear door, I looked up at JoongHyang Wall. Every peak shone white, as though each was in attendance at court inside a royal palace. It sent chills up and down my spine seeing the innumerable statues of Buddha standing with bared foreheads beneath white pates.

The tranquility, brilliance, neatness, and sparkling character of the temple architecture; the depth and clarity of the streams amid the rocks; and the lush, dense growth of the pines and birches —these, it must be granted, make Maga Pool, by far, the most scenic spot of the Keum-Gang Mountains.

About a li away was a pass called An-Mun, or An Gateway. When we climbed up to the pass, there was a small area that was flat. It was called Nae-San-Cham or Inner-Mountains Station and was the border between Hoy-Yang and Ko-Seong. When you look over the peaks of the Inner Mountains, you cannot help but feel that each and every peak is unique and extraordinary.

The most unusual of them all is Pi-Ro Peak.

Pi-Ro Peak is truly outstanding among many peaks.

The top is round and stout,

strikingly handsome and majestic. Its entirety is white and spotless, and so reflective of light that it is seen from far, far away. Indeed, it deserves its reputation as being supreme among the Inner Mountains. At sunrise, and whenever the moon rises, the two aforementioned peaks loom high up,

neat and white, on the left and the right, and are so mysterious and lovely.

Having crossed the old and rotting Dok-Mok Kyo, or the Single-Log Bridge, I came to Bul-Ji Am, or Buddha's-Fingers Rock. Here a rock of a thousand feet in height rose up into the vault of heaven before us, the facade extremely massive.

The center of the facade was

dominated by the magnificent sculpted image of the Buddhist Master Na-Ong (Na-Ong Daesa of the Koryo Dynasty), which leaves one in awe by its scale, dignity, and power. It is called Myo- Gil Sang, which is another name for Manjusri, the Wonder of Mysterious Good Signs.

Along the side of the road, there was a raised platform made of stacked stones. It was named Kwang-Myeong Dae, or the Dais of Brilliant Light, which serves as an altar where food offerings are made and lanterns hung. Beside it runs a rushing, frothing stream, which looked like a torrent of threads flowing down in steps like a sun-bleached bolt of silk. Had Li Po ever seen it, he could not have said that Mount Li was any better.

Next to Bul-Ji Am is Kam-Ro-Su, or Spring of Sweet Dew. The spring is so cold and clear that its water is said to cure all illnesses. As I was suffering from chronic indigestion, I quickly went over and drank from it. I felt my stomach and intestines immediately clear up and become refreshed.

I went into Ji-Jang Hermitage. All the monks, clad in white robes, rushed down more than ten stories to greet me with deep bows, hands folded as in prayer. One of them was an old monk, surnamed Yi, of the Chun-Cheon clan. He must have been over seventy. He ordered the monks to prepare a bowl of noodles for me, and, indeed, after a day of hiking and being hungry, I ate my fill. I stayed for three days. Each day, in the evening, the monks recited their prayers to the ringing of their gongs. This was also true of the early morning. The continuous chanting of the prayers between the two choirs to the sound of the gongs erased all of one’s worldly thoughts.

There was so much unusual and precious ceramic ware in the temple that I thought the commonly heard saying that "treasures abound in mountain temples" must be true.

Entering Cheong-Ryeon Hermitage, a nunnery, I found the living quarters to be immaculate, and the vegetables and fruit exceedingly fresh and pleasing to the palate. I heard that a couple of ladies from the royal palace were staying there, having come for treatment with the spring waters. I went to have a look at the spring but it was of no special distinction, being merely ordinary.

Traveling through Won-Tong Valley, we visited the Sa-Ja Bong, or Lion Peak. Just before the peak, there was the Hwa-Ryong Dam, or Fire-Dragon Falls. It looked as if an old dragon was crouching there. This was the last of the Pal-Dam, the Eight Falls. The flying spray from the falls was frightening, as if thunder lurked behind it. The mountain peaks on either side were rugged and towering, and surrounded with ever-present clouds. I etched my name on the rock and resumed walking. A short stroll of less than a hundred paces brought me to a pond and a scene of outstanding beauty: Jin-Joo Dam, or Pearl Falls. A stone nearby bore the inscription, Su-Ryeom Dong, or Valley of Water-Bead Strings. It is the best of the Pal-Dam, the Eight Falls.

I went to Yu-Jeom-Sa, the foremost temple of the Outer Keum-Gang Mountains. It had suffered damage from several fires, and was said to have lost its splendor, but the grandeur and extravagance of the main building was without parallel. O-Tak-Jeong, or Crow-Pecked Well, was on the east side of the main building and its water was pure and sweet. Legend has it that the old temple had no well. Crows appeared out of nowhere and began pecking at a spot on the ground. The monks followed up, digging where the birds had pecked, and indeed, water sprang forth. The spring never went dry, and was called Crow-Pecked Well because of the crows.

It was here that King Se-Jo traveled on horseback to stay. Later, Kings Ye-Jong and Seong-Jong bestowed on the temple plaques, land, and books written in their own hand. There is a separate royal hall to house the three Kings’ royal plaques, their writings, and journals. They say that a fire once reached to the eaves of the building but died out on its own.

The decorative work tied above the stupa resembled the branchings of a deer antler. The 53 statues of Buddha that sat on it were all very small, no more than a few inches tall. According to

legend, Buddhist Grand Master Munsu of the Silla Dynasty cast the 53 bells, and they all resembled the image of Buddha. When he chanted his prayers, the 53 bells turned into flying beings and began to move about.

He sent them drifting out towards the sea, and they came into

possession of a country named Wol-Ssi (Yuezhi, China). There the king begged to know where the flying beings wished to travel. They were put on board a ship and crossed over the sea. Landing at Ko-Seong, they reverted to being the 53 Buddhas and attached themselves to a rock, which is today called Hyeon-Jong-Am, or Rock of the Hanging Bells.

At that time, a Buddhist monk dreamt an old Buddhist nun was traveling alone, a white dog leading her and a blue deer following behind. Thus, the area was named Gu-Ryeong, or Dog Pass, and Jang-Ryeong, or Deer Pass. The monk thought his dream so unusual that he sought his way among the pines for a path and, having found signs of one, went off to inform the Governor of Ko-Seong, Noh Choon. The Governor, attended by his officials, went to greet the Buddhas. The 53 Buddhas flew away from the rock and gathered in the crown of an elm tree next to a large pond.

Noh Choon then petitioned King Nam-Hae of Silla to have the pond filled and a temple built on it to permanently enshrine the Buddhas. The temple became known as Yu- Jeom-Sa, or Elm-Pass Temple.

The wooden sculptures of seated figures were made, modeled after the Buddhas seated in the elm. Nine dragons had inhabited the large pond, but they left after hearing the sutras chanted for three days and three nights. They went into the mountains and formed a large pool, Gu- Ryong Yeon, or Nine Dragons Pool.

There was also a portrait of Noh Choon. He was dressed in a red ceremonial robe and wore a black hat and a golden belt.

In his hand, he held a scepter.

The two small wooden

figurines, one a man and the other a horse, depicted his servant and his horse.

To this day,

memorial services are held for him in the lower room. Though his wife followed after him, she could not catch up with him, and thereby became a guardian spirit of Chang-Go.

At this point, three of the Buddha statues were lost, and the monks recast them. However, they learned, in a dream, that the recast Buddhas were not happy in their new forms. The monks then sought more Buddha statues from the sea, but only found them high up in the recess of a mountain and brought them to their home here.

These are the things that Min Ji of the Koryo Dynasty recorded. He was enamored of Buddhism so much that he called himself Beop-Hi-Ja, the Sutra-Happy Seeker. What he wrote down seems hardly credible, yet who can discern what is true and what is not? There is a copy of the Mi-Ta Gyong, or the Sukhavativyuha, which Queen In-Mok16 copied out by hand while she was confined in the Western Palace. She appended a short epilogue in which she prayed that the members of her own family might be blessed; for Prince Yeong-Chang, her son, and for his life in the next world.

Among the things Princess Jeong-Myeong17 dedicated as a sacrifice to Buddha were some chests decorated with cloisonné and several embroidered folding screens.

The stupa in the inner courtyard had twelve stories, and was exquisitely carved. There was a copper steamer there, and a cauldron, one large enough to cook a hundred bushels of rice.

Whenever a large prayer-service for the lost spirits at sea is held, a big wood-fire is built under the cauldron to steam the rice, but no matter how high the flames get, there is never any smoke. So the fireplace is called the “smokeless stove”.

It is a mystery and wonder of sorts.

I have

heard that most temples, whether or not they are in the Keum-Gang Mountains, have such a cauldron.

As the sun set, the moonlight was as bright as daylight. The mountain scene was like a brush-and-ink painting. Only the occasional sound of the gongs was clear and refreshing. A poem came to me.

Up on a cliff, a lone hermitage is suspended at the edge of the sky.

A clear bell from the northern mountains echoes in the southern mountains.

Rising above the white clouds, I leave the valley; the bright moon is sunk, still, in the pond.

As if suddenly awakening from a dream of this floating world, I feel loneliness come over me, in just the way old Buddhist tales have told. Having entered the realm of Pure Clarity, the Suddha of the Fifty-Three Buddhas, I bow in the depths of my soul to the lanterns which illumine the Wisdom of all Eternity.

Gu-Ryeong, or Dog Pass, behind me now, I saw Eun-Seon-Dae, or Hidden-Sage Rock. It rose sheer, in the northwest, and I could not fathom what its height might be, but it stood obscurely blue and dark. It was called Hyo-Un Dong, or Clouds-at-Dawn Valley. Waterfalls were scattered throughout the cliffs. Their cascades resembled bolts of bleached cotton or silk. It was rightfully named Twelve Falls. Purple bracket fungi were everywhere on the rock, and I took it as a good omen for the future. Perhaps I might meet a true sage and tie the knot with him.

The sun was red as it set in the west. The countless valleys were banked in fog. Drizzle began falling in the woods. The whole mountain-valley was transformed. Soon, the moonlight shone bright, as though white jade on a blue field and brilliant pearls from the depths of the ocean were mixed in a glass jar and reflecting light in turn. Indeed, it was a sight out of this world.

The next day, the fog had cleared. I left the mountain and set out on my journey through the flowers and trees, whose fragrances seeped into my clothing. A gentle breeze was rising.

Looking far out to the ocean, I saw the sea and sky to be the same color. I imagined myself flying through the air, riding the wind as I wished. I have never seen the Chinese mountains and rivers, but I understand that there are some among the Chinese who would have liked to have been born in Koryo, that they might see the Keum-Gang Mountains. Such is their spectacular beauty,

they seem to have no match anywhere in the world. Gazing at the sea, I wrote a poem.

All streams descend to the sea, whose depth and width are without end.

Now I know that this great universe can be contained in one body.

The mountains have so many names: Keum-Gang, Ji-Dal, Joong-Hyang-Seong, Yeol-Ban (Nirvana), Gae-Gol, Poong-Ak, and Bong-Rai. But the simplest is Keum-Gang (Diamond). Every single cliff of the Inner and Outer Keum-Gang Mountains is highly unusual and precipitous; all of the streams come from famous falls. The Inner Mountains are characterized as being treacherous and white, having little greenery. The Outer Mountains, on the other hand, are gentle, and have more green, but little white.

