Chapter IV
In the Guise of a Priestess
YANG now made his way from Nakyang to the western capital, found a lodging-house and disposed of his baggage. Learning that the day set for the examination was still distant, he called the host and inquired of him about his mother’s cousin. He was told that she resided outside the South Gate. So he prepared something in the way of a present and went to find her. She was now a little over sixty years of age, was held in great respect, and was the head of the Taoist sect of women.
The master appeared before her with due ceremony and gave his mother’s letter, while the priestess inquired about his health, and with evident emotion said: “It is twenty years and more since your mother and I parted, and now here is a young man of the second generation, so handsome and strong. Surely time goes by like galloping horses or swift running water. I am an old woman now and am tired of living in the noise and confusion of the capital. I was just on the point of going off to the hills, where I could meet some sage and give my mind to non-earthly things, but now I find in my sister’s letter a commission that she has for me, so I must stay and carry it out on your behalf.”
Yang’s appearance was most attractive, and his young countenance like that of the gods. The priestess realised that it would be very difficult indeed to find a fitting mate for him from the homes of the gentry. Still she would try. “Come and see me often in your moments of leisure,” said she.
Yang’s answer was: “Your humble nephew belongs to a family that is poor and unknown, with only his aged mother left to him. He is now nearing twenty, and living in an unfrequented part of the country had no chance to find a companion. In these straits, and with the question of food and clothing added, he had to remember first the law of faithfulness to his mother. Between fears and hopes he has come to solicit help from his excellent aunt, and she has so kindly consented to assist him that he is very grateful indeed. There are no words by which he can express this.” He said good-bye and withdrew.
The time for the examination drew gradually nearer, but now that a question of marriage had arisen, his desire for fame and literary distinction little by little declined. A few days later he went again to see his aunt.
The priestess met him laughingly, and said: “There is a maiden of whom I have thought whose beauty and intelligence are a match indeed for the young master; but her family is terribly proud and exclusive, with dukes and barons and ministers of state and so forth in its train for generations. I fear this family is quite unapproachable. If you could but win the first place in the examination you might think of this as a possibility. Otherwise I fear there is no hope. My advice to you is not to come visiting me so often, but to spend your efforts in the way of preparation so as to win the first place of honour when the examination takes place.”
Yang asked: “To whose home do you refer?”
“Just outside the Chong-yung Gate,” said she, “is Justice Cheung s house. That is the one I refer to. Before it is an approach-way ornamented with red arrows. This Justice has a daughter who is a veritable fairy, evidently some angelic visitor to the earth.”
Yang then thought of what Moonlight had told him, and said to himself: “How is it that this girl is praised so highly?” Then he asked of the priestess, “My honoured aunt, did you ever see this daughter of Cheung?”
“See her? Of course I’ve seen her, and she is indeed an angel from heaven. No words can express how wonderful she is.”
The young master then said: “I don’t like to boast, but I am sure I shall win first place in the ex-amination as easily as drawing my hand from my pocket. Don’t be anxious on that score, please. But I have had one foolish wish all my life, and that is not to ask in marriage one whom I have never seen. Please, excellent aunt, take pity on me and help me to see what the lady is like?”
The priestess replied: “How could you ever hope to see this daughter of a high minister of state?[18] You do not trust what I say?”
He replied: “How could I ever doubt your words? But still we each have our own likes and dislikes. Your eyes could never be just the same as mine.”
“There is no such danger,” said she. “Even children know that the phoenix and the unicorn mean good luck, and the lowest classes in the world understand that the blue sky and the bright sun are exalted and glorious. A man who has any eyes at all would know that Cha-do was a beauty.”
Yang returned home unsatisfied in heart, and next day went once more, greatly desiring to obtain his aunt’s definite permission. The priestess met him and laughingly said: “You have come early to-day; you must have some special news to tell me.”
