The Tale of Chunhyang (春香傳)
The Song of Chunhyang the Faithful Wife Who Kept Her Vow (烈女春香守節歌) — A complete modern translation.
Author unknown | A late-Joseon pansori-style novel | Based on the 84-leaf Wanpan woodblock edition.
Translator’s note: The Tale of Chunhyang is, with Sim Cheong, one of the best-loved Korean classics — a love story of Chunhyang, daughter of a former courtesan, and Yi Mong-ryong, a magistrate’s son, that is also a tale of fidelity (yeol, 烈) triumphing over a corrupt official’s abuse of power. Korean terms, place names, and the many allusions to Chinese classics are kept where meaningful, with explanations in parentheses. The pansori (sung-narrative) verse passages are set in bold.
― Volume One ―
- Namwon in an Age of Peace — Wol-mae and Vice-Minister Seong
It was in the early years after King Sukjong ascended the throne. The king’s great virtue overflowed throughout the whole land, and holy sons and grandsons continued generation upon generation; the sound of drums and jade flutes recalled the songs of peace of the age of Yao and Shun, and the dress and culture rivaled the reigns of King Yu of the Xia and King Tang of the Yin. The ministers at the king’s side were the cornerstones of the state, and the generals guarding the army were its shields. The transforming virtue flowing out from the court spread to every corner of the countryside, so that all four directions were secure and far and near were at peace. Loyal subjects filled the court, and filial sons and faithful women overflowed in every house. How fair, how fair indeed. The rain fell in season and the wind blew gently; the people ate their fill and lived in joy, and everywhere they sang songs of peace.
Around this time, in the town of Namwon in Jeolla Province, there lived a courtesan named Wol-mae. Once renowned as the foremost beauty of the three southern provinces, she had early withdrawn from the courtesans’ register and set up a household with a nobleman called Vice-Minister Seong. But though she was well past forty, she had not a single child beneath her knees, and this became a constant regret knotted in her heart, until her sighing and sorrow grew nearly to an illness. One day, steeling her resolve and recalling the wisdom of the ancients, Wol-mae quietly called her husband to sit with her and respectfully spoke.
“Hear me. By what bond in a former life I know not, in this world we joined as husband and wife; I cast off all the ways of my courtesan days, honored propriety, and labored at women’s work — yet what sin of mine is so heavy that we have not one child? With no flesh and blood and no kin, who will perform our ancestral rites, and how will our funeral be held in days to come? If by offering devotions at famous mountains and great temples we might be granted even one child, son or daughter, it would resolve the regret of a lifetime. What is your mind?”
Vice-Minister Seong said, “Considering our lot in life, your words are right; but if children came by prayer, who would be childless?” Wol-mae answered, “Even Confucius, the great sage of all under heaven, was born after prayer at Mount Niqiu, and Zichan of Zheng too was born after prayer at Mount Youxing. Our Eastern Land also has its famous mountains and great rivers; let us too offer our sincerity once.”
A tower built with devotion does not fall, and a tree planted with sincerity does not break. From that day Wol-mae bathed and purified herself and went out seeking famous mountains and holy sites. Embraced in the deep bosom of Mount Jiri, she climbed Banya Peak, and on all sides were famous mountains and great rivers indeed. On the highest peak she built an altar, set out offerings, prostrated herself on the ground, and prayed through a thousand hardships, again and again; and whether by the virtue of the mountain spirit, on the gapja day of the fifth day of the fifth month she had a dream.
An auspicious air hovered in the void and a five-colored rainbow shone brilliantly, and a heavenly maiden came down riding a blue crane. On her head a crown woven of flowers and on her body robes of many colors, holding a branch of cassia in her hand, she ascended the hall, joined her two hands, and respectfully said: ‘I was the daughter of the Luo River. Going to the Jade Capital to present peaches of immortality, I met Master Red-Pine at the Gwanghan Palace, and while we shared the longings we had not yet finished, I overstayed my time; this became a sin, and incurring the great wrath of the Emperor on High, I was cast down to the dust. Wandering, not knowing where to go, the spirit of Mount Duryu guided me to your house, so I have come; have mercy and receive me.’ And she rushed into her bosom — at the cry of the crane she started awake, and it was a single dream like Nanke’s.
Gathering her dazzled, swaying senses, she told her husband of the dream, and by Heaven’s favor from that month she conceived. When ten months were full, one day a fragrance filled the room and colored clouds shone, and amid a daze she gave birth — a jade-like daughter. Though the child Wol-mae had longed for day and night was not a son, her heart seemed for a moment to ease. How could one fully describe her love? She named the child Chunhyang (“Spring Fragrance”) and raised her like a jewel in the palm; her filial conduct was unmatched and her gentleness was like a kirin (an auspicious mythical beast). When she reached seven or eight, she took to books and devoted herself to propriety and chastity, so that there was no one in the whole town who did not praise her. - Hallim Yi’s Appointment to Namwon, and the Young Master Yi
At this time, in Samcheong-dong in Seoul there lived a nobleman called Hallim Yi. His was a renowned house of many generations, descended from loyal subjects. One day, when the king examined the Record of Loyalty and Filial Piety and chose loyal and filial men to appoint as provincial officials, he granted Hallim Yi the post of Magistrate of Namwon. Hallim Yi took his leave of the king, arranged his procession, arrived in Namwon, and governed the people so well that all four directions were untroubled and the townspeople gladly praised his good rule. The rain fell evenly, the wind was favorable, and the people were filial to their parents — truly it was no different from the age of Yao and Shun.
And what time was this? The spring had ripened into the three months of spring, fine for play. Birds flying the sky paired off and flew in twos, vying in every spring delight; flowers bloomed on the southern hill and stained it red, and through the thousand, ten thousand drooping strands of the weeping willows the oriole called its friend. Every tree was thick with leaves — it was the loveliest season of the year.
At this time the magistrate’s son, the young master Yi, was sixteen years old (twice eight), and his bearing recalled Du Muzhi, the literary man of the Tang. His magnanimity was broad as the blue sea and his wisdom expansive; in composition he was a Li Bai, in calligraphy a Wang Xizhi. One day he called the page-boy Bangja and said, ‘Where in this town is a place of fine scenery? My poetic and spring spirits run high; tell me of a scenic wonder.’ Bangja said, ‘Is it not idle for a young master at his studies to go roaming after scenery?’ The young master Yi said, ‘What an ignorant thing you say. From of old, men of letters and talent have made the viewing of superb landscapes the very root of poetry and writing. Li Bai played at the Caishi River, and Su Dongpo played beneath the autumn moon at the Red Cliff; how then could I not go out?’