Among the peaks, Piro (Vairocana); Joong-Hyang (Fragrant Multitude); Hyang-Ro (Incense Burners, Large and Small); Cheong-Hak (Blue Crane); Kwan-Eum (Kuan-Yin); Seok- Ka (Sakyamuni); O-Seon (The Five Immortals); Mang-Go; and Hyeol-Mang (Peep Hole) are extraordinary.

Among the falls, Man-Pok (Myriad Falls); Heuk-Ryong (Black Dragon); Byok-Ha (Blue Mist); Bun-Seol (Powdered Snow); Jin-Joo (Pearl); and Gu-Dam (Turtle Falls) are outstanding.

As far as the magnificence of the rocks goes, nothing comes close to the massive image of Myo-Gil-Sang (Manjusri). In terms of wide panoramas, those from the Heol-Seong Pavilion and Baik-Un Dae (White-Cloud Peak) are without rival.

Among the sights to be seen at the entrance to the valley, Jang-An Temple is the most often recommended, but Pyo-Hun, Bo-Deok, and Ma-Ga Temples all hold their own in the Inner

Mountains. There, the rock formations Chil-Bo (Seven Treasures); Bul-Jeong (Buddha’s Head); Seok-Mun Dong (Stone-Gate Valley); and the peaks Chae-Ha (Colorful Mist) and Jip-Seon (Immortals’ Gathering) are all very wonderful and marvelous.

Next in line in terms of beauty may be listed the gathering and flowing of waters at SeonDam (Boat Pool); the fluttering image of Bi-Bong (Soaring Peak); and the roar of the rushing OkRyu (Jade Stream).

The magnificence and the treacherousness of the torrential flow at Gu-Ryong-Yeon (Nine Dragons Pool) has absolutely no rival among these twelve-thousand peaks of the Keum-Gang Mountains.

Yu-Jeom-Sa, or Elm-Pass Temple, was named following a mysterious event, but it is really the temple to see, of all the myriad known hermitages. These sights are the most famous of the Outer Keum-Gang Mountains.

Generally speaking, the wonders of the Keum-Gang Mountains are not in the rocks and streams. The fact that the mountains are entirely white is a marvel, and in the Outer Mountains there are countless spires and pinnacles of every color that do not even have names. Furthermore, they all seem to bear resemblances, in every shape and color, to countless objects. Eight or nine out of ten seem to resemble old Buddhist monks, or bells or drums. Regardless of whether it is the Inner or Outer Mountains, there are sights to be seen everywhere. In order to get to any of the worthwhile sights, one must pass through thick woods, dense with growth, and past dizzying rock formations that overflow with water.

Naturally, one would expect there to be wild animals, such as tigers and leopards, but it is said that there has never been any trouble. Is this because the Earth Spirit protects unusual mountains such as the Keum-Gang? According to the records kept in one of the temples, Dam

Mu-Gal, a master monk from China, became a Buddha while he was sitting atop Joong-Hyang Wall teaching his twelve-thousand disciples of the Buddha. His disciples all turned into the twelvethousand rocky spires of the mountain. Even today, one often hears of a large boulder being referred to as his metamorphosis. This is truly ridiculous, and nonsense.

The entire girth of the Inner Mountains is about sixty or seventy li and that of the Outer Mountains comes to about one-hundred. The Outer Mountains are mostly in Go-Seong, the northern branch extending to Tong-Cheon.

Having toured both the Inner and Outer Mountains, I made my way to Tong-Cheon, in order to see Kwan-Dong Pal-Gyeong or the Eight Scenic Sights of the East. Passing through Keum-Ran Cave, I climbed to the Chong-Seok-Jeong, or the Bundles of Rock-Pillars Pavilion, which was situated at the summit. Rocks were scattered along the path to the summit, and each and every one of them looked like a pillar used for a headstone. Offshore in the water, in the northern part of the bay, the protruding rocks were all cut and shaped as hexagonal columns.

They stood in clusters, perhaps a dozen or so.

Each cluster had seven or eight columns,

although some had more than ten; others only four or five, or five or six. They were black and appeared glassy like obsidian. The way they were lined up made them look like spindles for a loom.

The rocks looked as though they had been shaped with a fine file. Each and every column was hexagonally formed, without any irregularity in its evenness, the width and the slant, whether at the top or in its thickness. They were extremely precise and exquisite. If one takes a boat and goes out to explore further, one will find even more amazing and extraordinarily shaped rocks.

The

clusters seemed arranged according to height. One measured more than a hundred times the height of a man (roughly 300 feet), and another had up to thirty or forty columns.

As soon as one passes one cluster, another appears. Just when one thinks the cluster in the south is indeed the tall one, another in the north soars up even more. How could the tops be so

evenly filed down, and how could they have been so neatly bundled?

The clusters in the water in front were in rows, like so many myriad bamboo-poles in a grove. The clusters to the rear, against the cliffs, made one think of an open ten-panel standing screen. The distance between clusters was no more than a mere five or six steps. Since time immemorial, no one has been able to count the entire number of the clusters.

Some of their

names have been lost and are not known to us. The hundreds, thousands, millions, and trillions of these rocks are standing in row after row, or are scattered about in the water. These are known as Wa-Chong-Seok, or Lying Rock Bundles.

The rocks neither lean nor are crooked. Every surface is even and filed smooth. Each is bound in a bundle of columns. They are all shaped precisely into hexagonal, standing rods. Why are they all in hexagonal shape? What causes that? Even if I were to examine all the records on famous mountains of the world, I would not find anything even remotely resembling these. It is only along our east coast that such marvels are found. How can we not consider them a true wonder?

If we had had Chuang-Tzu look at them, he would have laughed and joked, “The Emperor must have ordered A-Hwang and Zhi-Shin to take the heart of his palace and bind together the pearls and mother-of-pearl with which it was being built and set the bundles at the entrance of the port, at which point they turned them into pillars and plinths.” If we had had King Ying-Yang of the Ch’o Dynasty, the emperor of the Chin Dynasty, or Emperor Wu of the Han Dynasty see this, they would certainly have mobilized the power of their subjects to cut them all up to use as pillars in their own palaces: the Jang-Hwa Palace, the A-Bang Palace, and the Paik-Lyang Pavilion. Pines, unlike other trees, do not live once cut with an ax. But the pines growing from these rock pillars sprout new branches whenever they are cut. It is very unusual.

The reason these were named Hae-Geum-Gang, or the Keum-Gang at Sea, is because they look so much like the peaks of the Keum-Gang Mountains. On a clear day, if you scatter fish-oil on the sea and look, you can see the mountain peaks of Keum-Gang reflected on it. Luckily, the day

was clear and bright. We went out in our boat. The vast sea was connected to the sky invisibly, and the shapes of the twelve-thousand peaks were submerged in the water. The layer upon layer of images and the iridescent blue and white were like figures in a painting, and I am unable to describe it. Suffice it to say, it was the most amazing sight in the world.

As if the wonders and marvels of the twelve-thousand peaks of the Keum-Gang Mountains were not enough, another amusing drama was provided by the stone walls at the inlet of the sea.

Isn’t this the most mysterious display of the Creator’s will! Here is my poem about Chong-Seok, the Bundles of Rock Pillars in the sea. The blue jade of the many clusters of rock are sublime; They stand in the water to hold up the sky: Ten-million hexagonal columns — The exquisite handiwork of the Creator’s chisel.

I returned to Ko-Seong and then on to Sam-Il-Po. The woods were full of pines casting their shadows and the lake lay placid in the shelter of their reflections. To the north was a great expanse of tiered beaches, and to the west, high rugged cliffs. The unusual rocks were shaped like bamboo-shoots and the sand so brilliant, it seemed not of this world.

Before us stood a

huge rock bearing engravings; on the far side, Sam-Il Ho, or “Three-Day Lake”, and, on the front, the Je-Il Myeong-San, or the “Most Celebrated Mountains”.

We hired a boat and went out onto the lake. It was formed by the seawater which flowed in from the northeast. It was of such a deep blue hue as to be almost cobalt, and the surface was placid like a mirror. The gulls and white herons seemed undisturbed by our presence. The branches of water-chestnuts lay intertwined. It was no deeper than a man’s height, and where it was shallow, it barely came up to the waist. All the islets in the lake were made of white rock and the trees were covered with vines. The Thirty-Six Peaks seemed to stand in a circle holding hands to make a bow. They almost seemed to smile. Whatever fluttered seemed about to dance.

The shapes of the rocks resembled either a bell or a pot, and each top was turned inward.

In one place the landscape was so gentle and beautiful, and so exceptional, that it suggested an image of a lady of great refinement, cleanly made up, standing quietly in another world. In the days of old, Lake Xi-Hu (Seo-Ho) of Hang-Chou, was the apple of all eyes, but now I consider this lake of Kang-Won Province to be such.

We tied up our boat and went up to the pavilion.

A sign read: Sa-Seon, or the Four

Immortals. The place got its name from the four sages of the Shilla Dynasty—Yeong- Rang, SulLang, An-Sang, and Nam-Sang—who had come here to relax. The reason the lake was named “Three-Day Lake” is also because the sages stayed there for three days. Do-Am, or Rock Island, was in the middle of the lake and the pavilion was on it. The foundation of the pavilion consisted of piled rocks in the shape of a bow. They looked like a crouching tiger, or a bird in a dive. Rocks shaped like a turtle or carp seemed to be on guard and also to mark its extent. The pavilion had four open spaces, and the columns were hexagonal. Rocks made up half of each column. The floors were not finished with wooden flooring or lacquered paper but were simply laid bricks.

The perimeter of the lake seemed just enough to allow for a few archery ranges, but it is said to be almost 40 li in circumference. Having reached this point, I felt every bad thought and the dirt of this mundane world to have completely vanished. I felt as if I would become a fairy with feathered wings and ascend into the heavens. There were numerous inscriptions of poems, the one of Choi Kan-I being the most well-known. On the façade of the rock on the southern edge were etched six characters Sul-Lang-Do-Nam-Seok-Haeng, which means “Sul-Lang and His Party Headed for Nam-Seok” (South Rock).

The façade to the southwest bore large characters

said to be the work of calligrapher Yang Bong-Rae.

Passing by Hyeon-Jong Am, or Hanging-Bell Monastery, I walked down to Pyong-Lim. Once I passed the jade-hued forest and the green fields, a wide panorama opened before my eyes.

The peaks were low, as if prostrate, and the stream clear and beautiful. Wild roses along our path

were on the verge of blooming. The path was covered with fine sand, which crunched under my feet as I walked. This is what people speak of as “echoing sand”, and, indeed, in the popular phrase, “Ten-li of echoing sand and wild roses”. I hummed a verse of a poem:

Spring is almost all gone and the petals are falling.

Only the wild rose remains in bloom.

When it too is gone, springtime affairs will have become vain, vain yet again.

I turned back and set out for Kan-Seong. On the way, I went up to the Cheong-Gan Jeong, or the Pavilion of the Clear Mountain-Stream. I could not understand why it was named “mountain stream” when in truth, it stood next to the sea. The rock out in the water in front of the pavilion looks like a turtle lying on its belly, and thus, rightly enough, is called Ku-Am, Turtle Rock.