Yang smiled and made reply: “Only by seeing Justice Cheung’s daughter can your humble servant rid himself of his doubts and fears. Think once again, please, of my mother’s commission and my earnest desire, and tell me some plan by which I can look upon her face. If you will only do this I will thank you for such kind favour by a never ending gratitude.”
The priestess shook her head, saying: “That’s a very difficult thing indeed.” She thought for a time and then asked: “You are so highly accomplished otherwise, have you ever had leisure in your studies for music?”
Yang replied: “Your humble nephew once met a great teacher of the genii, and took from him a special course, and so knows something of the Five Notes and the Six Accords of the gamut.”
The priestess then said to him: “Justice Cheung’s home is a very large one, and has five successive gates of entrance. It is a long way into the inner quarters, and the walls about are high and forbidding. Without wings to fly, there is no possible way of entrance. The Justice himself follows the Books of Rites and Poetry carefully and conforms his household in every particular to their teachings, so that members of the former never come here to offer incense, nor do they seek sacrifice in the Buddhist temples. The Feast of Lanterns[19] of the first moon, and the celebration on the Kok River[20] of the third have no attractions for them. How could an outsider ever expect to gain entrance to such a family? I have thought of a plan, however, but do not know whether you would care to try it.”
Yang replied: “If it be a matter of seeing the maiden Cheung, I’ll go up to heaven or down into Hades; I’ll carry fire on my back or walk on the water, if you just say the word.”
The priestess made answer: “Justice Cheung is now advanced in years, is in poor health, and has little interest in the affairs of state. His chief delight is in sight-seeing and in hearing music. His wife, Choi See, is extravagantly fond of the harp, and the daughter being so quick and intelligent and able to grasp the thought of any and every question, has acquired a thorough knowledge of the ancient masters. A single hearing and she understands at once a player’s excellences or defects. The mother, Choi See, likes to hear something new, and constantly calls people to play for her, keeping her daughter at hand to comment and to listen. Thus she delights her old age with the charm of music. My idea is this, that since you understand how to play, you should practise some special selections and then wait till the last day of the third moon, the birthday of No-ja. They always send a servant on that day from Cheung’s house with candles to burn in the temple here. You might take advantage of this opportunity to dress as a Taoist priestess and play so that the servant could hear you, and the servant will assuredly take the news of it to her mistress. The lady, when she learns this, will unquestionably call you. In this way you might gain admission. As for seeing or not seeing the daughter, that depends on the decrees of fate, of which I am not the master. Apart from this I have no other suggestion to offer.” She added also: “Your face is quite like a girl’s, and you have no beard. Priestesses, too, do not do up their hair as other girls do, or cover their ears with it. I see nothing difficult in the matter of your disguise.”
Yang, greatly delighted, took his departure. He counted over on his fingers the days that must elapse before the end of the month.
Justice Cheung, it seems, had no other child but this daughter. When she was born the mother, Choi See, half unconscious, saw a fairy angel come down from heaven and drop a sparkling gem into the room before her. Then it was that the child was born. She was called Kyong-pai, Gem-Treasure, and grew up little by little, more and more beautiful, more and more graceful, more and more gifted, so that none from ancient times was ever like her. Her parents greatly loved her and sought someone to be a fitting husband, but as yet none had been found to suit them. She was sixteen now and yet no marriage had been arranged.
On a certain day Choi See called her nurse, old Chon, and said: “To-day is the anniversary of the great teacher No-ja. Take four candles and go to the Taoist temple and give them to the priestess Too-ryon. Take these cloth gifts as well and refreshments, and present them with my kindest greetings.”
Old Chon took her orders, entered a little palanquin and went to the temple. The priestess received the candles and lit them before No-ja’s portrait. She said a hundred thanks and made her bow for the presents; treated Chon royally and sent her on her way rejoicing.
Meantime, in the guise of a young priestess, Master Yang had come into the temple, tuned his harp and had begun to play. Just as the old nurse had said good-bye and was about to step into the chair, she suddenly heard the sound of music from before the portrait in the main hall. Lovely music it was, clear and sweet, such as belongs beyond the clouds. Chon, ordering the chair to wait for a moment, inclined her head and listened.
