INTRODUCTION

“The Tale of a Young Maiden of the Yu Family” is an anonymous seventeenth-century tale. This story follows the life of Yu Kyesŏn, a young noble woman destined for a marriage that remains unfulfilled due to a series of tragic events. As the story unfolds, it portrays Kyesŏn’s unwavering commitment to her familial and societal duties, exemplifying virtues derived from Confucian and Buddhist influences and providing valuable insights into seventeenth-century Korean concepts of gender, virtue, marriage, and funeral practices.

 

 

 

 

There was a young maiden [of the Yu family] whose name was Kyesŏn¹⁾. Her style name was Chin’gyŏng and she was the second oldest daughter of the late Ch’amjŏng²⁾ Wi. Her family originated in the southern part of the country, and she grew up in Wŏlgye [in Chŏlgang]. Naturally endowed with a lovely and charming figure, she was incredibly beautiful. By the age of fourteen, she had mastered a variety of books. Her parents particularly loved and cherished her.

       When Ch’amjŏng was still alive, P’ojŏngsa³⁾ Song Ch’ang proposed a marriage between the Yu family and his son Hyoyŏng. Hyoyŏng was a bright and noble scholar, renowned in the Kwangdong area. Ch’amjŏng, eager to have a man of virtue like Hyoyŏng as his son-in-law, agreed to the marriage and conducted the ceremony of “Receiving the Betrothal Gifts” from the bridegroom’s house⁴⁾. The wedding date was set for the fifteenth day of the third lunar month of the same year. However, the day before the wedding, Ch’amjŏng’s stepmother passed away. Ch’amjŏng took his entire household and went to the south. The Song family heard little from the Yu family for the distance between Kwangdong and Chŏlgang was over two thousand li. A year passed without any word and the wedding was postponed indefinitely.

        During the mourning period, Ch’amjŏng’s health quickly deteriorated. He eventually died in a hut built near his stepmother’s grave. His funeral had not yet been held when Song Ch’ang, unaware of his passing, wrote a letter urging him to uphold his promise to take Hyoyŏng as a son-in-law. A servant delivered the message, which read:

 

“P’ojŏngsa Song at Kwangdong P’ojŏngsa respectfully writes to Ch’amjŏng Yu, a filial son in mourning. As the sun sets on the western mountain, you suffer the sorrow of losing your parent. How are you enduring your mind’s disarray which grows greater day by day with unquenchable longing for your parent? How do you cope with the immeasurable sorrow brought on by being unable to rejoin your parent? I wish I could rush to console you, but my feet are bound, tied to a trivial position far away at the edge of the sky. All I can do is to worry and weep, facing the southern sky [where you are].

       My son has grown older but still he has no wife. In the fall, I hope you will be able to keep the promise you made before. Indeed, it would be splendid if you could put the wedding back on course. I am very old and my days in this world are numbered. I wish only to see my son married before my death. Because my eyes are ailing, I am unable to write at greater length. I wish you well and please pardon my lack of decorum.

       In the tenth year of kyŏngt’ae,⁵⁾ on a certain day of the ninth lunar month, Song wrote the above, bowing repeatedly.”

 

        A servant of the Song family packed up the letter and made the trip to Chŏlgang. By the time he arrived, Ch’amjŏng had already been dead for over two months. The letter was instead delivered to Ch’amjŏng’s son, Sung. He placed the letter before his father’s soul seat⁶⁾ and had Ch’oe Sin, who studied under the family, read it aloud. When Ch’oe Sin finished, Sung took the letter and left the room, wailing. Kneeling before his mother, he showed her the letter. He said, “This is a letter from P’ojŏngsa of Gwangdong, regarding my little sister’s wedding. He sent one of his servants to personally deliver it to my father.”

 

His mother spoke in tears,

 

 

       On his knees, Sung received his mother’s instructions and stepped outside the hut built next to his father’s grave. He cut a piece of paper and wrote a reply, which read,

 

 

        After sealing the letter, he gave it to the servant from the Song family, having given him wine and cake and some money for his journey back home.