The stone in the middle of the rock was called Jama-Seok, Agate. At the top and bottom of both of the stones were markings that appeared to be incised with a chisel. The larger looked like a gingko leaf. The smaller was the size of a coin. I was told that they had been made through the grinding together of the two stones, but the stones are more than a foot apart. How could they possibly have ground against each other? Furthermore, I was told, any writing on the stone done with brush and ink would be abraded and gone in a few days. This I found truly puzzling.

I was hoping to watch the moon rise as I sat in the pavilion. But when it came time for the cock to crow, suddenly I saw the clouds at sea become brilliant and colorful. A semi-circle of cold jade, half-hiding and half-appearing, gradually revealed its true face. The light was dazzling and brilliant, and the way it coughed up itself from the edge of the clouds was truly mesmerizing. I wondered if it were not a white lotus blossom. The rays of the sun shone on the surface of the sea, making it seem like a vast expanse of blue glass or like a house built of jade which revealed its large, clear hall from one end to the other. The wind was chilly, and my every thought seemed to fly away.

Although the night had deepened, I had been unable to fall asleep. I had the little servant boy fetch me tea, and ground out some ink on my ink-stone, and wrote this poem:

A patch of blue bursts in the sky at the edge of the clouds at dusk, All things seem as fresh as they were at the very beginning.

Why did I ask the little boy to make tea, when he is just learning?

He is fetching clear spring-water, watching the moon through the pines.

I only began awakening from my deep springtime slumber when sunlight glowed red in the window and birds chattered noisily under the eaves. I looked down at the blue sea. The fog and clouds had lifted and the sea seemed boundless. This made me realize how vast, indeed, the universe is, and I lamented how my little floating life is no more than a grain of millet.

I visited Nak-San Sa Temple in Yang-Yang. Blue mountains surrounded it on every side and the pine-needles were dense and lush. Kwan-Eum Sa Temple was located by the sea. One end of it was supported by a corner of the mountain-cliff and the other end rested on a post in the sea, making the whole temple appear as if it stood in the sea. The main hall was enormous, majestic. The statue of Buddha was protected by a sheet of thin, white cloth. In the middle of the hall-floor, there was a gap in the wooden flooring through which one could see the water gushing in and out of a rock-cave below.

The crashing of a clear torrent shook the mountainside. Opening the narrow window, I gazed out over the water and saw that the color of the water touched that of the sky in the distance.

The whole vista was very picturesque. Swooping white seagulls made another marvelous sight. The women on the shore all had yellow hair and the job of digging up wild spinach, bare-legged. The merchant-boats occasionally appeared and disappeared on the blue sea. Many peasant families along the harbor shores used whale bones for a mortar. One can imagine how large whales must

be. Many sea otters had come out of the water and were all lying on the rocks. They were all black and looked alike. They barked whenever they saw someone. If approached, they went into the water.

I went up to the Eui-Gyeong-Dae viewpoint wanting to watch the sunrise. After hearing the roosters crow several times, I looked out at the sea and sky in the distance. The clouds and fog were dark and we waited a while. It was as if the clouds covering the sky were lamenting their having become evil. Li Shim of the Han Dynasty once said that if a fair-weather wind rises in the early morning before dawn, a lot of yin, the negative energy, descends.

Therefore, catching sight of a sunrise at dawn depends largely on the clouds. How is this possible? Why are negative forces still so strong in the morning? Isn’t it a fact that clouds are formed from water vapor and that the sun brings energy to the water? Vapor must rise up into the sky and form clouds. The clouds have fun floating around. Then, just before dawn, when the sun is about to rise, they raise havoc, displaying their might.

A short while later, all of a sudden, a small red mirror showed at the edge of the clouds. It gently and gradually rose.

Glistening rays of light undulated, like a white-jade bead on a silver

platter, or an urn made of pearl raised up very high. The ocean waves resembled a parasol of moving red silk.

After a while, pushing aside the clouds, the rotund image of a sedan chair sprang up. I was so stunned and happy that I jumped for joy, ready to dance. The sacred rays of light shot down from above and the water at the surface seemed to swell and swell. Red clouds again covered the surface. Above and below, everything was entirely red and formed a huge fire. Heaven and earth made for a fantastic spectacle. A poem came to me and I chanted:

The red wheel ground away the clouds over the sea;

It is turning at the top of a pole, round and round.

At the village corner, where people fetch water and wood to burn, A blessed mist of light drizzle moistens the dust.

I went back toward Kang-Neung to have a look from the Kyong-Po Pavillion. The brightly painted pavilion rose high in the sky. The lake was calm, clear as a mirror, and each grain of sand could be counted. The blue mountain looked to be a piece of silk-embroidery and the sand along the shore seemed to be made up of pearl and jade beads. Tall pines towered above and willows drooped gently. Cuckoos called to each other and sweet briers spat out red.

The power of the panorama was such that a description of the scenic beauty and glory is beyond words. The town was as large as a city, and every street-corner had lines of monuments commemorating exceptional filial piety or loyalty to the King. During the reigns of Yo and Shun, there were said to be “many wise men in the country”. It seems one can see it here.

I went to Wool-Jin and then up to see Mang-Yang Jeong. The pavilion was built over the sea and the view was wide and unimpeded. I looked as far as I could but could not see where the sky ended. Spray from whales flew into the air like white snow, as if a galaxy had scattered and was falling down. The whole earth was covered with lightning. Islets in the sea seemed to float and thunder rolled in broad daylight. I thought this must be what had been referred to as “The Waves of Yang-Hu” in the old days. A merchant boat appeared in the midst of this raging sea. The sea looked so treacherous and the boat so in danger that I trembled with fear.

On my way to Pyeong-Hae, I went up to Wol-Song-Jeong. The wind was calm, and the sea was quiet as well. The weather was clear and the islets appeared to be there one moment, but not the next. The sea stretched out to the sky, and I could not tell where the horizon was. Only a cold mist made me think how pitiable life is in this world adrift.

I went to Sam-Cheok to visit Jook-Seo-Ru. The waters of the river O-Sip-Cheon flow

round Mount Tae-Baek in the distance. The wonders and marvels of nature abound everywhere.

While marveling in this way, I often forgot about returning to my quarters. Unusual birds flocked in pairs, many of whose names I didn’t know. It’s because the birds and animals in these beautiful places differ from those commonly seen elsewhere.

In general, it is not often that one can see the beauty of the mountains and the beauty of the sea in one place, but within a few hundred li in this area, one can see the magnificent marvels of both.

As for the mountains, we can first name the Man-I-Chon-Bong, or the Twelve-

Thousand Peaks. With regard to the sea, there are Sam-Il-Po, The Port of Three Days; ChongSeok-Jeong, The Pavilion of Stone Clusters; and Hae Keum-Gang, The Sea Diamonds. The most essential energies of the universe seem to dwell here.

Any who favor wisdom and

knowledge would truly enjoy it here. Without going to the Kwan-Dong Area, the area east of Dae-Gawn-Lyeong, the Great Gwan Mountain Range, one cannot truly have seen all of the wonders of the universe.

Although by now I had seen all of the Eight Great Scenic spots of Kang-Won-Do Province, I still wanted to see more. I went to In-Je and visited Mount Sor-Ak. The rocks soared high up into the sky and the peaks loomed above. The rocks were white as snow and that must be why it is called Sor-Ak, “Snow Peaks”. The peaks were rugged and towering, level after level, as if there were a thousand of them, and the streams were deep and cold, as if they had come down ten-thousand falls. Having crossed many streams and hiked along many paths, I arrived at a place where a thousand peaks stood competing to fill the sky. Cranes sang in the tall pines and deer frolicked in the shadows where wisteria hung. It was truly worthy of Yao Chih, The Jade Pool; Liang Yuan, The Garden of Sorrows; Feng Lai, Tryst Field; and Fang Chang, Isle of Bliss.

I followed a stream where the rhododendrons were in full bloom on both banks and the leaves and blossoms grew in lush harmony. The flowing water looked as if a long rainbow had been draped over it. The celebrated “Rainbow-Draped Jade Spring” in China cannot be any better than

this. Jade Spring is located on Mount Yu-Chien in Yen-Jing (now Beijing). It is said to spurt water in beads and is also known as “Snow-Flurry Spring.”

It had been just a little pond but it became a pool and is more than 30-feet wide. It is considered one of the Eight Great Scenic Spots of Yen-Jing and was called Ok-Cheon Su-Hong, Rainbow-Draped Jade Spring, but now they call it Ok-Cheon Pyo-Dol, Churning Jade-Spring. A stone monument placed above it bears the inscription, “The Greatest Spring in the World”.

Although I have never seen it myself, if a rainbow is draped over a stream, it would be terrifying for someone who has never seen such a breathtaking sight as this.

The mountain peak rose steeply into the sky. We inched our way to the top. The fall there was called Dae-Seung-Pok, Great Riding Fall. It fell from a great height, pearls shattering and becoming jade beads from several hundred or thousand feet up. Thunder roared in broad daylight, and drops of rain and dew filled the air.

The god of the wind displayed his might in innumerable ways, and in a most unusual and majestic manner, such that it is almost impossible to say whether An-Tang Falls at Mt. Li in China is any better than this.

These falls do not measure three-thousand feet, but the well-

known saying that “the Milky Way falls through the ninth layer of the sky” (the highest of the skies) has to be describing something close in meaning to these falls. If I were to compare these falls to the white of snow or to that of freshly bleached cotton-cloth, it would be simply too trite.

It would be better to compare them to the body of a mammoth jade-dragon or to an arc of silvery butterflies.

Wearing a large bamboo hat for protection, I approached the falls.

The spray on my

headgear was so thunderous that it sounded like pounding hail. I was sure that my hat would fracture and tear open. I was so shaken by this that I could not calm down for some time.

The morning fog was dense, and I could not make out the woods or creek. High mountain peaks appeared and disappeared among the clouds.

They seemed to have been

sculpted out of jade and stood like a folding-screen decorated with paintings.

A few moments later, as the dark clouds lifted, the sun shone brightly and there was a clean refreshing breeze.

I could see the numberless shapes of the rocky peaks open up before

me. A poem came to mind.

A thousand peaks soar into the sky and beyond, A light fog lifts, revealing a scene more picturesque than a painting.

Marvelous are the Sorak Mountains in their spots of wonder and magnificence; Dae-Seung Falls are even greater than those of Mt. Li in China.

I took a little rest at Baek-Dam-Sa Temple and then went on to Su-Ryom-Dong Cave.

The rock formations that emerged from the water were most unusual, and large.

In the Sorak

Mountains, there had been two hermitages: Kim Sam-Yeon’s Yeong-Shi-Am and Kim CheongHan-Ja’s Sam-Se-Am. However, the hermitages were gone and only the grounds remained.

Nevertheless, the Sorak Mountains became much better known because of them, and they enjoy a fame on a par with that of the Keum-Gang Mountains.

Han-Yang, the Capital of Kings

Having seen the most wondrous and magnificent sights of the mountains and the sea, I again wanted to see a more glorious and bustling place and headed for Kyeong-Seong. I wrote a poem as I gazed at Han-Yang in the distance.

Being as idle as a floating blade of grass, I have traveled far.

I have hiked through many mountains over many days without rest.

My heart joyful upon my return, I follow the river as it flows eastward.

The wind and haze over Han-Yang will lift soon.