She turned to the priestess Too-ryon and said: “While I have waited on the lady Cheung I have heard sweet music, but never in my life have I heard anything like this. It is wonderful. Who is playing?”
The priestess replied: “Recently a young acolyte from Cho has come to visit me, desiring greatly to see the capital. It is she who plays. Certainly her powers of execution are wonderful, but I am not a musician myself, and cannot well distinguish one part from the other. Still I am sure after what you say that she must be very gifted indeed.”
Chon said: “If the lady Cheung knows of this she will certainly invite her. Ask her to stay for a little, please.”
The priestess replied: “Very well, I’ll do so.” So she sent her on her way and then she told Master Yang what old Chon had said. Yang was delighted, and awaited impatiently his summons to the house of Cheung.
On her return the old nurse said to the lady Cheung: “In the Taoist Temple there is a young priestess who plays the harp as I have never heard it played in my life; it is the most wonderful playing in the world.”
The lady Cheung replied: “I wish I could hear her.” The following day she sent a closed chair and a servant to the temple bearing a message to the teacher Too-ryon, saying: “Even though the young priestess should not wish to come, please use your kind offices to have her visit me.”
The priestess then said to Yang before the servant: “This high and noble lady invites you; you must not refuse to go.”
“It is not fitting,” said Yang, “that one born of the low classes in a distant part of the country should go into the presence of nobility, and yet how can I refuse to do what your ladyship commands?”
So he donned the robe and hat of a priestess, took his harp and went forth. Truly he was as startling in appearance and as sweet as the ancient favourites of China. The servant of the Cheungs was beside herself with joy.
Master Yang, in the closed chair, safely reached Cheung’s. The servant then led the way into the inner quarters. The lady Cheung, with dignified but kindly countenance, was seated in the main hall.
The musician bowed twice before the step-way, and then the lady ordered her to be seated, saying:
“My servant went yesterday to the temple and was so fortunate as to hear the music of the gods. She returned and expressed a wish that I might hear it also. Now indeed I realise what the saying means that the beautiful presence of the genii drives all worldly thoughts from the soul.”
The young priestess arose from her seat. “Your humble servant,” said she, “is from the land of Cho, and is making a hasty journey like a passing cloud. Because of my slight attainments in music your ladyship has called me to play before you. How could I ever have dreamed of such an honour?”
The lady Cheung told the servant to place the harp in order. She touched it lightly herself, saying: “This is a beautiful instrument indeed.”
The young priestess answered: “It is made of o-dong wood that has dried for a hundred years on the Yong-moon mountain. Its fibre is close knit and hard like metal or marble. It was a gift to me that I never could have purchased with money.”
As they talked together the shades of the afternoon began to fall upon the white stone entry, but still there was no sign of the daughter.
The musician, in a state of great inward impatience and doubt, said to the lady: “Though your servant knows many ancient tunes and prefers them to the modern, I play them only, but do not know their names or history. I have heard the priestess in the temple say that your excellent daughter’s knowledge of music is equal to that of the famous Sa-kwan. I should like to have her hear and comment concerning my poor efforts.”
The lady then sent a servant to call the daughter. In a little the embroidered door slid open and a breath of sweet fragrance issued forth. The maiden came sweetly out and sat down beside her mother. The musician arose, made two bows and slightly lifted his eyes to see, and lo, it was as when the first rays of the morning bursts upon one, or as when the fresh bloom of the lotus shows above the water. His mind was all in a daze, his spirit intoxicated so that he dared not look. He was sitting at a distance where he had difficulty in seeing, so he said to the lady: “I should like to hear more clearly what the young mistress says. The hall is so large and her voice so soft that I cannot catch the words.”