Bangja then told him of the scenery on every side. ‘Hear of the scenery of Namwon in Jeolla. If you go out beyond the south gate, the Gwanghallu Pavilion, the Ojakgyo (Magpie Bridge), and the Yeongjugak are a grand sight. Let us go as you please.’ The young master said, ‘Even to hear it told, the Gwanghallu and Ojakgyo are a scenic wonder. Let us go and see.’ - Spring Sightseeing at the Gwanghallu Pavilion
Behold the young master Yi’s conduct. Going before the magistrate, he respectfully said, ‘The weather today is mild; I should like to go out a while and chant poetry on the breeze and moon. Please grant me leave to go out.’ The magistrate, greatly pleased, granted it and said, ‘View the scenes and goods of the southern town and return, but think up a poem-topic as you come.’ The young master answered, ‘I will do as you command,’ withdrew, and said, ‘Bangja, saddle the donkey.’
Bangja, hearing the command, saddled the donkey. Behold the young master Yi’s attire. A face clear as jade; lustrous hair, fresh as newly steamed rice-cake, combed smooth and set neatly with hair-oil, then braided stylishly with a silk ribbon; over a fine summer jacket a lined jacket and a scholar’s robe, with a black silk band pressed at the chest. Shading the sunlight with a fan of beaten gold, he walked briskly out along the broad government road — was it the bearing of Du Muzhi roaming the spring Jiangnan, or the air of the young lord Zhou (Zhou Yu) chanting poetry beside a peerless beauty?
Climbing the Gwanghallu and surveying all sides, the scenery was truly grand. Morning mist circled above the red walls, and through the deep-shaded trees the late spring breeze curled about flowers and willows. The pavilion’s painted eaves shone dazzlingly, and the birds’ songs boasted of the spring light. The Magpie Bridge was clear before him — but where were the Herd-boy and the Weaving Maiden? Such a scenic wonder could not be without verse, so the young master Yi, his spirits soaring, chanted two couplets.
On the high, high Magpie Bridge a heavenly maiden alights (高明烏鵲仙),
and the moon rises beneath the jade cassia of the Gwanghan tower (廣寒玉桂樓).
I ask: in the heavens, where is the Weaving Maiden (且問天上誰織女)?
It happens that today, here, I have become the Herd-boy (只興今日我牽牛).
When a banquet table came out from the inner office, he drank a cup of wine, then dismissed the attendant and Bangja, and in soaring tipsy spirits, pipe in mouth, strolled this way and that. Looking toward one place across the way, a certain beauty, unable to overcome the spring mood, broke off an azalea to wear in her hair, lightly bit a peony flower, and stripped willow leaves to set them floating away on the water; a golden oriole flew into the woods and made the spring scene shine all the more. The superb scenery of the Gwanghallu was fine, but the mood of the Magpie Bridge was a scenic wonder indeed. - The Swing Scene — Chunhyang Appears
Though it was called the third month, it was in fact the fifth day of the fifth month, the Dano festival — the finest holiday, called Cheonjungjeol. At this time Wol-mae’s daughter Chunhyang too was skilled in poetry, writing, and music, and could hardly be ignorant of the joy of Dano. Setting her maid Hyangdan before her, she went out to ride the swing; her orchid-fine hair pressed neat at her two ears and braided, dressed trimly with a golden phoenix hairpin; the hem of the skirt about her slender waist drooping as faintly as the slim willow-twigs of Meiyang; with a beautiful, graceful bearing she stepped daintily and supplely, soft and quiet, into the long grove.
Where green shade and fragrant grass grew thick and golden turf was spread, golden orioles flew in pairs, and on a luxuriant willow branch a swing nearly a hundred feet high was hung. Slipping off her green outer-robe and indigo single-skirt and hanging them up, kicking off her purple embroidered shoes, hitching up her white silk underskirt, she parted the swing-ropes delicately with her two lotus-soft hands, stepped up nimbly in her white-stockinged feet, and as she pushed off with her feet, her slender body, lithe as a fine willow, swung in trim grace.
“Hyangdan, push me.” With one kick she put in her strength and with a second kick more, until the fine dust beneath her feet flew on the wind and she receded farther and farther, back and forth; the leaves above her head swayed and swayed with her body, and watching her come and go, the red of her skirt amid the green shade flashed in the breeze, like a lightning-flash gleaming through the white clouds of a far sky. As she shot forward, she was like a light swallow chasing a fallen petal of peach blossom; as she swung back, like a butterfly startled by the gale, having lost its mate, turning back midway; like the fairy of Mount Wu descending on a cloud onto the Terrace of the Sun. She bit at a leaf, and broke off a flower to tuck lightly in her hair.
“Hyangdan, the swing’s wind is so strong my head is dizzy. Hold the swing-rope for me.” As she went forward and drew back countless times to catch hold, while she was at the height of her play, on the broad flat rock by the stream a jade hairpin fell with a clear ringing sound — a sound like a coral wand striking a jade platter. Her form was not that of a person of this world. - Chunhyang Catches the Young Master Yi’s Eye
As a spring swallow flies off when it has filled the three months of spring, so time passes fleetingly; and the young master Yi’s heart grew melancholy and his mind dizzy, so that all manner of thoughts came to him. Muttering to himself: ‘Is she a fairy of the Luo River, or a fairy of Mount Wu?’ The young master Yi was so beside himself that his whole body seemed to float in the air. ‘Attendant.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘That thing across the way amid the blossoms and willows, flickering and gleaming back and forth — look closely and tell me what it is.’ The attendant looked and reported, ‘It is nothing else but a girl named Chunhyang, daughter of the courtesan Wol-mae of this town.’ The young master Yi blurted out, ‘Splendid indeed. Magnificent.’
The attendant reported, ‘Her mother is a courtesan, but Chunhyang is proud and refuses the courtesan’s trade; she ponders characters even on petals and leaves, and combines women’s skill with literary talent, no different from a daughter of a good house.’ The young master Yi laughed ‘ha-ha,’ called Bangja, and commanded, ‘Since I hear she is a courtesan’s daughter, go quickly and bring her here.’