Han-Yang is the capital of kings and has been the basis for peace for eons. It is not my place to peek in and offer an assessment from my limited viewpoint. The shape and energy of it seemed so great and its stature so serious that I could only sense the grand scale of its purpose. The mountain peaks stood in tiers. They looked like hidden dragons and crouching tigers. Some rose, some lay prostrate, some were upright like a sword, and some spread out like a flag.

To the north, the sizeable Sam-Gak-San and Paek-Ak-San dominated the city. To the south, Mok-Myok-San and Jong-Nam-San faced each other as two tables. On the left, the field of Wang-Sim-Ni, its hands folded, protected the eastern wall. On the right, Man-Li-Hyeon supported the west end. The Han River acted as collar and tie, and the Sam-Gang was the gate to the walled city. A great many boats and wagons were hurriedly bringing in their fish and seafood, and their farm produce. It was beautiful to see such great vitality and such abundance of materials and products.

The capital of Koguryo, Pyeong-Yang, was once attacked by the formidable Emperor Yang-Ti of the Sui Dynasty, who mobilized his soldiers but was killed in vain at Liao-Tung. Even the

heroic emperor of the Tang dynasty, Tai-Jong, could not conquer the single-walled city. He could not avoid, as the saying goes, “being struck in the eye by an arrow”. This fortress is heavensent. Who would be able to fly across the river against it?

I went up to Nam-San to look at the king’s palace. Dragon Hall and the Phoenix Pavilion were sparkling with the great vitality of their good fortune. As I looked down on the city, I could see the white-washed walls and happy atmosphere of the houses thriving. The tiled roofs of the wealthy lined the road. Numerous drinking houses faced each other and the noise of red wheels and blue horse-hooves at their head rang out to the east and west.

The rich and the mighty compete in displaying their wealth in the streets of this world, and playboys on white horses with golden shoes meet each other in threes and fives, in good spirits, at blue pavilions and drinking places—indeed, we can call it, possibly, the atmosphere of a great peaceful time, in a cheerful, bright world. I was born and raised in the countryside, and I used to laugh at myself for being so limited in my experience of the world, but now that I had seen what is inside the capital, I felt my heart brighten and cheered up.

Having passed through the gate at Chang-Eui-Moon, I visited Se-Geom-Jeong. This small pavilion of a few kan*, constructed on large boulders beside a creek, was neat and clean. The water flowing among the boulders was rapid, like a waterfall’s. The blue mountains and hills shone in groups as though stacked on a desk. It is said that a general once washed his sword in the creek after winning a battle. The name Se-Geom-Jeong, Sword-Rinsing Pavilion, in royal brushwork, occupied a frame hung on the pavilion. The frame, in addition, was wrapped in golden silk. The ink of the calligraphy was so rich and brilliant that it would not fade for many generations to come.

There was a boulder nearby upon which some characters had been etched, but they were unrecognizable, possibly having been defaced by the weather.

I visited Tang-Choon-Dai, the mountain peak. I found the mountain to be extremely rugged

and the defensive walls very solid. This is why it is called the Buk-Han-Gwan-Bang, the Defensive Pass of the Buk-Han Mountain. The gate-posts are precisely placed and have a well- thought-out strategical purpose. I could imagine the venerable designs of the kings who had left these for their descendants.

I followed the thread of a path which led to Sam-Cheong-Dong, the site of the occasional home of Minister Kim. A small study was visible through the woods. The layout was very neat and clean. I could tell it was a place for him to get away.

Baek-Seok-Sil had a clear stream going round its flower garden, and a bridge built of white stone. Fallen flower petals covered the stone steps like snow, no one having bothered to sweep them away. The purple gates were all shut, adding to the stillness of the place.

I turned away and descended into the gorge. A small gazebo flanked the stream and on a boulder were etched three characters, Cheon-Soo-Do (“On Enjoying a Thousand Trees”), which means, somewhat, what the poem Hyon-Do-Gwan (“On Seeing the Darkened Capital”), written by Yu Woo-Seok says.

The mountains were tremendous and the gorge profound. Fragrant plants filled the garden.

Occasionally, there were small waterfalls, and various birds tootled. The stream flowed, sounding of jade. The flowering plants were dense and lush, and the scenic beauty unsurpassed. I found it difficult to describe and so I sang this poem:

The morning fresh, flowers all in bloom brighten the small pavilion.

My low wooden clogs feel light as feathers.

I open my heart to cleanse its troubles away.

Dense fog in the mountains stretched far into the distance.

I trod the fragrant irises and cupped clear spring-water in my hands. My silken clothes fluttered in the wind, and a dog of the fairy-world barked at the clouds. I realized that nature does not belong to anyone, but the wind and the moon and the whole world belong to hermits. Passing through the flowers and grass, I came across every scenic wonder.

The next day, I went outside the Dong-Seong, the Eastern Wall, and visited the pavilions and gazebos. At the entrance to Jeong-Reung, there were many stones of unusual shape and magnificence. Looking down on Wang-Sim-Ni, I saw a great many common-peoples’ houses. The field was so vast that it seemed to be the countryside. I composed a poem.

The spring-rain and wind have never an idle moment.

Spring is in the sound of the water.

How can I complain that the land I behold is not mine?

Wherever floating grass arrives, there is its home.

Exiting by the Soong-Rey-Moon, the Great South-Gate, I entered the shrine of KwanWang, King Kwan. At the front gate, there were several rows of willow trees, like lines of hanging golden threads. On the southern hillside opposite the front, tall pines stood dense and green. The red door of the painted pavilion was bright and shiny among the clouds, and covered by blue rooftiles. There were three gates at the front but only the narrow one was open. The guard there, wearing a hat and holding a short whip, had stopped various people from entering. Those admitted had to pay an entrance fee. Inside the two gates to the left and right stood proud soldiers in the manner of Joo-Chang, a deputy to Kwan-Woon-Jang, holding the bridles of their prized warhorses.

Inside the gate was a small mound made of stones, and beside it lay an old pine tree. At its base was a crouching tiger that had been sculpted out of the stone.

At the back was a small garden. Azaleas were in full bloom. At the front was the temple for the Ten Kings. Small statues of Bodhisattvas sat in rows flanking the statues of the Ten Kings.

On the walls of the hall on both the left and the right were hung pictures of the battle-camps of the Three Kingdoms of China. One could clearly see the size of the camps, such as Nam-ByungSan(Nan-Ping-Shan), Jang-Pan-Gyo (Chiang-Pan-Jiao), and Hwa-Yong-Do (Hua-Yong-Dao).

In the small shelter which enshrined the stele, calligraphy done by King Young-Jo (of the Yi Dynasty) praised the historical achievements of King Kwan.

The main building was grand and glorious. However, the front gate was closed. The man on duty, dressed in a magpie coat and with a black kerchief on his head, hurriedly conducted us through the narrow entrance. Nearby sat a monk in meditation. He was wearing 108 prayer beads around his neck. He looked so clean and neat, he seemed a sculpture carved from transparent jade. He looked exactly like an image of Bo-Jeong Seon-Sa, the Buddhist monk Seon-Sa, of Mount Ok-Cheon.

All the many generals in their armor stood in a line to the left and to the right. Behind a red parasol hung a tall curtain of embroidered silk. I went forward and humbly gazed upon the royal throne. King Kwan wore an informal imperial robe and a crown for like occasion on his head. But he held a jade scepter in one hand, which signified his royal power.

He had caterpillar eyebrows and phoenix eyes. He oozed charm. The superior energy of the mountains flowed between his eyebrows; his complexion was like that of a jujube; his beautiful beard was in the shape of a triangle; his confidence exuded the dignity of frost on snow. A thousand years before and ten-thousand years afterwards, there was and will be no other who rivals him in loyalty and bravery. He had the greatest sense of justice. His heroic spirit and soul hold up the universe. Not only had we built a shrine to him to pay our respects through memorial ceremonies, but also, I hear, the Chinese people have shrines in their homes to pray to him. What a wonderful

thing to do indeed!

As I offered up the cup of wine and some fruit with the utmost reverence, an official ordered me in a loud voice to come forward to present the drink. After that, I folded my hands together humbly and, on my haunches, made a bow and then retreated. Under the table were a stacked set of the volumes, the Choon-Chu, or Spring and Autumn, and a tub of fortune-telling sticks.

Alas, while in battle, pressed by the greatest sense of justice and fierce loyalty, King Kwan fell unfortunately to his enemies from the Oh Dynasty (Wu). The energy of his anger, his regrets, and his sufferings due to injustice gathered in the universe. From time to time, in the fog of war, his spirit led a great army of invincible soldiers who roamed the earth. If they caught sight of a battle, they would help the just and strike down the bandits. This is why everyone, whether great or small, cannot help but revere him and offer prayers in ceremonies to his spirit.

When Japan invaded us in 1492, the spirit of King Kwan appeared and helped us to wipe out the enemy, with typhoon and thunder. Because it had started in the south and finished in the east, we built a shrine, one on the eastern and one on the southern side of the capital. The one on the south side depicted him alive, his face red, and the one on the east side showed him dead, his face yellow. The architectural plans and designs were all modeled on those of China.

According to the Pae-Sa (an unofficial history of the common people) which I had read earlier, there was a disturbance caused by western bandits in the Year of the Serpent (1821), during the Reign of Ka-Gyeong (Chia-Ching of the Ming Dynasty). General Im Chong fought them but could not suppress them. The bandit-generals used the eight trigrams in setting up their camps and were much skilled at trickery and creating diversions. When their elite soldiers descended from the air, Im Chong’s men lost every time. Suddenly, in the middle of a fight, they hoisted the banner of Han-Soo-Jeong-Hoo (King Kwan’s bestowed title), and the enemy soldiers scattered. The socalled western elite-soldiers fell to the ground like leaves blown from a tree. At last, they vanquished the western bandits. The prohibition of the study of evil (Christianity) was more

strongly enforced. They executed these people en masse outside the O-Moon (Wu Gate) and it was said that they spilled rivers of blood.

In the reign of King Hwi-Jong of the Song (Soong) Dynasty, they cleaned out the SongMa (Soong Devils) and heightened the power of the emperor. In the battle of Beon-Yang, elite forces overcame the evil to help the Ming Dynasty. There is a shrine to King Kwan on Mount KeySan. All of this is very well known, having been recorded in the Book of Miracles and Mysteries.

When I read about all of this, I realized how much more I admired and respected him. I was truly awe-struck.

Our Two-Year Sojourn in Eui-J oo

Having toured the capital and the countryside, I looked at my attire, the kerchief on my head and my clothing. Suddenly, I felt sad and said to myself:

“For a girl to dress in a boy’s clothing is uncommon. Human emotions are too deep to understand. A prince will stop when he is satisfied and does not go beyond what he feels is moderate.

A small person acts impulsively according to his emotions and is oblivious of

returning to himself. Now that I have fulfilled my lifelong desires, it is time for me to stop. Why don’t I return to my other self and dedicate myself to a woman’s work?”

And I shed my male attire and returned to the old way of an unmarried young woman.

Wang Ja-Jin’s18 reed-playing gathered the cranes of fairyland, and Jang-Kyung’s19 keo-mun-go called up happy phoenixes. At last I tied the knot with a scholar, Mr. Kim (his pen name being Kyu-Dang) as a secondary wife and lived comfortably for a few years.