The lady then told one of the servants to bring the priestess’s cushion up closer. The servant did so and arranged the seat just in front of the lady Cheung and to the right of the young mistress, and adjusted it so that they could not look straight at each other. Yang was disturbed by this, but did not dare to suggest a second change. The servant then placed the incense table in front and brought incense. Then Yang, the pretended priestess, touched the strings of his harp and began with the tune, “The Feathery Robes of the Fairy.”
The young lady said: “Oh, how beautiful! This is proof indeed of the happy world of Tang Myong days. The maiden’s playing is beyond human conception, but, alas, it is said of this tune that the O-yang barbarian with the sound of the drum came thundering in, shaking the earth and drowning out the notes of the ‘Feathery Robes.’ This is a tune associated with wild war, and though wonderful in its power it has fearsome associations connected with it; try another, please.”
Yang played again. Then the young mistress said: “This is a beautiful tune too, but it suggests a wild, reckless life that rushes to extremes. King Hoo-joo of China enjoyed this tune to the undoing of his kingdom, and its name to-day is famous, ‘The Garden of Green Gems and Trees.’ The saying runs: ‘Even though you were to meet Hoo-joo in Hades it would be out of place to ask him about ‘Green Gems and Trees.’ This is a tune that caused the loss of a kingdom, and is one not to be honoured. Won’t you play another?”
Yang played another tune. Then the young lady remarked: “This tune is sad, glad, sweet and tender. It is the tune of Cha Moon-heui, who was caught in a war and carried off by the barbarian. Cho-cho gave a fabulous ransom for her and had her brought home. When she bade good-bye to her half-barbarian sons Cha Moon-heui wrote this tune. It is said, ‘The barbarians on hearing it dropped their tears upon the grass, while the minister from Han was melted by the strains of it.’ It is a very beautiful tune, and yet she is a woman who forsook her virtue. Why should we talk of it? Try another, please.”
Then Yang played again. The young mistress said:
“This is ‘The Distant Barbarian,’ written by Wang So-gun[21]. Wang So-gun thought of her former king and longed for her native land. She put into her song her lost country, and a wail of sorrow over the portrait that was her undoing. She herself had said: ‘Who will write a tune that will move the hearts of the people for a thousand years as they think of me?’ Still it is born of life with the barbarian and is a half-foreign tune, and not just what we should call correct. Have you another?”
Yang then tried another. Then the young lady’s expression changed, and she said: “It is long since I heard this tune. You are surely not an inhabitant of the earth. This calls up the history of a great and wonderful man who had fallen on evil days and had given up all thought of worldly things. His faithful heart was bewildered over the mystery of life, and he wrote this tune called ‘The Hill of the Wide Tomb.’ As he was beheaded in the East market he looked at the setting sun and sang it, adding the words ‘Alas, alas, will anyone ever desire to learn it? I have kept it to myself; now I grieve that there is no chance to pass it on.’ You must indeed have met the spirit of the Buddha Sok-ya to have learnt it.”
Yang, kneeling as he was, replied: “The young mistress’s wisdom is unequalled by any other on earth. I learned this from a great teacher, and his words were indeed the very words of your ladyship.”
He played still another. Then Cheung See said: “Enough, enough, ’tis the sadness of the autumn. The brown hills are bare and craggy, the waters of the river wide and far across. The footprints of the fairy are seen upon the dust of earth. This is the tune of the ‘Water Fairy.’ My priestess musician has all the knowledge of a hundred generations.”
The young master played again, while the lady adjusted her dress and knelt circumspectly, saying: “This is the supreme expression of all music. The Sage alights on an evil world, travels through all parts of it, desiring to help the distressed and the needy. If not Confucius, who ever would have written a song like this? It is no other than ‘The Fragrant Orchid.’ The thought runs: ‘He travelled through all the nine provinces and found no place in which to rest his heart.’ Is this not so?”
