The Koreans are great students of Nature. Nothing seems to escape their
attention as they plod through the fields or saunter for pleasure over
the green hills. A naturally picturesque landscape is preserved in its
freshness by the law that forbids the cutting of timber or fuel in any
but prescribed localities. The necessity that compels the peasants to
carefully rake together all the dried grass and underbrush for fuel,
causes even the rugged mountain sides to present the appearance of
a gentleman's well kept park, from which the landscape gardener has
been wisely excluded.
Nature's beauty in Korea may be said to be enhanced rather than marred
by the presence of man; since the bright tints of the ample costume
worn by all lends a quaint charm to the view. The soil-begrimed white
garments of the peasants at work in the fields are not especially
attractive at short range; but the foot-traveller, clad in a gorgeous
gown of light-colored muslin, adds a pleasant touch to the general
effect, as he winds about the hills following one of the "short-cut"
paths; while the flowing robes of brightly colored silk worn by the
frequent parties of gentry who may be met, strolling for recreation,
are a positive attraction. Nor are these groups uncommon. The
climate during most of the year is so delightful; the gentry are so
pre-eminently a people of leisure, and are so fond of sight-seeing,
games, and music, that they may be continually met taking a stroll
through the country.
As has been said, nothing out-of-doors seems to have escaped their
attention. The flowers that carpet the earth from snow till snow have
each been named and their seasons are known.
The mah-hah in-doors throws out its pretty sessile blossoms upon the
leafless stem sometimes before the snows have left, as though summer
were borne upon winter's bare arm with no leafy spring to herald
her approach. Then the autumn snows and frosts often arrive before
the great chrysanthemums have ceased their blooming, while, between
the seasons of the two heralds, bloom myriads of pretty plants that
should make up a veritable botanical paradise. Summer finds the whole
hill-sides covered with the delicate fluffy bloom of the pink azaleas,
summoning forth the bands of beauty seekers who have already admired
the peach and the plum orchards. Great beds of nodding lilies of the
valley usher in the harvest, and even the forest trees occasionally
add their weight of blossoms to the general effect.
The coming and going of the birds is looked for, and the peculiarities
and music of each are known. As a rule, they are named in accordance
with the notes they utter; the pigeon is the pe-dul-key; the crow
the kaw-mah-gue; the swallow the chap-pie, and so on. One bird--I
think it is the oriole--is associated with a pretty legend to the
effect that, once upon a time, one of the numerous ladies at court
had a love affair with one of the palace officials--a Mr. Kim. It
was discovered, and the poor thing lost her life. Her spirit could
not be killed, however, and, unappeased, it entered this bird, in
which form she returned to the palace and sang, "Kim-pul-lah-go,"
"Kim-pul, Kim-pul-lah-go," then, receiving no response, she would
mournfully entreat--"Kim-poh-go-sip-so," "Kim-poh-go-sip-so." Now,
in the language of Korea, "Kim-pul-lah-go" means "call Kim" or "tell
Kim to come," and "Kim poh go sip so" means "I want to see Kim." So,
even to this day, the women and children feel sad when they hear
these plaintive notes, and unconsciously their hearts go out in pity
for the poor lone lover who is ever searching in vain for her Kim.
Another bird of sadness is the cuckoo, and the women dislike to hear
its homesick notes echoing across the valleys.
The pe chu kuh ruk is a bird that sings in the wild mountain places
and warns people that robbers are near. When it comes to the hamlets
and sings, the people know that the rice crop will be a failure,
and that they will have to eat millet.
The crow is in great disfavor, as it eats dead dog, and brings the
dread fever--Yim pyung.
The magpie--that impudent, noisy nuisance,--however, is in great favor,
so much so that his great ugly nest is safe from human disturbance,
and his presence is quite acceptable, especially in the morning. He
seems to be the champion of the swallows that colonize the thick roofs
and build their little mud houses underneath the tiles, for when one
of the great lazy house-snakes comes out to sun himself after a meal
of young swallows, the bereaved parents and friends at once fly off
for the saucy magpie, who comes promptly and dashes at the snake's
head amid the encouraging jabbering of the swallows. They usually
succeed in driving the reptile under the tiles.