 

        Meanwhile, Song Ch’ang had been demoted. He was reassigned as the Prefect of Namnyŏng⁸⁾ several days before his servant, bearing the reply letter [from Yu Sung], returned. By coincidence, the route to his new post passed through Chŏlgang, so P’ojŏngsa sent a servant to notify Sung that he hoped to stop and spend the night.

        Sung instructed his servants to clean the guesthouse and waited outside the gate for Namnyŏng’s [P’ojŏngsa] arrival. Namnyŏng hurried his horse and, when he reached the bridge, dismounted to clasp Sung’s hands. [Seeing what had happened,] he immediately lamented. He then offered a message of condolence and comfort for Sung in his lonely bereavement. With sacrificial food and an address he had prepared, he presented a memorial service before the soul seat. His memorial address read:

 

        Having completed the memorial service, he entered the guestroom and called his son, Hyoyŏng, to request a talk with Sung. He said to Sung, “This old man has been banished to the middle of the southern region, with no expectation of returning to the northern palaces in my lifetime. Once I arrive at my new post, I plan to send my son back to care for my ill wife. I would be more than happy if we could then select an auspicious time and bring about the union of the two families this fall at the latest.”

        Sung arose from his seat and kneeled before Namnyŏng. He said, “Recently my sister suffers less from her illness. Day by day she regains her health. Her recovery must be a sign that heaven extended her life so that she could be married to your noble family. Nothing could be more fortunate and I agree with your suggestion.”

         Sung immediately told his mother about Namnyŏng’s suggestion. She replied, “Your father’s wish is finally fulfilled. I can now die in peace with my eyes closed,” and instructed Sung to thank Namnyŏng on her behalf. The following morning, Namnyŏng bade them farewell and departed. Soon, he formally notified them in writing of the wedding date, with the ceremony of “Fetching the Bride” on the first day of the ninth lunar month of that year. However, late in the seventh lunar month, Hyoyŏng contracted a disease while returning from Namnyŏng. He died on the road in the prefecture of Kŭmnŭng.

         Coincidentally, Sung had been invited to visit Kŭmnŭng and had been staying in the house of a friend of his father for weeks. When he heard of the death of Hyoyŏng, Sung hurried to view the body and attend to the preparation of the corpse for the funeral. He took the lead in providing a temporary grave on Yŏgyang Mountain. In low spirits, Sung returned home and told his mother what had happened in Kŭmnŭng. Upon hearing of the sudden death of Hyoyŏng she cried aloud and collapsed to the ground.

         Ch’amjŏng’s daughter, Kyesŏn, was in the rear of the house when she heard the news. In grief, she unbound her hair, pounded her bosom, stomped her feet and wailed loudly as if she had lost her husband. Sung urged her to stop, “Little sister, what you are doing is not proper. Why are you overreacting? You are not formally married to him in accordance with the rite of Fetching the Bride. You haven’t yet developed a special bond with him as husband and wife. Are you mourning like this just because we received betrothal gifts?”

         Kyesŏn said, “People call you a learned scholar. I have always aspired to emulate a superior man by learning propriety. To my chagrin, however, you are now speaking of moral depravity. I read in the historical records and also heard from people of older generations that one must never break a promise once it is spoken, so it makes no difference whether or not Fetching the Bride was performed [as the wedding was already set]. It is said, ‘a chaste woman does not serve two husbands.’ If you try to marry me off to another household, then you are heartless and cruel. I swear that my mind is already set and I will meet my death before I will be swayed.”

         She then brought a scissor and cut off the two braided buns of her hair, making a vow to herself. She went to her mother and said, “My husband passed away because of my ill-fated life. I will take leave of you and go to his grave. I will take the coffin to his hometown so that his restless soul will not become a lonely ghost in a foreign land.”

         Her mother held Kyesŏn’s hands. She was speechless. Tears flowed from her eyes in torrents. Finally she replied, “Alas, my little daughter, how are you going to live? Having heard what you said, how can I stop you from following your sincere wish?” She then told Sung, “It caused me grief that I could not change your sister’s mind. However, because she is a woman, she should not travel over one hundred li to hasten [to her husband’s] home for the funeral. I think you should first talk with Namnyŏng about the necessary materials for the funeral and take the coffin to his hometown. It would not be a bad idea for Kyesŏn to join you on the day of the burial.”