Through the beneficence of the King, Mr. Kim was appointed head of Yong-Man (another name for Eui-Joo), as Governor of Eui-Joo. It was in the early spring of the Year of the Serpent (1845). When it came time for him to assume his post, I headed for Yong-Man, in a palanquin, separately, ahead of him. Strings of dangling beads served to curtain the four sides of the sedan chair as we passed through Mo-Hwa and arrived in Kae-Gyong (another name for Kae-Seong).

When I saw the last of the setting sun over Mount Song-Ak and the evening clouds hanging over Man-Wol Peak, I felt lonely and sad.

The old stone bridge, Seon-Jook-Kyo, still had blood stains distinct enough to moisten the eyes of loyal martyrs of a thousand years. Beyond the guardpost Cheong-Seok-Kwan, there was a long valley which stretched for about ten li (2.44 miles). The mountain was extremely rugged and steep—true god-given rough terrain. It was said that in the invasion of the Manchus in 1636, a

Ching general got to this point and became so timid that he was ready to abandon his soldiers, who had advanced ahead of him. If we had had just a few hundred soldiers guarding the place, the Ching army would never have dared to cross it. Alas, we can only look back now with regret.

We passed the large rocky peak called Chong-Soo-Am. I heard that there were some large handwritten characters thereabouts made by the Chinese envoy Joo Ji-Beon. However, I was in the sedan chair and could see nothing. We passed the town of Hwang-Joo and saw the Wol-Pa-Ru Pavilion. It was off in the distance, next to a stream. It seemed as if I was watching it while passing through a painting.

We arrived in Pyong-Yang then followed a narrow road through an extensive forest and reached the Dai-Dong River. A pavilion in the distance and the stuccoed walls were so distinct, as though in a mirror. We crossed the river and went through the Dai-Dong-Gate. It was about a hundred paces to the Yeon-Gwang-Jeong Pavilion. The broad river lay before it and one could spit onto the dike. The sand was just like white silk all along the river. The whole of Chwi-Wol was 10li wide. The plain and fields of the farmers were wide open, with low hilltops. The river and hills were bright and beautiful.

“On one side of the great wall flows the wide river. In the east, toward the great ocean, mountains dot the land� was inscribed on two hanging plaques on the pillars of the pavilion. These captured the quintessence of the pavilion. Neung-Ra-Island was in the middle of the river and it literally looked like a length of Neung-Ra silk.

To the east was the Bu-Byok-Ru Pavilion, under Mok-Dan Bong Peak (also called MoRan-Bong Peak) on a rise in the terrain. Young-Myong Sa Temple was to its left. The pavilion of the temple is known as Deuk-Wol-Loo. The name means that the pavilion nearest the river is the first to catch the light of the moon.

The city inside the walls was glorious. The people’s houses were so densely laid out that there seemed to be no margin of land separating them. Firewood, soy sauce, and salt were all stored up on the roofs. The houses had blue windows and red doors. The clear sound of panpipes and other wind instruments was coming from every brothel at both the Institute of Court Music and that of Folk Music.

The noise of cotton-wool being bleached on the river-banks and the rumble of carts did not cease the whole day. Indeed, it is a captivating place. It is fitting that it should have been the capital for Tankun and Ki-Ja for a thousand years. Outside the walls still lie the remains of Jeong-Jeon.20 The Tomb of Ki-Ja lies there too.

Having exited by the Bo-Tong-Mun Gate, we arrived at An-Joo. It too was a great town. I went up to the Paik-Sang-Ru Pavilion and looked up at Mount Myo-Hang. It lay east and north and physically was so tremendous that it was called the ‘Great Mountain Along the Western Route’.

The rock formations were most unusual and prominent. There was not a single rugged slope of earth. The valleys were terraced. They said that one could see Geum-Seon Peak, the Cave of Tan-kun, and many other wonderful things, but I was so mesmerized that I could merely feel my heart pounding. In the north was a large lake fed by the Chong-Chon River. It divides the region Cheong-Buk from Cheong-Nam. It truly is an important section of the western route.

In the local main office, there were two kisaeng, named Chong-Nam-Wol and KangNam-Wol, who were singing. Their singing and playing were worth listening to.

We reached Ka-San and passed through the Hyo-Seong Mountain Range. The mountains were rough and treacherous. The black rock had such an ominous air. No wonder the riot of Hong Kyeong-Rae had erupted here. Passing through Jeong-Joo, I looked at Seo-Jang Peak.

That is where the riot occurred in the Year of the Monkey, Im-Shin. I felt as though I were witnessing the horrors of that time with my own eyes.

We arrived at the guardpost So-Chan-Gwan. It is the first post within the jurisdiction of Eui-Joo, where the old and new officials transfer their duties. The local government officials, civil servants, slaves, and kisaeng had all assembled and were waiting. The next day, the Jang- SangGwan, the Governor, made a display of his authority. His banners and flags, the swords and spears, and the colors of the uniforms were no less grand than those of the soldiers of the capital.

The kisaeng in their short-brimmed hats were lined up at the gate. They wore short sleeves with long skirts and were ready to mount their beautiful horses with silver bridles. They led the procession in pairs. The jewels of their headdresses and their short green jackets and red skirts were all extremely luxurious. At the sound of a horn they all mounted their horses and sat ready.

Because Yong-Man was strategically very important in the region, even the kisaeng were trained to ride horses and use swords. They prepare a great deal to put on an impressive parade when a new Governor assumes his post, so that the people don’t realize how completely they will become enthralled and mesmerized.

At the front were the soldiers of the local government, who were dressed in brilliant colors.

They seemed to stretch for 30 li. The power and authority of the Governor appeared extraordinary. After he took office, he settled at Yeon-Shik Hall, which is in the inner quarters of the government-compound.

The furniture and accessories in the rooms were Chinese,

extravagant and luxurious in the extreme. The headquarters was located on the border of the two countries. So it was the key to the west. There was an abundance of things and the land was vast.

Money was also plentiful. Therefore a lot of favors were asked for by the people. It is not my place to interfere in how the Governor’s office makes decisions and issues orders, but if once a favor is granted by their being other than very strict with the rules, ugly rumors will circulate. We could not ignore this. Therefore, we strictly forbade our slaves and servants not to have contact with outsiders.

Furthermore, the servants and slaves of the local government were taking furniture and

household items for the various houses that belonged to the government. It was not a good practice but was also difficult to eradicate. So we called on the staff in charge of housing to do an inspection at the three gates to the government-compound, to prevent even the smallest items from entering unless they had official papers. This is why the government was so clean and transparent.

I went up to Mang-Shin Pavilion and wrote a poem:

The sound of the painted horn in Yong-Seong cannot win Over the spring flowers and willows along the river, all in fresh colors. Noontime at Official Quarters is silent and grass is growing in the yard.

If you should see the moon deep in the night, not a speck of dust is to be found on it. The kisaeng, dressed in thin tops and in their white-stockinged feet, play arrow-toss into a jar.

The guests wear golden cummerbunds and chin-straps of coral beads, hands to their swords.

It is a thousand-li journey to Yeon-San, where red petals flutter down like rain.

As our carriage arrives, the royal beneficence indeed weighs heavily.

The birds we call paek-yeong-jo are originally from China, and they are about the size of a quail. If you stand a fishing pole in a bamboo cage, the bird will perch at the top of the pole and sing. It sounds almost like a Chinese carriage running. They are said to imitate all kinds of birds and four-legged animals. They sing well before the summer solstice but not after. The canary is about the size of a sparrow and its cage is made of iron with an iron perch in the center. Its feathers are iridescent. Both birds are said to come from the South Seas.

In the winter, apples are imported from Bong-Hwang Province.

They taste very

refreshing and keep their flavor for a long time. Although they seem to belong to the grape family, it is amazing that they do not change during the winter. The pears are far superior in flavor to those grown in Bong-San, in our country. During March and April, they are imported through Chaek-

Mun. The mu-u (daikon radishes) and soong-rae (kobo), were larger than those of Korea. The soong-rae were three or four times larger than the Korean ones. The Mu-u, the color of green malachite, were crisp as pears.

In order to see the opening of the market, I went up to the Tong-Gun Pavilion. There were several hundred lights in some forty military posts across the Ap-Rok Kang (the Yalu River), where top soldiers keep watch.

The market is open every spring and autumn.

Occasionally, the town of Yong-Man gives the order, sending out a signal by fire from the pavilion.

The soldiers line up with torches on the left and right, and stand at the ready for battle at a single blast of the painted horn. As dusk settles, the musicians go up to the pavilion, silk lanterns with lit candles inside leading the way.

The pavilion was built on a rock north of the city wall and was unusually high. It seemed to bear down on the three rivers. Chon-San, on the other side, bowed humbly, hands together, and nature before it was wide open and distant. The pavilion indeed deserves to be called the best of the western region. Curtains had been draped all around, and red and blue lanterns hung in lines. Slung from a beam, a thick rope held lamps made of horn and glass. Red and blue- silk lanterns had been lined up left and right. The top and base of the pavilion were brightly lit, as if in daylight.

An embroidered folding-screen, a Mongolian blanket, and the furnishings of the hall were all very luxuriously set out. The perimeter of the hall seemed about 40 kan (1 kan=about 6 feet). The floor of the hall was covered with a seamless carpet. This is not something other provincial governors’ offices or towns can afford.

The red-tiled roof and blue pillars rose high into the sky. The beautiful red banisters shone above the clouds and cast shimmering, dazzling reflections upon the Ap-Rok River. The evening clouds on the city walls of Koo-Yeon-Seong extended all the way to those of Koo-BongSeong in the distance. The Yeon-Gei landscape appeared faint, like a tree wrapped in fog, where

our eyesight gave out. People call this “the smoky trees of Kei-Moon” (Kei-Moon Yeon-Soo), which is one of the Eight Great Scenic Wonders of Yeon-Do. From this spot one can see the 800 li of Yo-Dong (Liao-Tung) spread out with no end in sight; the forests in the distance appear like fog and water.

The villages seem to quiver in the air, and the horses and cows to move backwards, in reverse. Short trees seem tall and low houses high. The whole thing is so mesmerizing, but when you get there, there is nothing to see. The vast fields and low shapes float in space, and the silver sea and jade-like river are so dizzying that the hills seem to flow and the trees seem to move. So it is not just in Kei-Joo but in all the 800 li of Liao-Tung (Yo-Dong): it is “the smoky trees of KeiMoon”.

I have always been dubious about how the Eight Great Scenic Spots of Yeon-Gyong could be located within the few hundred li of Yeon-Gei. By reading The History of YeonGyong(Yeon-Sa), I discovered for the first time that it was indeed not true.

About seven or

eight li outside the Deok-Seung Gate on the wall west of Yeon-Gyong (Yen Ching), there is a hill called Kei-Koo. It stands very high in the middle of a vast field, which is wide-open, and in the fog stood a thousand dense rows of trees, with no end in sight.

In the old days, there was a gate in the wall named Kei-Geum-Moon. That is the first part of the phrase Kei-Moon Bi-Woo (Driving Rain against the Kei-Moon), which is included in the Eight Great Scenic Spots of Yeon-Gyong. During the Ming Dynasty, Bi-Woo (Driving Rain), was changed to Yeon-Soo (Smoking Trees). The Emperor Keon-Liung (Jin Liung) wrote the four characters “Kei-Moon Yeon-Soo” in his own handwriting and had a stele erected by his order.