Bangja said, ‘Her snow-skin and flower-face are famous in the south, and high noblemen and rakes of every rank — minister, military commander, governor, county magistrate — have wished countless times to see her but could not as they pleased. She is a peerless beauty without a second in all the world, and a woman of virtue for all ages; with respect, it is hard to summon her.’ The young master Yi laughed greatly: ‘Bangja, you do not know that each thing has its master. The white jade of Mount Jing and the gold of the Ru River each have their owner. No idle words — bring her.’
Bangja, hearing the command, crossed over to summon Chunhyang; the stylish lad, like the blue bird that carried letters to the Queen Mother of the West’s feast at Jasper Pool, crossed this way and that and called, ‘See here, Chunhyang.’ At the call Chunhyang started: ‘What do you mean by yelling like that and startling a person’s wits?’ ‘Listen, child — a great matter has arisen.’ ‘What matter?’ ‘The magistrate’s son, the young master, came to the Gwanghallu, saw you at play, and has ordered that you be brought.’
Chunhyang grew angry: ‘You have gone quite mad. How would the young master know me to summon me? You wretch, you told him of me.’ ‘No. I had no reason to speak of you. But hear the cause of your fault. If a girl is to ride a swing, the proper thing is to hang the rope within the wall of your own back garden and ride there. When you hung a swing at the sightseeing-ground of the Gwanghallu and rode it, your two melon-seed feet roaming amid the white clouds, the red of your skirt fluttering, the white of your underskirt billowing in the southeast wind, your flesh white as the inside of a gourd flashing amid the clouds — when the young master saw you and summoned you, what did I say? No idle words; let us cross over.’
Chunhyang answered, ‘Your words are right, but today is Dano; am I the only one? Other households’ daughters too came here and rode the swing together; there is no reason to summon a respectable person willy-nilly, and even if summoned, no reason to go.’ Bangja, his face flushed, returned to the Gwanghallu and reported to the young master, who, hearing it, said, ‘An admirable person. Her words are right, but go again and tell her thus and so.’ Bangja went again to Chunhyang’s house, where mother and daughter sat facing each other at their midday meal. Chunhyang’s mother said excitedly, ‘Dreams are not all in vain. Last night I dreamed I saw a blue dragon submerged in the jade-peach pond, and I wondered what good thing might come; it was no idle thing. And I hear the magistrate’s son’s name is Mong-ryong — “dream (夢)” and “dragon (龍)” match marvelously. But be that as it may, when a nobleman summons, can one refuse? Go for a while and come back.’ - The First Meeting at the Gwanghallu
Only then did Chunhyang, as if unable to refuse, barely rise and cross to the Gwanghallu, her gait quite dignified and graceful. Swaying softly as she came, the young master Yi, leaning aslant against the railing, watched leisurely as Chunhyang drew nearer and nearer. Demure and graceful, her moon-bearing flower-face was without a second in the world.
Her face so pure, she was like a crane sporting in a clear river reflected in snow-lit moonlight; her red lips and white teeth half-parted, like stars and like jade. The lovely color of her cheeks, as if holding rouge, rose like spring mist, and her beautiful radiance was like the waves of the Milky Way. Moving her lotus steps slowly, she climbed the pavilion and stood shyly; the young master called the attendant: ‘Tell her to be seated.’
Watching closely her graceful bearing as she composed herself and sat, she was like a swallow that had bathed by a clear waterside and, perching, was startled at the sight of a person. With no special adornment, she was a natural beauty of the realm; facing her jade-like countenance was like a bright moon amid the clouds, and her red lips half-parted were a lotus upon the water. A fairy who had played at Yeongju, exiled now to Namwon; a fairy who had attended in the Moon Palace, having lost one companion. Your face, your bearing — you are not a person of this world.
At this Chunhyang raised her autumn-wave glance for a moment and looked at the young master Yi: a hero of the present age, a rare and remarkable man seldom seen in the world. His forehead high, he would win fame young; his five peaks (features) harmoniously composed, he would become a loyal subject who supports the nation. Admiring him in her heart, she gently lowered her brows, drew her knees together, and sat demurely.
The young master Yi said, ‘The sages said that those of the same surname do not marry; what is your surname, and how old are you?’ ‘My surname is Seong, and I am sixteen years old.’ Behold the young master Yi’s conduct: ‘Ha — those words are welcome. Hearing your age, you are my equal, twice eight. Hearing your surname, this is clearly a bond made by Heaven’s decree. The union of two surnames is a good match; let us enjoy our whole lives together. Are both your parents living?’ ‘I have only my mother.’ ‘How many brothers and sisters?’ ‘I am the only daughter, with no son, of my mother who is sixty.’ ‘You too are a precious daughter of a household. By a bond decreed by Heaven we two have met; let us enjoy ten thousand years together.’
Behold Chunhyang’s conduct. Slightly knitting her brows, half-opening her red lips, barely parting her slender throat, she said in a clear voice, ‘The old texts say a loyal subject does not serve two kings and a faithful woman does not serve two husbands. The young master is a precious lord and I a lowly concubine; if, once a bond is made, you then cast me aside, this single-hearted devotion of mine will become the regret of lying alone in an empty room and weeping. Withdraw such a command, I pray.’ The young master Yi said, ‘Hearing your words, how could they not be admirable? When we two make our bond, we will swear a vow firm as metal and stone. Where is your house?’ Chunhyang said, ‘Call Bangja and ask him.’ The young master Yi laughed ‘ha-ha’: ‘Bangja, tell me of Chunhyang’s house.’