         Kyesŏn spoke out, “I don’t dare go against your command, but my husband had no siblings, his father is far away and his mother is all alone, so I should take charge as the only able member of the family. What will people think of me if I don’t take care of my family? I beg you to allow me to go with my brother to Kŭmnŭng and take the coffin of my husband to his hometown so that I can lay him to rest in the family burial ground. If I can do that, I will have no regrets even in my death.”

         Moved by Kyesŏn’s piteous heart and praiseworthy thoughts, her mother gave her permission. She then called Kyesŏn’s nanny, Aegyŏng, and her maids, Ongmae and Haedang, and tearfully instructed them, “How unfortunate Kyesŏn is! My heart is broken since Mr. Song [Hyoyŏng] passed away unexpectedly. Kyesŏn wishes to go to Kŭmnŭng and hold a proper funeral for him. I cannot stop her when I feel such pity for her sentiment. Pack your things, accompany Kyesŏn to Kŭmnŭng and escort her back.”

         Aegyŏng stepped forth and prostrated herself on her knees saying, “My Lady, my Lady, I am afraid that you are about to ruin her life. It is unfortunate that Mr. Song died, but there must be another suitor among his clan. Given that the blue bird brought no news and the red thread is not tied [by the old man under the moon],¹⁰⁾ she is not formally married. You don’t want your young daughter to sleep in a lonely room for the rest of her life, do you? I am merely an old servant who does not know much but I feel compelled to oppose your action today.”

         Before Kyesŏn’s mother could respond, both Ongmae and Haedang also kneeled and said, “We concur with Aegyŏng. We are ignorant, so we could not discuss the matter. However, deep in our hearts we feel that our young lady’s trip is improper. How could there be a bond of husband and wife when no wedding vow was ever made? We lie prone and implore you. Please subdue her obstinacy and persuade her not to commit this rash act. This is our desperate wish.”

         Sung also said to his mother, “Our servants may be ignorant, but sometimes they speak the truth. I urge you to reconsider your decision.”

         Kyesŏn stepped forth and intervened, “I may be young, but I have made a mature decision. It is unthinkable for me to have two husbands. A learned person would not say what you suggested, my brother. An old saying goes, ‘A righteous man loves others with virtue.’ To that end, people should treat even strangers with affection, and siblings must tend each other with utmost care and love. I lie prostrate and implore you. I desperately hope that you are not swayed by other people’s opinions and will allow me to carry out my wish.”

         Caressing Kyesŏn’s back, her mother said, “I find Kyesŏn’s words righteous and I won’t reconsider my decision. Sung, prepare promptly for the trip to Kŭmnŭng and go with Kyesŏn.”

         Sung acknowledged his mother’s command and retreated. Along with Aegyŏng and the other maids, he prepared for travel. When they were ready to depart, Kyesŏn bowed to her mother and bade her farewell, “I have been undutiful to you as a daughter. All these years I don’t recall even one time where I served you good food. Now I am about to leave you and will be unable to check on you every morning and evening for a long time. I have neglected my filial duty and caused you too much trouble. My failure in filial duty is the worst of sins! After I accompany the body of my husband to bury him in his hometown, I would like to devote the rest of my life to you. However, as my old mother-in-law has no other child except my husband, I am obliged to support her. Circumstances prevent me from performing both duties, and it frustrates me deeply.”

         Her mother said, “You have already decided to become a member of the Song family and they have no other child except you, so I think you should take care of your mother-in-law. I am sure your sister and Sung will understand and not object to your supporting her.”

         Kyesŏn wiped tears off her face and bade farewell to her mother. She held the hands of her older sister, Maesŏn, and said in tears, “I am a sinner who cannot be forgiven under the sky and above the land. I am ashamed that I am unable to support my own mother and do not dare raise my head to face anyone. I implore you to take good care of our mother. . . .”

         Kyesŏn covered her mouth with her hand to hold back a surge of emotion and could not continue. She could only repeat, ‘take care’ and shed many tears as she bade farewell.