The people of our country do not know this. So when they pass through Kei-Joo, they talk about the yeon-soo saying that it is neither smoke nor fog and looks blue or white. They always maintain that the roots of the trees are open and glow the color of a river. Kei-Joo was Eo-Yang in the old days and became Kei-Joo during the reign of Emperor Moon (Moon-Je) of the Sui Dynasty.

“Kei”began to be used somewhat in confusion and the Korean people continued to use them in the confused way. It is truly lamentable that diplomatic vehicles and envoys have made trips to YeonGyong for over five-hundred years, some of the official translators and interpreters having made tens of trips there in their lifetime, but I have not yet heard of anyone one who knows anything about this yeon-soo.

I returned to the merriment. The stringed and wind instruments took turns in playing, making me wonder if it was music coming from the heavenly fairy-world above the clouds. The singing of the kisaeng was clear and sent up into the clouds to drift away. Their dancing in pairs was light and lively. Their waists, as light as willow branches, fluttered like the wings of swallows. They certainly deserve to be called the great beauties of the Kwan-Seo [the area comprising North and South Pyong-An Provinces -Tr.] Their singing and dancing also deserve the fame they enjoy.

After it was over, cannons were shot off and bugles sounded. The left and right sides raised their torches to signal. Along the river among the little dunes, bonfires were started at once. The lights on both sides were so mesmerizing that it looked as if the stars had gathered there.

The sky was blue and red peach-blossoms were being blown onto the clear river. The sound of drums and flutes from the pavilion rose high up, piercing the blue sky. It sounded as if imaginary “Nan birds” and phoenixes were taking turns in singing above the clouds. Even the fish and the dragons of the sea must have come out to hear it. I wrote a poem in rhyme.

The best of all the scenic beauty of Kwan-Seo is right here, at this pavilion.

Nothing blocks the fresh wind blowing at the head of the Ap-Rok River. The six islands are spread out, and link up with Keuk-Po. Myriad mountain peaks, like black and white stones on a go-board, embrace Seo-Joo. In clean sand, the ancient trees stand in a tangle of wild vines.

Dark fog and cold clouds signal the deep of autumn.

As I stroll along the banister of the pavilion, the bonfires are out.

The protective lanterns and the sound of a large flute hang over the river.

A little later the moon rose above the mountains to the east. The night was already deep.

We left to return to Official Headquarters.

I went to Paek-Il-Won to see the kisaeng racing their horses. Paek-Il-Won was to the east of the Ap-Rok River. The plain was wide open and the rutted track was wider than a hundred paces.

The kisaeng were all dressed in military uniform and were beautifully made up. They looked glorious, standing in formation. The saddles on the horses looked sturdy and large, their decorations glamorous and extravagant. The three drums had barely stopped when at the sound of a whistle, the kisaeng mounted their horses in order. They took the reins themselves and jumped onto their horses with a leap. Then they all went onto the rutted track making not a single mistake.

Among them was a kisaeng named Kyong-Hye, who could perform a sword-dance holding a pair of short swords in her hands. She was as quick as a swallow in flight and a marvelous spectacle to behold indeed. Because this is the most important place in the west, from the time of Mr. Wi (of Wi-man Choseon), Mr. Ko (of Ko-Gu-Ryeo), and Mr. Wang (of Koryo), they have always held the arts of archery and horseback-riding in high esteem. I wrote a poem.

When people and horses are groomed, they both shine.

Standing at the head of the pavilion, I see the riders dressed in red.

At the third beat of the drum, all take off flying.

The fragrant dust is carefree in spite of the wind that blows among a hundred flowers.

The Poetry Salon at Sam-Ho Pavilion in Yong-San

When my husband finished his term as Chief Administrator of Yong-Man, we packed up and returned to Kyong-Sa. Our relatives and family welcomed us back and we were happy to see one other. We expressed our affection by making each of them a simple gift of silk from China. My scholarly husband rejected the offer of a government position and retreated to the riverside. I got into a small carriage and followed him to the Sam-Ho Pavilion in Yong-San.

The grass was like a carpet, and all kinds of flowers were in bloom. The hall of the pavilion was built on a height by the river, among the clouds and forest. Lotus leaves filled the pond and spring water coming from the rocks flowed by the stepping stones. In front of it, a long stretch of river like a belt flowed, and beyond was a blue mountain like a load on someone’s back. Fishermen sat leisurely in their spots, keeping company with sleeping seagulls. Flute- playing boys on cows, mounted to one side, responded to each other. I chanted a poem in fun:

All the scenic beauty of Seo-Ho can be found here at this pavilion.

One can come up at will to play and enjoy a lark.

The silky waving of spring grass on the riverbanks merges Into a river of dazzling waves which flows into the sunset.

A solitary village suspended at the edge of the clouds hides a lone sailboat.

Flowers fall on the fishing rocks, carrying one’s worries away.

Endless storms and fog gather and grow calm.

A golden pouch shines beautifully against the banister.

I also chanted two short stanzas:

The fragrance of flowers fills the air and the willows are replete with threads.

The spring-breeze paints an enchantingly attractive picture of the sun.

A leisurely fellow nearby is dreaming of fog over the water.

A duck is far away in the blue sky and a sailboat almost motionless.

Under clear moonlight, spring is lost in the willows, Sunset remains, brightly illuminating the flowers.

Leisurely seagulls will not rise from the sand; The sound of a flute lingers on the spring grass.

Yong-San is about ten li from Seoul, to the west, along the lower Han River. People speak of the Han River as being the best in our country, but the best place is Lake Yong-Ho, in terms of how bustling it is and how clear and glorious it is, whether one means the upper or lower river.

The pavilion is located on the riverbank and the waves of the wide water run toward NoRyang and Yang-Hwa Island and into the Western Sea. To the south, one can see Mt. Kwan-Ak. Multitudes of pinnacles on Mt. Kwan-Ak seem to be standing in a circle bowing, their hands folded together, appearing to be calling out to one another. The white sand along the water looks like brightly polished jade.

The tall pavilions and storied halls were back-to-back with the walls of the houses. The sails and oars of the riverboats and freighters seemed woven together. Horses and oxen traveled back and forth, and white herons came and went. If you raised your eyes to take a look, all of this was to be had at your desk. Thus it truly deserves to be called the scenic spot outside of the city.

This pavilion tops all other pavilions. Because many high government-officials have built their pavilions here, they are all built in beautiful spots. But the river and the lake cannot both be used as a summer pavilion and a shrine, so, occasionally, loiterers and poets come here to enjoy themselves.

A Soong poem says, “Under the woods, who could have seen even a single person?�

That is to say, to leave an official position in the government and retreat to a retired life was very difficult. My scholar-husband was quite able to take off his official robe and put on rough clothes and make fishing poles out of the bamboo in the yard. He abandoned his position and money as if they were old shoes and regarded wealth and fame as no more than floating clouds. How could a shallow mind like mine ever be able to see and appreciate such things? Who would not respect, admire, and emulate his lofty attitude and extraordinary style?

I too fell in love with the river and the lake, and I liked the mountains and the forest. I ordered the servants to put on short pants, fetch water, gather wood for heating, plant varieties of vegetables and to tend the garden. I did not pay any attention to gossip or praise, and my defense was laid in my own mind. My body and mind felt light, as if I had been dusted and had inhaled the morning dew. Below the pavilion, the rowing of the oars made a wonderful sound, and I chanted the stanza of a poem in a clear, ringing voice.

Amidst a boat-song, a small boat rows away.

The clouds of sunset wish to flow far away.

Fog, all one color over the water, stretches for 30 li.

The pavilions of great fame are strung out along the nearby river among the willows.

Occasionally, I chanted a poem, and four others who were following me chanted back in response. One was named Woon-Cho, who was from Seong-Cheon and a secondary wife to Minister Kim whose pen-name was Yeon-Cheon. She had outstanding talent and beauty, and great fame as a poet. She would come to visit often and at times would stay for days at a time.

Another was called Kyong-San. She was from Moon-Hwa and a secondary wife to Secretary Yi whose pen-name was Hwa-Sa. She was well-informed and erudite, good at the

recitation and chanting of poetry. She lived nearby and so we visited each other often.

Another was named Jook-Seo, and was from where I am from. She was a secondary wife of Chief Seo whose pen name was Song-Ho. She was very talented and wise. If she heard one thing, she would know ten. She admired the writings of Han Yoo and So-Shik. Her poems were unusual, in classical style.

The last one was my very own younger sister, Kyong-Choon. She is a secondary wife to Chief Hong whose sobriquet was Joo-Cheon. She was very intelligent and wise, and she knew the Chinese classical texts and books of history very well. Her poetry and prose were no less brilliant than those of the others.

We enjoyed each other’s company and took turns in playing. Thus our silk sleeves covered the table and our pearls of poetry were hung from the bookcases. Often we recited our poems.

Our clear voices were like the tossing of gold and the scattering of jade-stones. The wind and the moon in the four seasons could never be neglected and the riverbanks rampant with flowers and birds were also sufficient to melt our worries away. I chanted four poems.

We met together at the insistence of spring and saddened by the beauty of the setting sun.

No sooner had our eyebrows been plucked to thin crescents than our cheeks turned plump and old.

We sought to write poetry while we still felt lucky to behold the blossoms.

Who sent the fairy-lady to put our looms to rest, together?

The spring wind is gone, yet the traveler has not returned.

A spring of many illnesses makes time even more idle.

I join the gathering that is allowed to chant poetry away from the official testing site. I

thoroughly understand that this fleeting life is but a dream from which we awaken.

The fog over the river stretches far and wide, and the seagulls soar.

Not being able to fall asleep, I stand leaning against the railing.

From time to time, I hear the sound of people talking from across the river.

A fishing boat is returning to Nam-Po in the bright moonlight.

As I open the curtains, water reaches all the way to the heavens.

The spring-wind blows beyond the dozen openings of the banisters.

The peach and plum trees across the river link up with the willow, And all went up into the dreamy sky fogged over in one color.

The five of us knew each other’s minds and we became helpful friends to each other. As we all occupied beautiful and idle pieces of land, we always enjoyed our days when flowers bloomed and the birds sang. Whether it was cloudy or foggy, rainy or stormy, sunny or moon-lit, we found every day beautiful and were happy. Occasionally, we played the keo-moon-ko (a half- tube zither with six strings) and listened to music, innocently enjoying ourselves.

If, in conversation, we felt an inspiration, we wrote poems about it. Some were clean and clear; some were elegant, some robust, some classical; some were clear and earthy; and some were brave and just. We could not tell which were good and which were bad. But we were the same in distilling our emotions and enjoying ourselves at our leisure.

My sister Kyong-Choon especially had a strong sense of our sisterhood and of our dedicated loyalty, such as is known to have existed between Kwan-Joong and Po-Sook-A of Chinese history. In addition, she seemed to be someone who transcended this life of dust and the common world. She had an extraordinary talent. With her spirit of water and of the moon and her skin of jade and of snow, there would be few who could match her from olden times down to this

day.

What was regrettable was that she was born a female, to be at home and unusable in society. Every time we saw each other, we poured out our innards to each other. At times we could not stop talking. For example, when she discussed her writing, she had so much to say that it was as if the Yang-Tze River were a cascade. Sometimes, she would read excitedly slapping her thigh, her voice ringing like a canary’s in a springtime forest. Sometimes, she sounded like a phoenix crying out on a high hill. She told me herself that our harmonious relationship was a joy others did not know.