Should the magpie come to the house with his (excuse for a)
song in the morning, good news may be expected during the day;
father will return from a long journey; brother will succeed in his
(civil-service) examination and obtain rank, or good news will be
brought by post. Should the magpie come in the afternoon with his
jargon, a guest--not a friend--may be expected with an appetite equal
to that of a family of children; while, if the magpie comes after dark,
thieves may be dreaded.
This office of house-guard is also bestowed upon the domestic
goose. Aside from its beauty, this bird is greatly esteemed for its
daring in promptly sounding an alarm, should any untimely visitor
enter the court, as well as for its bravery in boldly pecking at and,
in some cases, driving out the intruder.
The wild goose is one of the most highly prized birds in Korea. It
always participates in the wedding ceremonies; for no man would think
himself properly married had he not been presented by his bride
with a wild goose, even though the bird were simply hired for the
occasion. The reason for this is that these observing people once
noticed that a goose, whose mate was killed, returned to the place
year after year to mourn her loss; and such constancy they seek, by
this pretty custom, to commend to their wives. They further pledge
each other at this time in these words: "Black is the hair that now
crowns our heads, yet when it has become as white as the fibres of
the onion root, we shall still be found faithful to each other."
The white heron seems to be the especial friend of man. Many are the
tales told of the assistance it has rendered individuals. In one case
the generous-hearted creature is said to have pecked off its bill
in its frantic attempts to ring a temple bell for the salvation of
a man. One of the early stories relates how a hunter, having shot an
arrow through the head of a snake that was about to devour some newly
hatched herons, was in turn saved by the mother bird, who pecked to
death a snake that had gotten into the man's stomach while he was
drinking at a spring. The pecking, further, was so expertly done as
not to injure the man.
The swallows are everywhere welcome, while the thievish sparrows
are killed as often as possible; the former live in the roofs of the
houses, and usually awaken the inmates by their delighted chattering
at each recurrence of dawn. A charming story is told of a swallow's
rewarding a kind man who had rescued it from a snake and bound up its
broken leg. The anecdote is too long to be related in this connection
further than to say that the bird gave the man a seed which, being
planted, brought him a vast fortune, while a seed given to his wicked
brother, who was cruel to the swallows, worked his ruin. The bird
held in the highest favor, however, is the stork. It is engraved in
jade and gold and embroidered in silk, as the insignia of rank for the
nobility. It is the bird that soars above the battle, and calls down
success upon the Korean arms. In its majestic flight it is supposed
to mount to heaven; hence its wisdom, for it is reputed to be a very
wise bird. A man was once said to have ridden to heaven on the back
of a huge stork, and judging from the great strength of a pair the
writer once had as pets, the people are warranted in believing that,
in the marvellous days of the ancients, these birds were used for
purposes of transportation.
The animals, too, have their stories, and in Korea, as in some other
parts of the world, the rabbit seems to come off best, as a rule. One
very good story is told concerning a scrape the rabbit got himself
into because of his curiosity, but out of which he extricated himself
at the expense of the whole fraternity of water animals.
It seems that on one occasion the king of fishes was a little
indiscreet, and while snapping greedily at a worm, got a hook through
his nose. He succeeded in breaking the line, and escaped having his
royal bones picked by some hungry mortal, but he was still in a great
dilemma, for he could in no way remove the cruel hook.
His finny majesty grew very ill; all the officials of his kingdom were
summoned and met in solemn council. From the turtle to the whale, each
one wore an anxious expression, and did his best at thinking. At last
the turtle was asked for his opinion, and announced his firm belief
that a poultice made from the fresh eye of a rabbit would remove the
disorder of their sovereign at once. He was listened to attentively,
but his plan was conceded to be impracticable, since they had no
fresh rabbit eyes or any means of obtaining them. Then the turtle
again came to the rescue, and said that he had a passing acquaintance
with the rabbit, whom he had occasionally seen when walking along
the beach, and that he would endeavor to bring him to the palace,
if the doctors would then take charge of the work, for the sight of
blood disagreed with him, and he would ask to absent himself from the
further conduct of the case. He was royally thanked for his offer,
and sent off in haste, realizing full well that his career was made
in case he succeeded, while he would be very much unmade if he failed.