         Accompanied by Sung, Aegyŏng, and the other maids, Kyesŏn traveled to Kŭmnŭng. She brought her husband’s body to his hometown and buried him in a lot on the left side of the Song family’s burial mounds. She wore garments of hemp and did her best to follow the tradition of mourning by living in a hut built beside the grave for the next three years. However, she also could not ignore Hyoyŏng’s mother. Holding back her emotions, she brought the spirit tablet of her husband to the house of the Song family and served her mother-in-law as if she were her own mother. She always showed a tender smile and spoke softly to hide her sadness when she was with her mother-in-law, though when she was all alone in her room, she put her head under the pillow and wept bitterly. Still in mourning, she grew haggard and her body thinned like a dried tree branch. Days passed but her emaciated body only grew thinner. It had been only few months since the funeral when she became too sick to rise. There seemed no hope of her recovery.

         Hyoyŏng’s mother, Lady Yang, personally brought medicine to Kyesŏn and, sobbing, begged her to take it. Kyesŏn showed brief improvement, but a short time later she suffered insomnia and loss of appetite which lasted for many weeks. Time passed and the end of the period of mourning drew near, but Kyesŏn’s condition became steadily worse.

         One day, Lady Yang, barely able to hold back her tears, said, “Old and unfortunate I am, I lost my only child. Having a daughter-in-law consoles me much but you have suffered greatly from mourning and I am now stricken with worry and grief. If misfortune befalls you, who can I rely on? I have also heard that your mother is especially fond of you. I don’t have many days left to live [, so don’t worry about me]. But please worry about your own mother!”

         Kyesŏn struggled to raise her feeble body, bowed, and said on her knees, “It is all due to your grace that I am able to cling to my shattered life for so long. Despite my sorry fate in losing my husband too soon, I can breathe and lift my face between the sky and the earth with no shame. I have lived on in hope of serving you well, preparing delicious foods in the kitchen. At least then I would not completely fail my husband in the underworld. Please do not worry. Heeding your words, I hope I may strive to preserve my worthless life in any way I can.”

         However, Kyesŏn’s illness was already dire. Even the madicine and skill of legendary physicians such as Yu Pu and P’yŏn Chak could not have cured her. One day, Kyesŏn summoned her servant Haedang to cut a large piece of white silk, and wrote a letter to her mother. Then, on another piece, she wrote a letter to her sister Maesŏn. The letters read,

 

“Your unfilial daughter Kyesŏn respectfully writes to her mother. Your daughter, Kyesŏn, fated to misfortune throughout all three lives,¹¹⁾ lost a husband in early life and left you, my mother, far away. Far beyond the clouds is my home, a thousand li away. I shed bloody tears after living in a foreign land for three years. While your grace and virtue in raising me are as big as the sky, my sin in not taking care of you is as heavy and unfathomable as counting my hairs one by one. Looking up [toward heaven], I’m unfilial, and below [toward people], I am ashamed. Every night, I gaze toward where you are, but it is too far to reach. When there was an evening rain on sparse grasses, I envied several times the filial birds’ crying. Yuk Chŏk’s story of keeping yellow tangerines at his breast to give to his mother touched my heart to no avail.¹²⁾ I subdued my own sorrow to take care of my old, gray-haired mother-in-law at home. How wretched my life was, yet I acted frivolously like a young child in a rainbow-striped garment to amuse her.

       Unfortunately, I became ill and withered like firewood. Barely eating and with an uneasy mind, my face turned pale and my body thin. Like the morning dew, I have nothing to do but to wait for the day of my death. Unable to promise that I will care for you again, I don’t know how to repay your infinite virtue and grace. Yet, it is fortunate that Sister Maesŏn and Brother Sung attend you closely. My only wish is that you may live in peace with no dark thoughts about me. I bid farewell to you from this moment.

       On a certain day of a certain month in a certain year, unfilial daughter Kyesŏn presents these words with respect.”