Bangja, raising his hand discreetly, pointed: ‘There, across the way, where the garden hill is lush and the pond water clear, where rare flowers and fine plants bloom in profusion and the birds perched in every tree boast their splendor, where the bent pine on the rock seems an old dragon writhing when a clear breeze blows, where the willow before the gate droops swaying as if pining — between the pine grove and the bamboo grove, faintly seen, is Chunhyang’s house.’ The young master said, ‘The house is clean and the pines and bamboo lush — a place fit for a woman’s chaste conduct.’ Chunhyang rose and said shyly, ‘The world’s temper is unkind, so I will play no more and take my leave.’ Hearing this, the young master said, ‘Admirable — a likely thing to say. Tonight after curfew I will come to your house; do not, I pray, treat me coldly.’ Chunhyang answered, ‘I would not know.’ ‘If you would not know, will that do? Go well; let us meet tonight.’ - The Night Visit — A Vow for a Hundred Years
Chunhyang came down from the pavilion and crossed home, and her mother came out to meet her: ‘Ah, my daughter, are you back? What did the young master say?’ ‘What should he say? I sat a while and rose to go, and he said he would come to our house this evening.’ ‘And how did you answer?’ ‘I said I would not know.’ ‘Well done.’
Meanwhile the young master Yi, having sent Chunhyang off in a daze, could find no way to soothe his longing; he returned to the study room with no heart for anything, his only thought Chunhyang. Her voice rang in his ears and her lovely bearing hovered before his eyes. Waiting for the sun to set, he called Bangja: ‘What hour has the sun reached?’ ‘Dawn is just breaking in the east.’ The young master, greatly angered: ‘You wretch, you insolent fellow — does the sun setting in the west turn back to the east? Look again.’ Before long Bangja reported, ‘The sun has fallen into the Pool of Xian, dusk descends, and the moon rises over the eastern ridge.’
With no taste even for his supper, he tossed and turned — what to do? To wait for curfew he tried to read books: ‘The Book of Songs: “Guan-guan cries the osprey on the islet in the river; the demure maiden is the gentleman’s good mate.” Enough — I cannot read that either.’ He read the Great Learning: ‘The way of the Great Learning lies in illuminating bright virtue and renewing the people… Enough — I cannot read that either.’ He read the Thousand-Character Classic, and Bangja, listening, said, ‘Young master, why a dignified person like you at the Thousand Characters?’ The young master said, ‘You wretch, you don’t know. The Thousand Characters is the foundation-text of the Seven Classics; Zhou Xingsi of the Liang composed it in a single night and his hair turned white, so reading it character by character, there is much to make the bones tremble.’ Bangja said, ‘Even I, your lowly servant, know what’s in the Thousand Characters.’ ‘If you know, read it.’ ‘Yes: high, high heaven, “sky”; deep, deep earth, “ground”; twisting-twining, “black”; blazing-blazing, “yellow.”’ The young master: ‘You wretch, a base fellow indeed. You learned it from a beggar’s chant.’
When the night grew dim, setting Bangja before him, he sought out Chunhyang’s house. Chunhyang had been waiting for the young master to come, and Wol-mae, greatly pleased, welcomed him in and set out all manner of refreshments and wine. That night they made their vow of first love.
Note: In The Tale of Chunhyang, the scene in which Yi Mong-ryong and Seong Chunhyang spend their first night and share their love is called the “haphwan (joining in joy)” or “bangsa (bedchamber)” passage. The classic woodblock text renders it through allusion and metaphor rather than explicit description, as below. - The passage of removing the garments (from the Wanpan text): “The young master took Chunhyang’s hand, comforted her with gentle words, loosened the collar-band of her jacket and untied her skirt-string; Chunhyang, ashamed, bowed her head and bent her body, and the young master said with a smile, ‘This is to fulfill the rite of husband and wife; do not be ashamed.’ And when he had removed her inner jacket and underskirt, her snow-skin and flower-face shone beneath the lamp, dazzling to the eyes. Looking at Chunhyang’s body, it was less a human body than as if carved from jade, like the moon risen amid the clouds breaking through the mist; how then could the very heart of a man not melt?”
- The metaphor of union (the love of cloud and rain): “As the two lay facing each other and shared their love, how could one fully record its form? Like a blue dragon and a yellow dragon coiling and sporting amid the clouds; like a butterfly flying to a flower and holding its fragrance; like a lotus holding dew and swaying in the wind; like a cloud holding rain and entering into Mount Wu… Answering in one voice and surging over ten thousand acres, the love of man and woman was smooth as silk — this was the utmost joy under heaven. The young master whispered in Chunhyang’s ear, ‘Your flesh is my flesh, my bone is your bone; a love not to be forgotten even in death,’ and Chunhyang too answered, and their joy was without end.”
- The bold description of the humorous variant editions (such as the Sin Jae-hyo text): “Listen, Chunhyang, let us once husk grain at the mill. You take the lower tier and I the upper, and pounding kung-deok kung-deok, the powder of love will pour out… ” The young master stroked Chunhyang’s breast, and Chunhyang, twisting her body, said, ‘Aigo, young master! What is this you do?’ — yet the young master, undeterred, was playful in the bold idiom of folk humor.
*A note on humorous sublimation: By depicting sexuality not as something furtive but as a life-filled, joyful play (husking grain at the mill, boating, and so on), these passages show the healthy attitude toward sexuality of the common people of the time. - The Song of Love (pansori)
The young master Yi and Chunhyang, with Heaven and earth as witness, made a vow for a hundred years firm as metal and stone. Their meeting was without flaw, as if a bond joined by Heaven, and their love was deep and fragrant as the scent of flowers.
Come here, let me carry you on my back and play. Love, love, love, my love. It is love, my love. Go over there, let me see your back. Come here, let me see your front. Walk daintily, let me see your gait. Smile sweetly, let me see your teeth. You are surely my love. Eohwa dung-dung, my love. That dainty step coming toward me is love; those eyes smiling a moment are love; that peach-blossom cheek flushing pink is love too. Eohwa dung-dung, my love.
Dung-dung-dung, my lord. Oho dung-dung, my lord. Dung-dung-dung-dung, oho dung-dung, my lord…
The love the two made on a spring day at the Gwanghallu deepened day by day; as spring passed and summer came, not a single day did they fail to come and go to each other and share their sweet hours. Theirs were days with nothing in the world to envy. - Parting — The Young Master Yi Goes Up to Seoul
But human affairs are like the old man’s horse at the frontier (saeong-jima — fortune and misfortune ever alternate): where there is good, sorrow also comes. One day unexpected news arrived: Magistrate Yi had been summoned by the king to go up to Seoul. The young master Yi could not but go up with him. When he came himself to Chunhyang’s house and told this news, Chunhyang was startled as if the sky were falling, and asked:
“Young master, what words are these, like a thunderbolt from a clear sky? Just as the flower has bloomed and is about to give its fragrance, wind and rain rush in — how has this come to be? What becomes of the vow for a hundred years you made with me, and what am I, left alone, to do?” The young master Yi, gripping Chunhyang’s hand firmly, said, “Chunhyang, do you not know my heart? When I go up this time, I will devote myself wholly to study, and after I pass the state examination I will surely come to fetch you. Until that day, keep your fidelity firmly and wait for me.” Chunhyang, swallowing her tears, answered, “Young master, I believe you. I will wait. Please return quickly.”