When I look back at the whole of my life of innocent pleasures, I see I have been interested in the mountains and rivers, and have travelled to various scenic places to discover the unusual sights, which men often find difficult to do. I feel satisfied that I have been able to do so, a wish come true.

Alas, the greatness of the world and nature! Because I was born in a small corner of the country, there has not been much to see. The eternity of time immemorial! A hundred years of this fleeting life is not long enough to enjoy it. However, judging by one corner of it as an example, the world may be the same as here in this land. Within the perspective of a hundred years, old and new may only be like a day or a month. How can one talk about the land being great or small or time being old or new?

When I think about it, every landscape that we pass by is but a moment’s dream. If I did not set this down in writing, who would know that I, Keum-Won, existed today? Resting on our pillows, we close our eyes and our spirits and souls join together in the void and in the darkness; we change according to our feelings: all this is but a dream of one night.

The great instructions on virtue also move along. The universe is but a moment long. The work of a lifetime returns to naught, only the dream of a lifetime. This is why, in the story of Hwang-

Ryang’s pillow21 , we understand that a lifetime is a long dream and, by the excursion of the Emperor Hwang to the country of Hwa-Seo22 , a utopia, the ultimate Tao (Way) is doing nothing.

If this is so, how is a one-night’s dream any different than the dream of a lifetime? Ah! If you look at it from a day’s perspective, a day is a dream and if you look at it from a year’s perspective, a year is also a dream. Whether a hundred or a thousand years, whether bygone or yet to come, there is nothing other than dreaming. I, too, am a person in a dream, and I wish to set down events that occurred in a dream. Should this not also be called a dream within a dream?

Finally, I pick up the brush to record briefly my travels from their beginning to end. This account covers only one of ten. The places I have toured began with the four counties of Choong-Cheong Province and Kang-Won Province and the Keum-Gang Mountains and the Eight Great Scenic Sights before I turned to go to Seoul. I reached Yong-Man in the northwest and then returned to Seoul. Thus I titled this Ho-Dong-Seo-Nak-Ki, A Record of my Visit to the Lakes, the East Coast, the West Coast, and Seoul.

The first days of March, in the Year of the Dog, Kyung-Sul, Keum-Won (AD 1850).

Comments on Ho-Dong-Seo-Nak-Ki Offered by the M embers of the Poetry Society at Sam-Ho Pavilion

Exegesis, by Kyong-Choon, Keum-Won’s Younger Sister

Writing begins from the heart and so if you see the writing, it is possible to know of the person who wrote it. This is writing done by my older sister, and no one probably knows her as well as I do. My sister’s genius is quite obvious. Her intentions and attitudes are heroic and cheerful. She regarded her family-relationships as very important. She was filial and loving at home. She regarded me as her closest friend and confidant among the siblings. Although I am not very quick and alert, I am a joyful person and was happy to obey her with all my heart and soul. I console myself that I have understood some of her deep, vast knowledge and skill.

Her nature was outstanding and extraordinary, like the mythical birds the nan and the phoenix. When she was playing with things, she was like a colt out of the River Ak-Wa23 ; she often had the discipline to cut out the rumors of the dusty world. But because she was born a woman, the many talents she possessed, like fistfuls of pearls or armloads of jade, had no place in society.

So she took up poetry and writing, calligraphy and painting as her productive work. She took the mountains and rivers, the wind and the moon, the fog and the clouds, and the flowers and birds as her home and room. She lay down among them, chanting poetry and cleansing away the accumulated dissatisfaction and loneliness that seemed to fill her heart.

But her gentle demeanor and appearance were warm and peaceful. She had the air of a jade medallion adorning a king’s royal crown. Even when she was left free to come and go, she never drifted, and even when at play, she was never ruthless. Her spiritual wisdom produced her poetry and writings. Such writings did not come from belabored thought but only from her inspired

mouth as she formed sentences.

Her writings freely transverse length and breadth. Without glazing or ornamentation, they fit what is proper to the rules.

Their composition is quite orderly; their twists are

everywhere; what is revealed and what is hidden is multi-layered. Her sentences vary in the extreme, short on words but long on meaning; their atmosphere is thick and their flavor deep. Their spirit is vast and expansive, and her romanticism is heroic and leisurely. This is not something that someone whose head is bent parsing sentences and phrases can possibly arrive at while he lets his brush-tip rot and sucks on his ink-stick. Her poetry is also well-rounded and brilliant. Like a clear bead rolling on a table or a hundred flowers blooming in turn, they steal our attention.

This work is a record of her tours of the mountains and rivers. It starts with the phrase “the greatness of the land (mountains and the rivers)” and “the eternity of all ages (the sun and the moon)”. The two phrases form the head and its scale is indeed huge. The two characters pu-dong, which mean “not the same”, also form another pillar, her thoughts being active and far-reaching.

“Things not being the same” connects to the phrase “time is eternal”, and “the mountains and waters not being the same” connects to “the rivers and mountains being great”. This lays the foundation for her travels. One mountain can be ten-thousand, and ten-thousand streams can form one river.

From this, one can see into the workings of the universe, its great origins, and its universal moral principles. “The same” and “not the same”—there is nothing that does not represent the workings of the universe in these single phrases. They summarize her earlier sentences and also encompass her will to travel.

Subsequently, she goes one step further and talks about “male and female being not the same” and lists many other things which are not the same.

She concludes saying being

“fortunate” and “unfortunate” are not the same. There is an infinite sense of emotion contained here.

“Therefore”, as she describes such differences again, she is clearly expressing her frustration at not being able to achieve what she wants to and becomes “depressed and weary”. It is quite evident that she had in mind a great desire to be beneficial to her society and held a deep knot of resentment. Her desire to travel at this point becomes ever more desperate.

Following the phrase “in spite of this”, she inserted “below the mountains”, which refers to the intention that she had to see the land and its sights. Confucius taught that the wise enjoy the mountains and the intelligent the waters. Her knowledge is indeed quite advanced and her logic is proper and correct. She concludes that a man has a longing for the four corners and that is why it is difficult for women to travel. Immediately following this phrase, she continues: “women do not get out of the inner quarters” and finishes with “if these women were to perish, would it not be sad?” One can see that her great heroic spirit is not bound by common rules but laments having to live buried deep in the inner quarters.

After that, she writes about herself. The sentence that begins “I think of our life” is a continuation of the sentence just above, that comments on the “fortunate” and “unfortunate”. It guesses quantity and degree and also reverses them to discern the difficulties. It expresses infinite emotion and intentions that cannot be fulfilled. It is like the Pok-Keo-Moon of Kul-Won.

Because Kul-Won was born at the wrong time he chose a hermit’s life himself in the mountains along rivers so that his pure mind would not become sullied by the dust of this world.

Thus he composed the Writings of Pok-Keo with Chom-Yun. Chom-Yun said that “even good strategies can have short-comings, and lesser wisdom can contain strengths.” This convinced KulWon to do what he wished to do. Being entirely clean all by himself and wide-awake is not something that the whole world can share in. Therefore it is impossible for the world to figure out who is loftier.

When a woman desires to do what even men find difficult to do, it takes great courage and determination, without which she cannot achieve what she wants. Therefore, starting out

with the supposition of Kul-Won’s Pok-Keo and concluding with Jeung-Jeom’s saying, her point is extremely logical. “Confucius was of course with him” is used politely to request her parents’ permission to travel. The sentence “Jeung-Jeom took a bath at Ki-Soo and returned chanting poems” was said especially in the presence of Confucius the Great Saint.

But when she discusses the spirit of the Great Emperors, Yo and Soon, how can one comment on such things from a petty standpoint? “My heart felt free” and the following few phrases show her expansive mind subsiding a bit.

From then on, she describes her tours. Although she only briefly describes the scenery, her writing is exquisite, like a jewel. It was as if, when the Keon-Jang Palace was built, its thousand doors and ten-thousand windows and their extended eaves decorated with red and all kinds of other colors detracted from nature’s many wonders.

When she came to the point when she was about to tour Seoul, she says that “a prince knows when he is satisfied and is able to stop”.

This shows how great and proper her

fundamental principles are. At the end of this chapter, she says that she is content and also that her wish had been fulfilled.

Her intentions and temperament were cheerful and refreshing, and her mind expansive and open. Thus she looked down on the universe, not being limited by shapes and movement.

Being able to stay clear of “either drifting or ruthless”, she knew when to feel satisfied and to stop, showing vividly how the difficult morals of ancient times are still rarely discovered today.

“The rivers and mountains of the world and the sun and moon of ancient times and the present”:these paired phrases at the beginning go one step further in revealing a few pointed corners in the phrases which follow “in spite of this”. This is truly an enlightened truth for all ages.

Since ancient times travelers have infinitely abounded but only they record the spectacular

sights of the rivers and mountains. Rarely has a person stood above it all in a pavilion and looked far beyond shape and color. Finally, the one phrase “one dream� ties it all together at the end.

Within it is contained an infinite range of feelings and emotions that do not get expressed. They are so deep that they cannot be fathomed. Alas, I wonder whether or not there will indeed be anyone in the future who will read my older sister’s writings and also understand her.

Epigraph, by Woon-Cho Kim

Keum-Won is a hero among women. Her writings are actually what she has left us of her greatness and so one can tell that her talent is absolutely superior and her knowledge out of this world. Kyong-Choon’s nature and talent are clear, her intentions are extremely noble, and her writing is the same as her person.

Truly, it is difficult to say who is older or who is younger. Pan-Go’s writings shone because of his younger sister Pan-So. Pan-Go’s “Sam-Do-Bu” and Pan-So’s “Yeo-Gey” both became famous together. Such prosperity is rare, unseen whether in ancient times or at the present day.

For the sisters (Keum-Won and Kyong-Choon) to gain fame side by side does not happen easily.

It might happen only once during the history of a thousand years. The sad thing is that they are not men and so they are not able to display their talents. Ah, malachite, lapis lazuli, agate, garnet, amber, and red beads24 cannot be eaten or worn as clothing when one is hungry and cold. But, as I ponder it, they too are absolute treasures of the world.

A Letter, from Kyong-San

I have heard of Keum-Won’s fame for some time and have admired her deeply. As luck would have it, we lived close to each other on the bank of a river and we got together with similar intentions. There were five of us whose thoughts were open and peaceful. We were overflowing with elegant style and rhymes. In famed pavilions, we drank wine and chanted poems.

Our pleasures were harmonious and friendly. Our writings were so beautiful and outstanding that they were like an artist’s brush-tip dancing on red blooms and green leaves. All the lips of the poets were fragrant. All of this is from the joy of nature, created by heaven, which no one can create for himself. The lakes and mountains especially are of this realm.

Keum-Won’s writings describe, from beginning to end, the places she toured and saw. As if a creator had made all living things, there is not a seam in the sculpture that was put together. And every kind of shape and color of nature seems marvelous and exquisite. If the reader will look at her writings the way Koo-Bang Ko25 looked at horses, which is to say, to look on the inside rather than at appearances, he or she will be able to read much more than what is in the sentences.