“Your sister, Kyesŏn, presents a letter to her sister with a deep bow. Alas, since our parting, three years have passed, during which we have lived a thousand li apart. The Book of Poetry has it that ‘When a girl goes away [from her home], she is separated from her parents and siblings.’ Isn’t it truly so? With clouded mountains in the far distance, there was no way to send my words to you. Amidst the fast flow of time, how long can one life last? The sun is already approaching sunset,¹³⁾ but I am abandoning the filial duty which the children of crows do to their mother.¹⁴⁾ I climbed a steep cliff, but could reach no further. Contemplating a spray of dogwood, I thought about my siblings missing their distant sister. Listening to the cries of geese makes me envy their returning home. With her sorry fate, your sister has committed a sin bigger than the sky and earth. Above, I left my mother and below I lost my husband. Even so, for a long time I have preserved what life remains to me. Heaven’s punishment was severe, and my illness worsened day by day. Now, I can no longer anticipate having once more with my siblings the delight that Chŏn Chin’s brothers found under the thorn tree.¹⁵⁾ Instead, I can only look forward, wishing for the promise of our gathering together forever in the underworld. My mother’s health is all I am concerned for. My brother and sister, I hope you can take good care of her and stay nearby. With this letter, I report my departure into death. Facing this letter, I have wailed, choking down sobs which prevent me from writing in further detail.

       On a certain day of a certain month in a certain year, from your younger sister Kyesŏn with a deep bow.”

 

         She sealed the letters in separate envelopes and gave them to Aegyŏng, saying, “My illness has advanced too far, I cannot hope to recover from it. Please deliver these letters to my mother and brother and sister.” Falling silent, she lay down facing the wall. Her breath was very weak and quickly fading. Ongmae and Haedang ran and informed Lady Yang.

         Shocked, Lady Yang hurried to see Kyesŏn. She called to her but there was no response. Kyesŏn had already slipped away and there was nothing Lady Yang could do. Lady Yang instructed a servant to notify the Yu family of Kyesŏn’s death.

         When the sad news reached her, Kyesŏn’s mother was grief-stricken. She pounded her bosom, wailing, “Now, my youngest daughter is also dead! How can I live without her?” She wept, and her sorrow was indescribable.

         Later she summoned Sung and said, “Your sister was perhaps the most virtuous lady of all. Even I, an old woman, cannot approach her goodness. Why did heaven take away our Kyesŏn so quickly? I wish I could bury her with my own hands, but I fear my old, ailing body would prevent me. Please hurry and take care of her funeral.”

         Obedient to his mother’s order, Sung left immediately and traveled day and night. Having arrived, he purchased the necessary supplies, arranged a funeral service in accordance with tradition, and buried Kyesŏn’s body to the left of Hyoyŏng’s grave. After the funeral, Sung decided to stay and sleep in a nearby house.

         During the third watch of the night, a crescent moon rose and an autumn wind blew around the hut. Sung sighed deeply and, facing into the wind, broke into tears. Exhausted from his long journey and the mournful funeral service, Sung soon dozed off, leaning against a window. As he drowsed, he heard a murmur of voices. Soon, a woman in light makeup and mourning dress slowly approached from the distance. Following behind her was a man wearing a hat and mourning attire.

         Sung stood up in shock and wonder, and looked at them carefully, recognizing Kyesŏn and Hyoyŏng standing on the stone front steps. Having quickly made his clothes neat and tidy, Sung walked outside to greet them, and welcomed the couple to the courtyard, forgetting, for the moment, that they were dead. He asked Hyoyŏng, “How have you been, Ŭngsi? I have been so sad after parting with my sister a while ago. It makes me so happy to see you tonight.”

         Ŭngsi was Hyoyŏng’s style name. Hyoyŏng greeted him in return, saying, “I must have confused you. Even to a wise man, it is surprising to see a person who passed away meet a living person in the world. But don’t be alarmed. I am here with your sister to thank you for your kindness.”