Yang, kneeling, cast more incense on the fire, then played again, whereupon the young lady said: “Refined and beautiful is ‘The Fragrant Orchid’ as it came from the mind of the great Sage, who sorrowed over the world and desired to save it; but there is a strain of hopelessness in it. In the song, however, all is bright and happy like the opening buds of May, free and gladsome; there are no words by which to tell it. This is the famous tune of the ‘Nam-hoon Palace of King Soon.’ Concerning it, it is written: ‘The south wind is warm and sweet and bears away on its wings the sorrows of the world.’ This is lovely, and fills one’s heart to overflowing. Even though you know others I have no desire to hear them.”
Yang bowed and said in reply: “Your humble servant has heard that you must play nine before the spirit of God comes down. I have already played eight; one still remains, which, with your kind permission, I will play. He straightened the bridge of the harp, tuned it once again, and began.
The music seemed far distant at first, miles away, awakening a sense of delight and calling the soul in a fast and lively way. The flowers in the court opened out at the sound of it; the swallows in pairs swung through their delightful dancings; the orioles sang in chorus to each other. The young mistress dropped her head, closed her eyes, and sat silent for a moment till the part was reached which tells how the phoenix came back to his native land, gliding across the wide expanse of sea looking for his mate.
The young mistress opened her eyes and looked once straight at the priestess. Then she bent her head as though to adjust her dress. The red blushes mounted to her cheeks and drove even the paler colour from her brow, until she looked like one who was red with wine. She quietly arose and went into her own room.
Yang gave a start of surprise, pushed away his harp, got up, looked straight before him towards the place where the young lady had gone. His spirit seemed to leave him, and his soul to die away, so that he stood like a porcelain image. Her ladyship told him to be seated, asking: “What was it that you played just now?”
Yang replied: “I got this tune from my teacher, but do not know what its name is. I should like the young lady kindly to tell me.” But though they waited long she did not reappear. The lady Cheung then asked the cause from the servant, who returned to say that her young mistress had been exposed to the draught somewhat and was feeling unwell, so that she would not be able to rejoin them.
In doubt whether he had been discovered or not Yang felt uncomfortable, and did not dare to stay longer. He arose and made a courteous bow to the lady Cheung, saying: “I am so sorry to hear that the young mistress is feeling unwell. I am afraid I may have upset her by some lack of good form on my part. Your ladyship will be anxious, too. May I ask leave to go?”
The lady gave money and silk by way of reward, but the priestess refused it. “Though I know something of music I have studied it only as a pastime,” said she, “and must not accept these rich presents.” She then bowed her thanks, went down the stone steps and was gone.
The lady made anxious inquiry about her daughter but found that there was nothing serious the matter.
Later Cheung See entered her mother’s room and asked of the servant there: “How is Cloudlet feeling to-day?”
The servant replied: “She is better. Finding that your ladyship was enjoying the music, she got up and made her toilet.”
Now Cloudlet’s family name was Ka and her birthplace was So-ho. Her father had come up to the capital, and was a secretary in one of the offices of the ministry. He had proved himself a faithful servant to Chief Justice Cheung, and shortly after his death, when Cloudlet was about thirteen years of age, the Justice and his wife took pity on the orphan and made her a member of their family and the playmate of their daughter. There was a difference of a month only between the ages of the two girls.
Every line and feature of Cloudlet’s face was a model of comeliness. She was the equal of the young mistress in literature, in penmanship, and in embroidery, and she was treated in every way like a sister, and one whom the young lady would scarcely let go out of her sight. Though there was the relationship between the two of mistress and maid, they loved each other as only bosom friends do. Cloudlet’s name originally was Cho-oon, a Cloud from Cho, but her young mistress was so in love with her beauty that she borrowed an expression from the writings of Han Toi-jee which says, “Beauty is like a cloud of springtime,” and called her instead Choon-oon, “Spring Cloud,” and so all the members of the family called her familiarly, Cloudlet.