'Twas a very hot day as the fat turtle dragged himself up the
hill-side, where he fortunately espied the rabbit. The latter, having
jumped away a short distance, cocked his ears, and looked over his
back to see who was approaching. Perceiving the turtle, he went over
and accosted him with, "What are you doing away up here, sir?"
"I simply came up for a view. I have always heard that the view over
the water from your hills was excellent, but I can't say it pays one
for the trouble of coming up," and the turtle wiped off his long neck
and stretched himself out to cool off in the air.
"You are not high enough; just come with me if you want to see a view,"
and the rabbit straightened up as if to start.
"No, indeed! I have had enough for once. I prefer the water. Why, you
should see the magnificent sights down there. There are beautiful green
forests of waving trees, mountains of cool stones, valleys and caves,
great open plains made beautiful by companies of brightly robed fishes,
royal processions from our palaces, and, best of all, the water bears
you up, and you go everywhere without exertion. No, let me return,
you have nothing on this dry, hot earth worth seeing." The turtle
turned to go, but the rabbit musingly followed. At length he said:
"Don't you have any difficulty in the water? Doesn't it get into
your eyes and mouth?" For he really longed in his heart to see the
strange sights.
"Oh, no! it bothers us no more than air, after we have once become
accustomed to it," said the turtle.
"I should very much like to see the place," said the rabbit, rather to
himself, "but 'tis no use, I couldn't live in the water like a fish."
"Why, certainly not," and the turtle concealed his excitement under an
air of indifference; "you couldn't get along by yourself, but if you
really wish to see something that will surprise you, you may get on
my back, give me your fore-paws, and I will take you down all right."
After some further assurance, the rabbit accepted the apparently
generous offer, and on arriving at the beach, he allowed himself to be
firmly fixed on the turtle's back, and down they went into the water,
to the great discomfort of the rabbit, who, however, eventually became
so accustomed to the water that he did not much mind it.
He was charmed and bewildered by the magnificence of every thing
he saw, and especially by the gorgeous palace, through which he
was escorted, by attendant fishes, to the sick chamber of the king,
where he found a great council of learned doctors, who welcomed him
very warmly. While sitting in an elegant chair and gazing about
at the surrounding magnificence, he chanced to hear a discussion
concerning the best way of securing his eyes before he should die. He
was filled with horror, and, questioning an attendant, the whole plot
was explained to him. The poor fellow scratched his head and wondered
if he would ever get out of the place alive. At last a happy thought
struck him. He explained to them that he always carried about two
pairs of eyes, his real ones and a pair made of mountain crystals,
to be used in very dusty weather.
Fearing that the water would injure his real eyes, he had buried them
in the sand before getting upon the turtle's back, and was now using
his crystal ones. He further expressed himself as most willing to
let them have one of his real eyes, with which to cure his majesty's
disorder, and assured them that he believed one eye would answer the
purpose. He gave them to understand that he felt highly honored in
being allowed to assist in so important a work, and declared that if
they would give the necessary order he would hasten on the turtle's
back to the spot where he had buried the eyes and return speedily
with one.
Marvelling much at the rabbit's courtesy, the fishes slunk away into
the corners for very shame at their own rude conduct in forcibly
kidnapping him, when a simple request would have accomplished their
purpose. The turtle was rather roughly commanded to carry the guest
to the place designated, which he did.
Once released by the turtle to dig for the eyes in the sand, the rabbit
shook the water from his coat, and winking at his clumsy betrayer told
him to dig for the eyes himself, that he had only one pair, and those
he intended to keep. With that he tore away up the mountain side,
and has ever after been careful to give the turtle a wide berth.