The day of parting dawned. As the young master Yi mounted his horse, Chunhyang clutched his garment and could not let go. As Bangja urged the road on, Chunhyang at last released her hand and sobbed. The young master too looked back again and again, and at last vanished beyond the northern road. Chunhyang gazed until the back of her beloved could no longer be seen, then sank down on the spot, beat the ground, and wailed. The whole world seemed filled with that one sound of weeping. - The Song of Parting (pansori)
Come here, let me carry you and play; love, love, it is love.
You are surely my love; eohwa dung-dung, my love.
When I die, do not bury me — in this world without my beloved.
As days pass and months pass, on what day will you come?
Though you say you go, you cannot go; though you say you come, you cannot come.
The rough passes of Mount Baekdu — if my beloved goes, how will he go?
An enemy, an enemy — this thing called parting is an enemy.
O beloved who leaves, casting me off — may you not get ten li before your foot aches.
May your foot ache on the way so you cannot go, and come back to this house again.
Eohwa, push, hold, hold me back.
Seize the bridle of my departing beloved’s horse and soothe this heart of mine.
― Volume Two ― - Chunhyang’s Longing After the Parting
After the young master Yi went up to Seoul, Chunhyang, at a loss, went into her own bedchamber and sat. ‘Hyangdan, draw up the bead-curtain, set a pillow beneath the armrest, and close the door. To meet the young master awake is now beyond all hope; if I fall asleep, let me meet him at least in a dream. From of old it is said that a beloved who comes in dreams has no faith — yet if I am to pine so wretchedly, how else but in dreams shall I see him?’ So she closed her eyes, but sleep would not come and only tears flowed.
Shall I go, shall I go? Shall I go following my beloved?
A thousand li — shall I go? Ten thousand li — shall I go?
The pass at Dongseon-ryeong on the high peak, where even wind and rain rest as they cross, where even the swift falcon and the goshawk rest as they cross —
if my beloved came and sought me there, I would take off my shoes and hold them in my hand and go without resting.
Does my lord in Hanyang (Seoul) pine for me as I pine for him?
Or, heartless, has he forgotten me utterly and moved his love to cherish another?
‘I long to see, I long to see — I long to see my beloved’s face. I long to hear, I long to hear — I long to hear my beloved’s voice. By what enmity in a former life were we two born into this world, met through aching longing and vowed at first never to forget, vowed not to die but to be together and bound for a hundred years? Gold and jade and a thousand treasures are matters beyond a dream, and what do all the world’s affairs matter? From the source the water flows, deep and deep and deeper still; love gathered becomes a mountain, high and high and higher still, knowing not how to break — how then should it know how to fall? Ghosts hinder and the Creator envies. In one morning parted from my lord, on what day shall I meet him? A thousand cares and ten thousand regrets fill me, and to the very end I feel them. My beautiful face, my cloud-like side-locks wither in vain with regret; time is heartless as flowing water. Beneath the paulownia, how slowly the autumn night dawns; in the place where green shade and fragrant grass slant, how slowly the sun goes. If my beloved knew this longing, he too would pine for me. Lying alone in an empty room, a sigh is my only companion, and what rises, twisting through my nine-fold inmost heart, is tears. If my tears gathered into a sea and my sighs became a clear wind, I would set my body on a single leaf of a boat and seek my Hanyang lord — but why can I not see him? The moon is bright and the stars shine to light the place where my beloved is, but the grief piled in my heart is mine alone. The night deepens to the third watch; if I sit, will my beloved come; if I lie, will sleep come? Neither beloved nor sleep comes. What shall I do with this? Surely parting is the enemy. When joy is spent sorrow comes, and when pain is spent joy comes, so it has been from of old; but my waiting is not little and my longing has been long, and the regret knotted in my inch-wide heart — who but my beloved can resolve it? O bright Heaven, look down and let us meet soon. May we meet again with our love unspent and live without parting until our hair is all white. I ask you, blue waters and green hills — since I parted but once from my beloved’s haggard form, even his news has been cut off. Since a person is not wood or stone, my beloved too must surely feel it. Aigo, aigo, this lot of mine.’
Sighing and looking up to Heaven, she passed the days; and at this time the young master Yi, gone up to Seoul, could not sleep on any bed, and devoted himself to study with the single thought of passing the examination, day and night, and coming to fetch Chunhyang. - The Arrival of the New Magistrate, Byeon Hak-do
Meanwhile, some time after Magistrate Yi left Namwon, a new magistrate was appointed — a nobleman of Jaha-gol called Byeon Hak-do. He was accomplished in letters and of an expansive figure and bearing, well-versed in the arts of pleasure and worldly in the ways of dalliance; but he had one flaw: a temperament perverse and overbearing, so that at times he failed in virtue and made wrongful prosecutions. For this reason, all who knew the man in the world called him a stubborn obstinate.
The new magistrate’s procession was majestic in its dignity. With cloud-like palanquins and a single-bearer sedan, blue curtains spread wide on left and right, the music of the marching band thundered to the east of the town and the three-strings-and-six-horns and the outrider’s cry rang out far and near. Drawing up at the Gwanghallu, he arranged his dress and cap, arrived at the guesthouse, and after completing his arrival report, settled in the eastern hall, took his welcome-meal, and said, ‘Call the head clerk and hold a roll-call of the courtesans.’ - The Roll-Call of the Courtesans
The clerk, hearing the command, brought in the courtesans’ register and called the names in turn, each set off with a fine phrase.