Postscript, by J ook-Seo Park

Whoever is capable of writing poetry and prose is said to receive much inspiration from the natural landscape, from rivers and mountains. Since rivers and mountains originate from the energy of the universe, and poetry and writings come from human energy, where does the help that nature gives reside?

The magnificence and wonders of rivers and mountains make one happy and marvel.

Great landscapes move and elevate human energies. Therefore, if the good obtain them, they will find comfort, and if the wise see them, they will achieve greater enlightenment. A person with a purpose will establish a goal, a courageous man will rise up, a heroic person will become confident, and a depressed person will grow miserable. If they reach an emotional stirring and lament, they begin their writing and poetry. So, it is quite correct that writers receive help from nature, from rivers and mountains.

I have been close to Keum-Won, as I come from the same hometown. Enjoying her company on the lake, I had a chance to read her travelogue. Although it is a small volume, the book feels as if a thick fog is magnificently spread out for ten-thousand li.

There are twenty-seven poems, which resonate as if they have their own voices. She seems to have developed an affection for streams and high mountains.

It looks like she

uncovered every great, spectacular, and marvelous sight: level upon level of mountainsides and high cliffs, calm streams and torrential currents. None of these could escape her attention.

Her eloquent words and attractive sentences go well together with the physical objects. At times, her writing is majestic and intelligent, like a prince standing with his hands folded. Her writing also runs wildly from one end to the other, horizontally, and suddenly launches an attack from the opposite direction. At times, it seems as if ten-thousand soldiers are rising up at once. As for its

beauty, it is like vernal beauty on display. As for its clarity and freshness, it is like the colors of autumn.

The various sights of a thousand and ten-thousand different images are visible among the energy of her words and the tones of her language. How can we not say that her writings and poems do not receive help from nature, from the rivers and mountains? Her intentions and objectives especially are so lofty and broad that her thoughts transcend this world, leaving behind the dust of this world.

Mounts Tae and Hwa of China could not have been too high or steep for her, and the Yang-Tze and Han Rivers could not have been too deep or too wide. Her writings and poems are what were left of the words and voices that were uttered: how can they suffice for us to know Keum-Won through them? Nevertheless, a mere sheet of rain on Mount Tan is sufficient to lead us to imagine the whole, and this too is possibly precious.

Notes * The original text is not divided into sub-sections. These were provided by the translators of the original text into modern Korean. Chinese names are rendered in their Sino-Korean pronunciations.

1. An Yeon (字:顔淵) (名:顔回) (B.C. 513-482) was from Noh (Lu) of the Spring-Autumn period of China. He was the first among the Ten Great Philosophers of Confucius’s disciples.

However, he died young at age 32, preceding Confucius. Do Cheok (盜척) was the younger brother of Yu Ha-Hye, who was also from Noh. He was a notorious thief who attacked feudal lords pillaging cattle and women, at the head of 9,000 men. However, he lived a long life.

2. Jik (稷) and Seol(설) were all subjects of King Soon. Jik was the controller of farm lands and his family name was Hi (姬) and his given name was Ki (棄). Seol was the son of Ko Shin (高辛) and was a master teacher. According to the Legend of Soon, in “Woo’s Writings” of The Book of History (Shujing), Woo recommended Jik and Seol to King Soon. King Soon ordered Jik to take charge of farming by planting crops at the proper time so that the people would not starve of famine, and ordered Seol to instruct the people in the Five Morals and to learn to live in harmony.

3. I Yun (伊尹) was a wise minister of the Shang Dynasty. When he was tilling the fields belonging to Yoo Shin, T’ang visited him three times to invite him to his court. Later, I Yun helped T’ang to defeat King Geol of Eun and established the Eun Dynasty over the whole of Eun territory. Yeo Mang: His name was Yeo Sang and he had a sobriquet, Tae-Gong-Mang. He was from Dong Hae of the Chou Dynasty and his original surname was Kang. After his ancestors were bestowed land in the Yeo area, the family took the name Yeo for their surname. Yeo Mang enjoyed fishing in his old age and he met King Mun of Chou and became one of his Four Friends.

He helped King Mu, who was the teacher of King Mun, defeat King Chu of the Eun Dynasty and to establish the Chou Dynasty.

4. Young Ja: His name is Young Ch’eok and he was from Wei during the Warring States Period.

He cultivated great virtues. Not receiving a government position, he engaged in business. Later, he was recognized by Hwan-Gong of Ch’i and became a man of great wealth.

5. Ki-Ja: Uncle to the last king, Chu, of the Eun Dynasty. Ki-Ja was undisciplined and appealed to King Chu, but to no avail. Then, Ki-Ja feigned insanity and became a slave. According to the Sa-Ki (Szy Ji), King Mu of Chou, subsequent to his conquest of the Eun Dynasty, made Ki-Ja the lord of Jo-Seon. However, it is also recorded that Ki-Ja was never made a subject of King Mu. 6. Keum-Won was from Won-Joo, Kang-Won Province.

7. In the chapter, Ong-Ya, in the Analects, there is a phrase: “Confucius said that the man of knowledge likes water and the benevolent one likes mountains. The knowledgeable one is active and the benevolent one is still. The former enjoys life and the latter has longevity.”

8. Kul Won had been out of the king’s favor for more than three years and could not let his loyalty

and advice reach the king. He went to the great fortune-teller Jeong Chom-Yun to consult him.

Jeong said, “Even the measure of a foot can be short and an inch can be long; there is a side in all things that is lacking; wisdom may be unclear; in our fortune we cannot grasp everything; even a ghost may not pass through some things. Use your mind and do as you will. My turtle and fortunetelling cannot possibly know everything.” (From Kul-Won. Tr. by Seong- Jun Yu, in Cho-Sa, Pok-Keo, Hae-Won Publishing Co., 1992, pp. 138-140.)

9. When the disciples, Ja-Ro, Jeung-Seok, Yeom-Yu, and Kong-Seo-Hwa were sitting together with Confucius, he said, “Do not be afraid of me simply because I am a little older than you are. You say no one gives me recognition, but if someone did and were to elevate me to a government position, what would you do then? Jeom, what would you do?” Jeung Jeom, who had been listening to him and plucking on the keo-mun-go occasionally, shoved aside the instrument and stood up. He said, “I have a different opinion from the recommendations of the other three here.”

Confucius said, “What does it matter? Each one should speak his mind.” Jeom said, “In late spring, dressed lightly in spring clothes, with five or six men of age and six or seven youth, take a bath at Ki-Su, cool off at Mu-Hills, and return reciting poems.” Confucius was greatly touched by this and said, “I am with Jeom.” (From Seon-Jin, Analects, tr. & annotations by Seok-Won Kim, Hye-Won Publishing Co., 1989, pp. 244-246.)

10. Song-Gang is the pen-name of Jeong Chol (1536-1594), politician, statesman, scholar, and poet of sijo and kasa (prose poems) of the Joseon Dynasty (1392-1910). [Tr.] 11. Jang Kye-Eung: Jang Han of Chin. Gye-Eung is his adult name. He was a good writer and was called Kang-Dong-Bo-Byeong. While he was assigned to a government position away from home, when autumn came, he missed the taste of chives, soon-chae soup, and the fresh perch of his home so much that he resigned his post and went back home.

12. The four old men who lived as hermits in the Shang Mountains to escape the political turmoil toward the end of the Chin Dynasty.

13. This story of old men in a tangerine is also called Kyul-Soo. When frost formed in the Tangerine Garden (Kyul-Won) of Pa-Gong, the tangerines grew as large as pots. When one was split open, there were two old men playing chess inside. They said, “The pleasure of living in this tangerine is not inferior to the great joy of living in the Shang Mountains except that the roots cannot grow deep enough to be firm at the bottom.” A story from Dark and Strange Tales.

14.Yeo-Wa (女와): A female emperor of Old China; was a sister to Bok-Hee. Legend has it that when Kong-Gong was fighting against Chuk-Yung and touched the Bu-Joo Mountains, it caused the pillars holding up the heavens to break and the earth to collapse. Yeo-Wa tamed the stones of five colors and mended the sky and established the four poles with the feet of a turtle. She slew the black dragon to save Ki-Joo, and stopped a dirty flood by piling up ashes made from reeds.

15. The anecdote of Woo-Gong-I-San: Woo-Gong had a mountain out in front of his house which he wished to move. After many years of effort he finally achieved his purpose. From Yeol-Ja, the chapter on Tang-Mun.

16. Queen In-Mok (1584-1632) was the second wife of King Seon-Jo of the Joseon Dynasty.

Embroiled in political turmoil, her father was executed, and her son, Prince Yeong-Chang was exiled to Kang-Hwa Island where he died at a young age. She herself was stripped of her title and suffered house-arrest for five years. Her talent in calligraphy was well-known. [Tr.] 17. Princess Jeong-Myung (June 27, 1603 - Sept. 8, 1685) was the daughter of King Seon-Jo and Queen In-Mok and the older sister of Prince Yeong-Chang. She suffered imprisonment with her mother but was later restored to her title. Strong and bold, her calligraphy style was much praised by professional calligraphers. [Tr.] 18. Wang Ja-Jin: Also known as Wang Ja-Gyo. He was the crown prince of King Yeong of the Chou Dynasty. He was too quick to criticize the king and so was disowned. He played the reed flute well and his playing sounded like a phoenix crowing. Following a guru, he spent 30 years in the Soong-Go Mountains and then, riding a white crane, he went to stay on the summit of Goo-Ssi Mountain.

19. Sa-Ma-Sang-Yeo: A scholar of the Han Dynasty. He played the keo-mun-go (a 12-stringed zither) well and so was able to take Tak-Mun-Gun as his wife.

20. Jeong-Jeon is the system of dividing one square li (0.244 miles) of field into nine equal parts, as in tic-tac-toe or the shape of the Chinese character for “well” 井. Each outer section was then allocated to a farmer to cultivate. The center section belonged to the government and was the common responsibility of the farmers. The harvest from that section was given to the government. [Tr.] 21. This story is contained in the legendary novel Records of Slumber, of the T’ang Dynasty. When Noh-Saeng was asleep on the pillow belonging to Yeo-Ong, the sage, he dreamed that he enjoyed all the wealth, prestige, recognition, and fame that life has to offer while a pot of rice mixed with millet was being cooked. This is an allegory showing the transitoriness of great achievements in life.

22. The Emperor Hwang, troubled by his inability to rule his country peacefully, visited the land of Hwa-Seo in a dream. Seeing how the country was ruled in an ideal manner, he realized that “the ultimate Tao cannot be achieved by emotions.” From the chapter on “Emperor Hwang” in Yeol-Ja. 23. Ak-Wa is a branch river of the Tang-Ha, which flows through An-Seo, in Kan-Su. In the chapter on “Ceremonial Music” in Han-Seo, it is recorded that a horse came out of the water of the Ak-Wa. 24. Kong may refer to kong-jak-seok, malachite; cheong may refer to kun-cheong, lapis lazuli; ma is from ma-no, agate; ryu is from seok-ryu-seok, garnet. Mok-ran has not been identified and hwa-jae are red-beads. All of these are used to compliment the great talent of Kim Keum-Won. [Tr.] 25. Koo-Bang Ko: His family name is Koo-Bang, his given name Ko. He had the ability to appraise horses by examining their physiognomy. He lived during the reign of Chin-Mok Kong.

From the chapter on “Seol-Bu” in Yeol-Ja.