The tales of palace intrigue are often more interesting than the buildings themselves. A postcard of the palace in the early 20th century. Robert Neff Collection
In the annals of Joseon history, arguably the most interesting and hated women was Jang Ok-jeong (1659-1701), better known as Huibin Jang, King Sukjong’s royal consort. Her tale is like an episode from the popular drama “Game of Thrones” — complete with Machiavellian intrigue, seduction, witch trials, executions and, finally, ghostly hauntings.
In the early 1680s, Jang, an exceedingly beautiful palace woman, was “flirtatious and seductive, [and] soon captured the foolish heart of the king and became his favorite concubine.” Her position in the palace was strengthened further in 1688, when she bore the king his first son and heir to the throne Yi Yun (King Gyeongjeong). This was monumental, as the king’s first two wives had been unable to provide him with an heir. However, this was not enough for Jang. She “continued to purr into the king’s ear vindictive lies” about Queen Inhyeon (the king's second wife) causing his former high opinions of his wife to sour into disappointment and derision.
It soon became common knowledge that the king intended on removing the queen from the palace. It was not a popular decision with his subjects as the queen was exceedingly well-liked and known for her gentle nature.
Infuriated with the increasing opposition, the king dealt severely with his critics. One man, Bak Tae-bo, was tortured with “red hot plates” placed upon his arms and legs. When he refused to recant his protests, pieces of broken pottery were placed upon his burned limbs and then “a plank was placed across them and men stood on either end of it and jumped up and down.” There were other tortures, but none of them could break the man’s resolve and so he was exiled to an island off the peninsula’s southern coast. He never made it. Near Noryangjin (in Seoul) he succumbed to his injuries.
Bak was not the only one to be exiled. Some successfully arrived at their place of exile, but others died along the way, either from the abuse they suffered or were poisoned once they were safely away from the public view.
As for Queen Inhyeon, she was stripped of all of her titles, degraded to the status of a common person and sent back to her father’s home — not through “the great gate of the palace" as would befit a person of her previous standing, but "by a side gate, in a white sedan chair, the badge of a criminal.”
Harvesting parsley in the early 20th century / Robert Neff Collection
Although the queen was gone, Jang’s position in the palace was still threatened; she was not the only consort who had caught the king’s eye — there was also Sukbin Choe. And, the people’s discontentment of Jang was widespread — even in children’s play.
King Sukjong was, according to some tales, very concerned with the well-being of his subjects and occasionally went out among them disguised as a member of the gentry escorted by only a handful of men, so that he could learn their true sentiments. One day, while traveling through a “remote southern region” of the country, he came to a small village. He noticed a group of children dancing in a circle and singing. This, in itself, probably would not have overly interested him except the song they were singing was about radish stems and water parsley. The rough translation of the song is jangdari (radish stems) change from season to season but (minari) water parsley always remain the same which confuses the playful butterfly as it flits from one place to another never realizing the seasons have changed.
The king’s guilty conscience was aroused. He suspected the children were mocking him and his relationship with Queen Inhyeon — “the true and faithful queen” whom he had forsaken for Jang who was fickle and unpredictable. His suspicions were confirmed when he asked some nearby farmers to explain the meaning of the song. The farmers were surprised that he would ask such a question and suspected he was a foreigner as “all Korea knows this song.” The disguised monarch quickly explained he had just recently returned from China and was unacquainted with recent affairs. The farmers quickly related the tragedy that had befallen the good queen, a woman for all seasons, and the foolishness of the king in taking Jang, who was still reveling in her power not realizing that her season had changed.
The bodyguards accompanying the king wanted to slay the farmers (who were still unaware they had been speaking to the king) for their treasonous talk but the monarch stayed their hands. He returned to the palace and began to question his acts of the previous five years.
Nursery rhythms and children’s songs were not the only seditious entertainment spreading throughout the country. “Lady Sa’s Southward Journey,” a salacious book allegedly written by Kim Chun-taek, served as an instrument for introducing further dissent within the court. According to one early writer, Kim gained the favor of the palace women and then, as the first step toward the accomplishment of his plan of discrediting Jang and reinstating Queen Inhyeon, he wrote the book which “illustrated in romance form, the evils of putting away the true wife for a concubine.” Of course, a copy of the book “was given to the king [and] materially hastened the catastrophe” that followed.
However, this Machiavellian tale is not quite accurate. It appears that Kim Chun-taek may not have been the author, but, instead, it was his great uncle, Kim Man-jung — a relative of the king’s first wife, Queen Ingyeong, who died from smallpox at the age of 19.
Although Kim Chun-taek may not have been the author, he was not an idle observer to court intrigue and the struggle for power. He was young and handsome, and, if we are to believe the rumors and gossip, found his way into the beds of several women of power, including Jang’s sister-in-law’s, and gathered information that helped facilitate Jang’s fall from grace. He has also been accused of dallying with Sukbin Choe.
This tale of intrigue is far too complicated (at least for me to fully understand), but it gets much worse.
In 1694, after a great deal of reflection, the king reconsidered his earlier harsh acts, recalling his banished queen to Seoul and gradually restoring her to her former position. Many of her disgraced supporters were also honored and promoted — some posthumously.
As for Jang, many in the court advocated for her execution, but the king refused to kill the mother of the crown prince. Instead, he demoted Jang to her former position and relegated her to an isolated part of Changgyeong Palace with their son. It was here, amongst the pine trees, that the young crown prince found comfort reading his books in one of the pavilions.
Separating them from the queen seems to have been the king’s generous attempt to restore peace to his turbulent court. It was a wise precaution, but it failed. While Queen Inhyeon reportedly bore no ill will towards the concubine, Jang seethed with hatred and began plotting to regain the throne. She was prepared to do anything to succeed.
Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books, including Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.
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