‘The bright moon (Myeong-wol) rising over the eastern hill after the rain has cleared.’ Myeong-wol came in, gathering up her skirt-hem and pressing it to her breast, stepping daintily, and said, ‘Present and answered.’ ‘On the fishing boat following the water (eoju-chuksu), spring loved on the hills — is this not the lovely spring color blooming in profusion on both sides? Do-hong.’ Do-hong came in, gathering her red skirt-hem in her arms, stepping daintily and hesitantly, and said, ‘Present and answered.’ ‘That phoenix of Cinnabar Mountain, having lost its mate and nesting in the green paulownia, is a bird of noble air riding the numinous energy of mountains and waters. Firm in fidelity, unsullied by the vulgar — Chae-bong of the ten-thousand-life gate.’ Chae-bong came in, gathering her silk-skirted waist trimly in her arms, moving her lotus steps neatly, and said, ‘Present and answered, retiring to the left.’
‘That lotus of the clear pond that does not change its fidelity, lovely and fair, a gentleman among flowers — Yeon-sim.’ ‘Like the bright moon of He’s jade shining on the blue sea, the white jade of Mount Jing — Myeong-ok.’ ‘Beyond where the clouds screen and the wind goes, the far five heavens, where the willow is dyed golden — Aeng-aeng.’ Many were the lovely, graceful courtesans among them, but the magistrate had from the first heard much of Chunhyang’s name, and however he listened, there was no name of Chunhyang.
The magistrate called the head clerk and asked, ‘The roll-call of courtesans is finished, yet Chunhyang is not called — is she a retired courtesan?’ The clerk said, ‘Chunhyang’s mother is a courtesan, but Chunhyang is not a courtesan.’ The magistrate asked, ‘If Chunhyang is not a courtesan, how is it that a girl who stays in the inner rooms has so high a name?’ The clerk said, ‘Being originally a courtesan’s daughter and surpassing in virtue and beauty, whenever noblemen of powerful houses and first-rate men of talent came down, they begged to see her, but mother and daughter would not consent, so that even to meet her once in ten years was hard. By a bond decreed by Heaven, she made a vow for a hundred years with the former magistrate’s son, the young master Yi; when the young master left, he charged that he would fetch her after passing the examination, and Chunhyang, taking it so, has kept her fidelity.’
The magistrate, growing angry: ‘You wretch — even an ignorant low fellow — what manner of nobleman is that, that a young master of so strict a noble house would keep a concubine in a flower-house and live with her? You wretch, if you let such words past your lips again you shall not escape punishment. Having come to see her, shall I simply give up unseen? No idle words — bring her.’ The magistrate, in great wrath: ‘If Chunhyang is delayed, I will dismiss the clerks and the head of every office; bring her at once, or else!’ The six offices were in an uproar and the heads of every office lost their wits: ‘Pitiful is Chunhyang’s fidelity — she is like to come to a pitiable end. The magistrate’s command is most strict; let us go quickly, hurry.’ - Chunhyang Summoned — The Demand to Serve at Night
As the runners and government slaves arrived together at Chunhyang’s gate, Chunhyang was weeping, thinking day and night only of the young master Yi. From longing she could scarcely eat or sleep, and her heart burned so for the young master that her very bones and flesh were wasting away. Her vital force exhausted, a long, slow weeping like the jinyang mode flowed from her, so that even the runners who heard it melted at heart.
At the runner’s shout of ‘Come out!’ Chunhyang started and peered through the door-crack: the runners and slaves had come. ‘Ah — today was the third-day roll-call; some trouble must have arisen.’ So Chunhyang seated the several officers in the room: ‘Hyangdan, bring a tray of wine,’ and entertained them until they were drunk, then opened a chest, took out five nyang of money, and set it down: ‘Officers, have a drink as you go. Let there be no talk afterward.’
The head courtesan came out, clapping her two palms together, ‘See here, Chunhyang, hear me. Fidelity such as yours I too have; chastity such as yours I too have. Why should fidelity be yours alone, and chastity yours alone? Because of one small you, the whole six offices are in an uproar and the heads of every office are like to die. Let us go quickly, hurry.’ Chunhyang, having no choice, with the very bearing in which she had kept her fidelity, stepped out the gate: ‘Sister, sister, head sister, do not slight a person so. Are you alone a head courtesan by descent, and am I alone a Chunhyang by descent? A person dies but once, not twice.’
Tottering this way and that, she entered the eastern hall: ‘Chunhyang is present.’ The magistrate, seeing her, was greatly pleased: ‘Chunhyang indeed. Come up onto the dais.’ Chunhyang went up to the upper room, drew her knees together, and merely sat demurely. The magistrate commanded, ‘From today, adorn yourself neatly and serve at my chamber by night.’ Chunhyang said, ‘The magistrate’s command is awesome, but to follow one husband only is my will; I cannot carry out the command.’
The magistrate said with a smile, ‘Truly an admirable girl. You are indeed a faithful woman. How lovely is your firm heart of fidelity — it is a fitting thing to say. But the young master Yi, as the son of a Seoul gentry house, has become the son-in-law of a noble family; would he think even once of you, with whom he played a moment’s love like a wayside flower? Set him all aside: is it right to be bound to the magistrate of your own town, or right to be bound to a young boy? Say something.’
Chunhyang said, ‘I wish to model myself on the fidelity by which a loyal subject does not serve two kings and a faithful woman does not serve two husbands; yet you hand down such a command again and again. To live is worse than to die, and a faithful woman serves not two husbands; do as you please.’ At this the accountant stepped forward: ‘You insolent wench — live out this fleeting world, and beauty is all. The magistrate speaks so out of esteem for you; for one of courtesan stock like you, what is fidelity, what is chastity? To see off the old magistrate and welcome the new is proper by the statutes; utter no strange words.’