         Sung finally realized that Hyoyŏng was a ghost. Straightening his lapel, he said, “You needn’t say such words. Yes, there is distinction between life and death. But I doubt there is any difference between the worlds of the living and the dead, especially when it comes to close family.” Hyoyŏng said, “In Kŭmnŭng, I almost became a restless soul roaming the vale, but to my relief and gratitude, you collected my bones. After your sister passed away you looked after my old mother. I’m very much indebted to you for your kindness, but I don’t know how to return it. I must find a way to repay you someday.”

         Sung said, “We are like brothers. I did what a brother would do. There is no need to thank or repay me. Besides, I did very little for you so I don’t deserve all your praise. I would rather recall the saying, ‘Brothers greatly sympathize with one another at difficult times of death and burial’ and ‘Brothers spare no effort to help during a crisis.’ So you are mistaken about me. I never expected your gratitude.”

         Sung then took Hyoyŏng’s hands and led him into the room, asking Kyesŏn to follow. When they were all seated, Sung told his sister, “Your nanny is here. So are Ongmae and Haedang. Would you like to see them?”

         She sadly said, “It would be nice to see their familiar faces but I am afraid that doing so would sadden me too much. However, since they are right here, I should see them. Please call them so that we can have a wonderful night together.”

         Sung immediately summoned the three. Aegyŏng and the other two appeared and saw Kyesŏn standing in the room. They embraced her and wept, finally asking, “We thought you were dead. Where have you been? We have lived in such low spirits in the long time since we lost you.”

         Kyesŏn shed tears and straightened the lapels of her clothes before she finally spoke, “Hapless I was, how could I exist other than being dead? I came here with my husband to see my brother. Hearing that you were all here, I wanted to see the old familiar faces, so I asked my brother to summon you.”

         Sung turned to Haedang and asked, “Bring out wine and fruits. We are mysteriously reunited. Perhaps this is an opportunity to unburden ourselves.”

         Haedang hurried to bring out three bottles of Tongjŏngch’un wine and one hundred mandarin oranges to furnish the table. Exchanging cups, they all enjoyed the wine and became drunk. As the bottles finally ran dry, the eastern sky gradually brightened. The cocks began to crow and dawn came. Hyoyŏng turned to Kyesŏn and spoke, “We have a long way to travel. We should leave now.” Kyesŏn wiped tears from her face and bade farewell, disappearing suddenly along with her husband.

         In the morning, Sung hurried his feet back toward home. When he presented Kyesŏn’s letter to his mother, he told her about how he had met Hyoyŏng and Kyesŏn.

         After reading the letter, his mother tearfully said, “The underworld is far away and we won’t see her again. It is some relief to know that, although buried in a foreign land, she was laid to rest in peace beside her husband. However it still hurts me that I was not by her deathbed or at her funeral. I will have to live with that regret until my own death.”

         Prefect of Chŏlgang Ma Chin recorded the story of Kyesŏn and reported it to the court. Soon after, a royal edict arrived, ordering her grave to be honored with an official commendation and granting her the posthumous title of Chŏngnyŏl Puin (A Lady of Peace and Virtue).

 

Translated by Sookja Cho

 

An earlier version of this translation, which includes an introduction and more detailed annotations, appeared as “Yu Sorang chŏn,” Acta Koreana Vol. 21, No.2 (December 2018): 575-92.

1) Though the tale is set in Ming China(1368-1644), names and places are rendered in korean.

2) Ch’amjŏng: an official title referring to anadministrative vice commissioner of a province or state councilor.

3) P’ojŏngsa: the Head of the ProvincialAdministration Commission.

4) “Receiving the Betrothal Gifts” is an essentialpart of the traditional Chinese wedding known as Six Ceremonies. 

5) The year of kyŏngt’ae (C. jingtai) seems torefer to the reign of Emperor Daizong (r. 1450–57).

6) Soul seat refers to the location where a spirittablet for the dead is placed.

7) According to the Confucian ritual, one shouldkeep a three-year mourning period after the funeral for one’s parents. Duringthis mourning period, one should live in a grass hut built next to the graveand take care of it. Wine and meat, let alone sexual intercourse, areprohibited.

8) Namnyŏng seems to refer to a city in present-dayGuangxi Province, bordering Vietnam. This remote area is often thought of as aplace of exile.

9) Nine Plains refers to the underworld.