may have been, for it was indeed my duty to survive. I had to survive for my son. How could I separate myself from him? He was of my body; he was of my lineage; he was my future; he was the future of his country; he held in his fists the future of his maternal grandparents and uncles and aunts. Both the Hong family and the Yi dynasty depended upon him. He was the heir to the heir. But it was not for this that I loved this poor, helpless little scrap of being. I protest that I loved him with a love that was pure and spontaneous and unselfish, as my little cat loved her kittens. He was the first joy and the first love of my life. He was my own.
And his father loved him, too. I could weep now as I remember the broad smile of paternal pride on Prince Sado’s face, as he picked up the little tightly swaddled bundle and gazed into its sleepy, half-closed eyes. Prince Sado, now formally designated the prince regent, was like a child in his delight. He hoped that the birth of little PrinceŬiso would conciliate his father the king, and prove a new bond between them. He attended the ceremony of the ritual burial of the placenta and navel cord, and reported that it had been attended by many good omens. He was full of hope. He was sure that his father would relent and treat him more affectionately. He was aware that he had been a disappointment to his father, and hoped now to win his trust. I, too, now hoped for better times.
But things did not turn out as we expected and desired.
His Majesty King Yŏngjo was not appeased by the birth of my first-born. His irritability and fits of anger with Sado continued. I think this anger was connected with the recent death of his third daughter, the much-favoured Princess Hwap’yŏng, who had died in childbirth a little more than a year earlier, but whose death he still bitterly and very publicly mourned and lamented. It had been a hard year for the whole nation, the year of her death, a year of famine and epidemics, during which many of the common people died. The birth of our sonŬiso merely rekindled his grief over this earlier loss, and not one word of good will or congratulation did he send to his only son or to me on the birth of our first child. I concealed my sense of indignation, but Prince Sado was deeply hurt, and had a right to be so.
Princess Hwap’yŏng had always been kind to her little brother Sado, and to me, his child bride, and had tried to mitigate the effects of her father’s marked and unusual partiality for her. She had spoken up boldly for her little brother on many occasions, but to little avail. She had been motherly to me, and would have been my friend had I not been so much in awe of her. Her death had caused terrible distress to her father King Yŏngjo, who went into deep mourning. He had himself been in ill health this year, there had been unrest in the court, and he had been threatening after twenty-three years on the throne to abdicate.
I believe his threat was rhetorical, for he loved the flattery of those who pleaded with him to remain at the helm of the ship of state, and made many empty threats of this nature. But I concede that there was an exhaustion in him in these times, and I observed that the death of Princess Hwap’yŏng exacerbated his tendency to asthma. Nor do I believe that the traditional medicinal concoctions of blue-flower campanula root prescribed by his secondary consort, Sado’s mother Lady SŏnhŬi, were beneficial, but that is another matter. Asthma, in my view, is often a temperamental affliction, and responds poorly to medicines. I do not wish to suggest that the Lady SŏnhŬi was a poisoner, despite my grievances against her at this time, but by this stage in my court life I was beginning to suspect that she might be a dangerous influence. It is in the nature of courts to be full of suspicions, and it is in the nature of a daughter-in-law to distrust her mother-in-law. Relations between mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law in our country
And his father loved him, too. I could weep now as I remember the broad smile of paternal pride on Prince Sado’s face, as he picked up the little tightly swaddled bundle and gazed into its sleepy, half-closed eyes. Prince Sado, now formally designated the prince regent, was like a child in his delight. He hoped that the birth of little PrinceŬiso would conciliate his father the king, and prove a new bond between them. He attended the ceremony of the ritual burial of the placenta and navel cord, and reported that it had been attended by many good omens. He was full of hope. He was sure that his father would relent and treat him more affectionately. He was aware that he had been a disappointment to his father, and hoped now to win his trust. I, too, now hoped for better times.
But things did not turn out as we expected and desired.
His Majesty King Yŏngjo was not appeased by the birth of my first-born. His irritability and fits of anger with Sado continued. I think this anger was connected with the recent death of his third daughter, the much-favoured Princess Hwap’yŏng, who had died in childbirth a little more than a year earlier, but whose death he still bitterly and very publicly mourned and lamented. It had been a hard year for the whole nation, the year of her death, a year of famine and epidemics, during which many of the common people died. The birth of our sonŬiso merely rekindled his grief over this earlier loss, and not one word of good will or congratulation did he send to his only son or to me on the birth of our first child. I concealed my sense of indignation, but Prince Sado was deeply hurt, and had a right to be so.
Princess Hwap’yŏng had always been kind to her little brother Sado, and to me, his child bride, and had tried to mitigate the effects of her father’s marked and unusual partiality for her. She had spoken up boldly for her little brother on many occasions, but to little avail. She had been motherly to me, and would have been my friend had I not been so much in awe of her. Her death had caused terrible distress to her father King Yŏngjo, who went into deep mourning. He had himself been in ill health this year, there had been unrest in the court, and he had been threatening after twenty-three years on the throne to abdicate.
I believe his threat was rhetorical, for he loved the flattery of those who pleaded with him to remain at the helm of the ship of state, and made many empty threats of this nature. But I concede that there was an exhaustion in him in these times, and I observed that the death of Princess Hwap’yŏng exacerbated his tendency to asthma. Nor do I believe that the traditional medicinal concoctions of blue-flower campanula root prescribed by his secondary consort, Sado’s mother Lady SŏnhŬi, were beneficial, but that is another matter. Asthma, in my view, is often a temperamental affliction, and responds poorly to medicines. I do not wish to suggest that the Lady SŏnhŬi was a poisoner, despite my grievances against her at this time, but by this stage in my court life I was beginning to suspect that she might be a dangerous influence. It is in the nature of courts to be full of suspicions, and it is in the nature of a daughter-in-law to distrust her mother-in-law. Relations between mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law in our country
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