At this Chunhyang, utterly aghast, sat composed and said, ‘In loyalty, filial piety, and fidelity, is there high and low? Hear me carefully. You say a courtesan has no loyalty, filial piety, or fidelity; let me tell you one by one. Nong-seon, a courtesan of Hwanghae, kept her fidelity and died at Dongseon-ryeong; Non-gae, a courtesan of Jinju, as our nation’s loyal martyr, is enshrined in the Loyalty-Martyr Shrine and receives sacrifices for a thousand ages; Hwa-wol, a courtesan of Cheongju, is renowned for fidelity; and for Il-ji-hong, a courtesan of Andong, a living-faithful-woman gate was erected. So do not say that a courtesan has no faithful women. When I first met the young master Yi, with a heart firm as Mount Tai and the Western Sea, my single-hearted fidelity could not be drawn out even by the valor of Meng Ben, nor could the eloquence of Su Qin and Zhang Yi move this concubine’s heart, nor could the high arts of Zhuge Liang — who could pray down the southeast wind — subdue the single devotion of this girl’s heart. Do as you please.’ The magistrate, in great wrath: ‘Hear me, wench. The crime of treason and rebellion is dismemberment; the crime of mocking an official is set down in the statutes; the crime of defying an official is severe punishment and exile. Do not grieve that you die.’ Chunhyang, fierce: ‘To violate another man’s wife — if that is not a crime, what is it?’ The magistrate, aghast, pounded the desk until his cap came off, his topknot came loose, and his voice grew hoarse: ‘Seize this wench and take her down.’ - The Song of the Ten Strokes (pansori) — Fidelity in Ten Beating-Boards
Binding Chunhyang to the beating-frame, behold the conduct of the flogging runner. Flogging-rods and beating-rods and clubs, a whole armful, he carried over and poured out clattering beneath the frame, and at the sound Chunhyang’s senses grew faint. The flogging runner said quietly, ‘Bear just one or two. There is no help for it. Twist this leg this way and that leg that way.’ ‘Strike hard.’ ‘Yes — I strike.’ As he laid it on, a broken splinter of the rod flew whirling up into the air and fell beneath the courtyard, and Chunhyang ground her teeth and rolled her head round and round: ‘Aigo, what is this?’
As Chunhyang was struck with the ten clubs, she wept, overcome with grief:
Single-hearted, firm of heart, to serve one husband (一夫從事) is my will;
though you lay on a single punishment, shall I change even for an instant?
Knowing the fidelity of the two queens (二妃節), this heart of mine that serves not two —
though I take these blows and die outright, I cannot forget the young master Yi.
Knowing the three bonds and five relations, though I go to triple flogging and exile,
my lord of Samcheong-dong, the young master Yi, I cannot forget.
Though my four limbs (四肢) be torn apart, living and dying together, our lord — in life and death I cannot forget.
Waking and sleeping unforgotten (寤寐不忘), our lord comes wholly to my mind.
Will a letter come today, will word come tomorrow? Aigo, aigo, this lot of mine.
Though killed sixty thousand times, this knotted heart can never change.
My seven-jeweled rosy face — I am dying.
Governors and magistrates of the eight provinces, you came down to govern the people, not to come down to torture.
My nine-fold inmost heart rots in its coils, and these tears of mine will become the nine-year flood.
Though I live ten times and die nine, though killed a hundred thousand times, there is no hope and no help.
Sixteen-year-old little Chunhyang, a wronged ghost beneath the rod — how pitiable.
What sprang from Chunhyang’s jade-like body was red blood, and what flowed down was tears. Blood and tears flowed together like the red stream of Peach-Blossom Spring. Chunhyang spoke yet more stubbornly: ‘Rather than this, dismember me and smash me utterly to death; then I will become a bird called the wronged-spirit bird and, with the soul-summoning bird, cry out, and on a moonlit night in the desolate hills, after our young master Yi has fallen asleep, I might wake him from his dream.’ Unable to speak further, she fainted; and the attendant prostrate before her raised his head and wiped his tears, and the runner who had flogged her wiped his tears and turned away: ‘A human child cannot do this.’
The onlookers and the government people on every side wiped their tears and turned away: ‘The sight of Chunhyang being beaten — a human child cannot bear to watch it. How cruel, how cruel; cruel is Chunhyang’s fidelity. She is a Heaven-sent faithful woman.’ As young and old alike shed tears and turned away, could even the magistrate be pleased? Chunhyang, half-alive and half-dead, was at last taken by the jailer and came to be shut in prison. - In Prison — Waiting Amid Suffering
Chunhyang came to be one shut in a dark prison cell. Wol-mae ran to her, wailing, but there was nothing to be done. Hyangdan tended the prison day by day, but there was no telling when she would be released. Magistrate Byeon’s coercion and cajoling did not cease, but Chunhyang never once submitted. As the days passed her body grew weaker, yet her fidelity only grew firmer.
The bright moon of the fifteenth night is buried in a band of cloud;
our lord in Seoul is buried in Samcheong-dong.
Moon, moon, do you see him? The place where my beloved is — why can I not see it?
On your way, find the fortress of Hanyang; to our lord in Samcheong-dong, please carry my words.
See my form clearly, and please, please do not forget.
In the deep night within the cell, Chunhyang sat alone before a single lamp, longing for the young master Yi and shedding tears. On bright-moon nights she gazed at the moonlight leaking into the yard and gazed endlessly toward Seoul, where her beloved was. Spring went and summer came, autumn went and winter came. Still the young master Yi did not come. Yet Chunhyang was never shaken. That love is waiting, and waiting is faith itself, she knew with her whole body. - Yi Mong-ryong Passes the Examination and Is Appointed Secret Royal Inspector
Meanwhile Yi Mong-ryong, who had gone up to Seoul, held Chunhyang deep in his heart and devoted himself wholly to study. By day he read books and by night refined his writing beneath the lamp, until at last he passed the state examination at the very top. The king, greatly pleased, granted Mong-ryong the post of Secret Royal Inspector (amhaeng eosa) and commanded, ‘Inspect throughout the Namwon region of Jeolla Province.’ Mong-ryong received the horse-tablet (mapae) and sealed orders and at once set out toward Namwon.
But Mong-ryong thoroughly concealed his rank and came down in the ragged guise of a beggar. In tattered clothes and straw sandals, a torn hat set askew, in shabby appearance he crossed the Magpie Bridge and trod again the land of Namwon he had longed for so. Reaching Chunhyang’s house, the flowers and plants once luxuriant had withered, and the gate was half-closed. Within and without, the house was full of a desolate air. - The Meeting with Wol-mae
Wol-mae opened the gate and came out, and at this sight she was startled. ‘Why — who is this?’ Mong-ryong, smiling awkwardly, said, ‘Mother-in-law, it is I, Yi Mong-ryong.’ Wol-mae blinked and looked closely, and it was indeed Yi Mong-ryong. Unable to hide her disappointment, she said curtly, ‘Aigo, the young master Yi has come. For years not a word, and now what state is this? Our Chunhyang, refusing to serve the magistrate at night, is shut in prison and like to die, and the young master appears in this beggar’s state — has not Chunhyang’s holding out, trusting in you alone, all come to nothing?’