Cloudlet inquired of the young mistress, saying: “The servants were all excited about the visitor, telling me that the priestess who played the harp was like a fairy and that her execution was most wonderful. Your praising her so made me anxious to forget my little ailments and get a glimpse too. Why has she left so suddenly?”
The young lady blushed, and said hesitatingly in reply: “Cloudlet, my dear, you know how I have been as careful of my behaviour as the Book of Rites requires; and how I have guarded my thoughts as the pearls and jewels of my life; that my feet have never ventured outside the middle gates; and that in conversation I have not even met my friends. Would you believe it, I have been deceived and have had put upon me a disgrace that will never be wiped out. How shall I bear it or lift up my face again to the light of day?”
Cloudlet was greatly alarmed and asked: “What do you mean?”
The young lady replied: “I did really say of the priestess who came just now that she was very, very beautiful, and her playing simply marvellous.” Then she hesitated and did not finish what she was about to say.
Cloudlet made answer: “But what of that?”
The young lady replied: “The priestess began by playing the ‘Feathery Mantle,’ and then went on playing one by one, till she came to ‘King Soon’s Palace.’ They were all in keeping, each selection following the other, so I asked her to stop there. She said, however, that she had one more that she would like to play. It was none other than the tune by which General Sa-ma fascinated the heart of Princess Tak-moon, the song of the phoenix seeking his mate. I was in doubt the minute I heard this, and so looked closely at her face, and assuredly it was not a girl’s face at all. Some cunning fellow, wanting to see me, has pushed his way in here in disguise. I am so sorry for one thing; if only you, Cloudlet, had been well enough to have shared in this, and had seen him, you would have detected the disguise at once. I, an unmarried girl of the inner quarters, have sat for two full hours face to face with a strange man unblushingly talking to him. Did anyone ever hear of such a thing in the world before? I cannot tell this even to my mother. If I hadn’t you to whom I could unburden my heart, what should I do?”
Cloudlet laughed and said in reply: “Even though you are an unmarried girl why shouldn’t you hear the tune of General Sa-ma looking for his mate? The young mistress is mistaken and has seen a snake’s shadow in her glass of wine.”
The young lady replied: “Not so, there is a law that governs the selection of tunes. If there was no meaning in the search of the phoenix for his mate, why should it have been played last of all? While there are those among women who are delicate and refined, there are also those who are coarse and ugly, but I never saw anyone just like this person before, so beautiful and yet so commanding. I have a conviction now that the examination is close at hand and candidates are gathering, that some one among them has heard a false rumour of me, and has taken this way to spy out and see my face.”
Cloudlet said: “If this priestess be really a man, and her face so beautiful, her manner so free and fresh, and her knowledge of music so astounding, one can only conclude that she is a most wonderfully gifted person. How do you know that it may not be General Sa-ma himself?”
The lady replied: “Even though it be Sa-ma Sang-yo I certainly am not Princess Tak-moon.”
“But,” said Cloudlet, “your ladyship must not talk nonsense. Princess Tak-moon was a widow and you are an unmarried girl. Princess Tak-moon followed her lord intentionally. You have heard it without being responsible in any way, or being influenced. How can you compare yourself with Tak-moon Koon?”
So the two laughed and talked together for the rest of the day.
Some time later, when the young lady was seated with her mother, Justice Cheung came into the room with the announcement of the successful candidates. He gave it to his wife, saying: “We have not yet made arrangements for the marriage of our daughter, and I had intended to make a selection from this company of successful scholars. However, I find that the winner is not of the capital, but is a certain Yang So-yoo from Hoi-nam. His age is eighteen, and every one is loud in his praises, saying that he has ability of the first order. I hear also that he is remarkably handsome, with commanding presence for so young a man, altogether a person who has before him a great career. They say he is not yet married. I should think he would be a very suitable person for a son-in-law.”
The lady replied: “To hear of him is one thing; to see him may be quite another. Even though others praise him you cannot trust to that. After you have seen and met him, let us talk the matter over.”
The Justice replied: “That’s a very easy thing.”