Mong-ryong, hearing the tale, felt his heart collapse. ‘Mother-in-law, since you say Chunhyang is shut in prison, let me see her at once.’ Wol-mae, with a dark face, led the way. All of this stabbed painfully at Mong-ryong’s heart. The weight of all those years in which Chunhyang had held out, trusting in him, pressed on his chest all at once. - Reunion in the Prison
Chunhyang, who had been sitting alone in the dim cell, raised her head at the sound of footsteps. Seeing Mong-ryong in tattered clothes and beggar’s guise, at first she could not recognize him. But that gaze, those eyes alone, were surely the beloved she had pined for. ‘Young master…’ Chunhyang called faintly, and Mong-ryong rushed in and seized her hand. ‘Chunhyang, I have come. I have come.’ The two held each other and shed tears.
Chunhyang asked, ‘What has happened — what is this state of yours?’ Mong-ryong said weakly, ‘I failed the examination. I have no power to save you — what shall I do?’ Chunhyang wiped her tears and answered quietly, ‘It is all right. I waited, trusting that you would come, and now that I have seen you I have no regret. They say that tomorrow, at Magistrate Byeon’s birthday feast, they mean to kill me; but having seen your face one last time before then, I can now close my eyes even in death.’ Mong-ryong’s heart felt within as if it would tear, but he said nothing and only gripped her hand firmly. In that hand was held the promise of the whole world. - Magistrate Byeon’s Birthday Feast — The Inspector’s Poem
The next day Magistrate Byeon’s birthday feast was held grandly. All the officials of the Namwon region gathered, and courtesans sat in rows pouring wine, so that the feast ripened merrily. Magistrate Byeon, tipping his cup in good humor, said, ‘Since today’s feast is so fine, is there no one who will compose a poem?’
At this a beggar in tatters strode into the feast-ground and cried out loudly, ‘I too will compose one.’ The people of the feast, startled, looked, and a shabby beggar stood brazenly in the middle of the yard. Magistrate Byeon thundered, ‘Drive that beggar out at once!’ But Mong-ryong stepped calmly forward and spoke.
The fine wine in the golden cask is the blood of a thousand people (金樽美酒千人血);
the choice viands on the jade tray are the fat of ten thousand commoners (玉盤佳肴萬姓膏).
When the candle’s tears fall, the people’s tears fall (燭淚落時民淚落);
where the sound of song is loud, the sound of grievance is loud (歌聲高處怨聲高).
The fine wine of the golden cup is the blood of all the people; the savory viands of the jade platter are the fat of ten thousand people. When the candle sheds tears, the people too shed tears; where the song rings high, the sound of resentment rings higher.
The faces of those who heard this poem changed all at once. Just as Magistrate Byeon was about to roar out, suddenly from every side rang out a thunderous cry: ‘The Secret Royal Inspector appears!’ - The Inspector Appears — Magistrate Byeon Is Dismissed
In an instant the feast was overturned. From every side of the office the inspector’s soldiers rushed in shouting, ‘Hold up the horse-tablet!’ and Mong-ryong raised the horse-tablet high and cried, ‘The Secret Royal Inspector appears! Byeon Hak-do, come out at once!’
Magistrate Byeon, scattered out of his wits, fell from his seat, and the government people fled in every direction. Amid the feast-tables overturned and the courtesans screaming and running, the soldiers seized and bound Magistrate Byeon. Mong-ryong changed into official robes, ascended to the high seat, and proclaimed: ‘Byeon Hak-do, appointed Magistrate of Namwon, has fleeced and oppressed the people and ruled the innocent Chunhyang with cruel torture; I will deal severely with his crime. Strip him of office at once and interrogate him.’ The soldiers ran, opened the prison door, and brought Chunhyang. Chunhyang, gazing as if dazzled, saw that the Secret Royal Inspector in full official robes was none other than Yi Mong-ryong. Chunhyang tottered, sank down on the spot, and sobbed. Mong-ryong ran and raised her up. - Reunion and the Grand Finale
‘Chunhyang, I have come. Now all is well.’ Mong-ryong gripped Chunhyang’s hand firmly. Chunhyang, shedding tears, yet smiled brightly. ‘Young master… no, my lord magistrate, I knew you would come in so dignified a form. Indeed I did well to trust and wait.’ Mong-ryong, wiping his tears, said, ‘Chunhyang, because you held out firmly even in that suffering, my own heart was not shaken, and I came this far. That fidelity and that love made me surely return.’
Wol-mae ran up, sobbing, and embraced the two. ‘Aigo, is this a dream or waking? Our Chunhyang has lived. To think the young master Yi would come as so splendid an inspector…’ Hyangdan too rejoiced and clapped her hands. Tears of deep emotion spread on every side.
Byeon Hak-do was dismissed from office and escorted to Seoul, and the people of Namwon cheered, praising the Secret Royal Inspector’s good rule. Mong-ryong set right the administration of Namwon town and resolved the grievances of the wronged people. Afterward Yi Mong-ryong and Seong Chunhyang went up to Seoul and were formally married. The king too highly commended Chunhyang’s firm fidelity and bestowed on her the title of Lady of Chaste Fidelity (Jeongnyeol Buin).
The two lived happily ever after for long years. Their love story spread throughout the whole land and remained long in people’s hearts as a beautiful tale. Whenever the spring breeze blows on the Magpie Bridge of the Gwanghallu, the red hem of Chunhyang’s skirt as she flew up on the swing rises vividly before the eyes, and the fragrance of that love seems to spread faintly even today, like the scent of flowers on a spring day.
A loyal subject does not serve two kings, and a faithful woman does not serve two husbands. But Chunhyang’s fidelity was not a mere moral rule. It was another name for the purest and deepest love a human being can hold. Before that love, unbroken by all the world’s power and violence, Heaven too was at last moved and sent back her beloved with the horse-tablet in his hand. This is the tale of the Song of Chunhyang the Faithful Wife Who Kept Her Vow; you people of later ages, remember this tale long.
── The End ──
A daily life that resembles the heavens. 空に似た日常 
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