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Winning
Buddha’s Smile A Korean Legend Adapted and Translated by Charles M[undy]
Taylor Boston : Richard G. Badger The Gorham Press
1919
To My Mother Whose Deserving Far Outstrips
my Powers of Acknowledgment FOREWORD Many of the best portions of Chinese
literature are readily obtainable in an English dress.
From time to time bits of Japanese literature pass
before English-reading eyes. But Korean literature
remains, as it has remained for years back, virtually a
thing unknown and unappreciated. "Winning Buddha’s Smile" is one of the
oldest existing specimens of Korean literature. Both the
author and date of its original composition are unknown,
but it is reasonably certain that it was well known in a
dramatic form about the close of the fourteenth century.
At one time when religious dissension was
rife on the peninsula, many of the monuments of a rich
and abundant literature, especially those tinged with
Buddhistic doctrines and thought, were consigned to the
bonfire. In some manner, our legend escaped this
wholesale literary destruction, and it is here presented
to English readers with the hope that it will meet with
an indulgent reception by the ever-widening circle of
those who take an interest in the things of other
peoples and other lands. The translator is indebted to a French
version of the original text, made by the Korean
scholar, Hong-Jong-Ou, which was published under the
auspices of the Musee Guimet. He has attempted to
preserve the simple, child-like form of the narrative
and has made few alterations in it, and these only when
clearness and the English idiom required them. C. M. T. Koreans Whose Footsteps Cross the Paths of
Our Legend SUN-YEN, the Benevolent, whose Virtue and
Goodness lead him from Prosperity through Adversity unto
Prosperity again. CHENG-SI, the Fair, his daughter, SAN-HOUNI, a scholar and friend of Sun-Yen.
YENG-SI, the scholar's wife. SAN-SYENG, the scholar's son, whose Merit
findeth pleasure in the sight of Heaven and taketh him
unto High Offices. JA-JO-MI, the Unscrupulous, Prime Minister
of Korea. KI-SI, the young Prince of Korea. SU-RUNG, a murderer and thief. SU-YENG, the robber's brother, a goodly man
by way of contrast. YENG-SO-YEI, a daughter of Korea. OU-PUNG, a Sister of Religion and a
follower of the True Path. HONG-JUN, an innkeeper. Winning Buddha’s Smile IN the far away days of the olden time when
the earth was still in its childhood and when the city
of Hpyeng-Yang was the capital of Korea, there was
numbered among its inhabitants a high dignitary of the
Court, Sun-Yen by name, who owed his exalted position
solely to his intelligence and capability. Although very rich, Sun-Yen looked down
upon no one. On the contrary, he sought diligently to
help all those who came within his sphere of influence.
His greatest happiness lay in alleviating the sorrows of
others. He was, therefore, beloved by the people who saw
in Sun-Yen a most disinterested protector in whom they
had absolute confidence. Now one day, all things changed as all
things sometimes do. Fortune, so long favorable to
SunYen, forsook him. Formerly happy and influential, our
friend (for call him such we will) was to become the
most unfortunate and the most miserable of men. It was
due to the following circumstances. The King of Korea was giving a grand and
sumptuous banquet to thd Governors of the various
provinces and the ladies of the Court. The occasion was
a very merry one. Shouts of joy and the chords of
harmonious music were heard on all sides. When Sun-Yen
was informed of this, instead of rejoicing with the
others, he became a prey to great sadness. To get away
from his own thoughts, he resolved to go visit his
friend, San-Houni, one of the greatest scholars of
Korea. So Sun-Yen, the benevolent, set out accompanied
by his servant — a faithful and trusted fellow. While on his way thither, his attention was
suddenly drawn to a great crowd of people by the
roadside. "Go, see what is the matter," he said to his
servant. The latter hastened — as all good servants do —
to obey his master's orders. He made a way through the
crowd which had gathered and soon learned the reason for
the gathering. They were about to carry away several
people who had died by the highway. As soon as the
servant saw this ghastly spectacle he returned to his
master and told him what had taken place. SunYen was
profoundly moved when he heard it but, losing no time in
passive sympathy, he summoned a police agent, of whom he
demanded, "Do you know what caused the death of those
unfortunates?" "Yes, sir, they died of hunger." "Why not carry them away then instead of
leav ing them there on the road?" continued Sun, in a
tone of reproach. "I was about to do exactly as you suggest,
sir," said the agent, who, with a quickened step, went
toward the group which by this time had increased
materially. Sun did not continue on his way to see his
friend, San-Houni. He went direct to the Palace and was
immediately ushered into the presence of the King. The monarch accorded Sun a hearty welcome,
saying, "It has been a very long time since 1 have had
the pleasure of having you come to see me." "Sire," replied Sun-Yen, "I rarely leave
the comfort of my humble home." "And what is it that keeps you so close at
home?" "Sire, either my duties or sickness. The
reason I have come to see you to-day is because I have a
very important revelation to make to you. Several of
your subjects have just died of starvation by the
roadside. The thing at first appeared incredible to me.
I could not believe that, if my King knew the sad
conditions in which so many of his people are living, he
would give himself up to pleasure as you are doing.
However, I have secured the evidence. Just a few moments
ago, I saw with my own eyes three wretches who had died
from want of food." These words seemed deeply to impress the
King who, with a trace of emotion in his voice, inquired
of Sun, "Tell me, what should be done? I can scarcely
believe that this misfortune took place while I was
leading this life of Idleness and pleasure." "Sire," continued Sun-Yen respectfully,
"here lies the source of the whole trouble. Who pays the
expenses of your amusements? Your people and no one
else, and the Governors instead of doing their duty are
also leading a frivolous and even vicious life. You can
believe the words of your old servant whose devotion to
your Interests you are well aware of." "I thank you for this frankness," rejoined
the King, "but candidly I can hardly credit what you
have just told me. I shall look more fully into this
affair." At these words, Sun left his sovereign and
went home and told his wife what he had done — the mark
of a dutiful husband. "You acted nobly," she said, "but my
Intuition tells me that your devotion to the King will
cost you dearly." "Why?" asked Sun. "The King will not follow your advice. This
Is the course things are going to take, mark my words.
The Governors, forewarned by your complaint, will not
allow themselves to be Injured and their pleasures
curtailed, and upon you their anger will surely fall.
Yes, I fear the consequences of to-day's work." "Reassure yourself, my dear, the King took
my words in a very good spirit and he has never yet made
light of my advice." "I hope with all my heart that you are
right. Let us see what time will bring forth." The King in reality did change his way of
living. His conduct made him a bit remorseful. He
promptly followed up Sun's complaint and summoned his
Prime Minister. This official, who was named Ja-Jo-Mi, came
immediately. He was a man whose severity of character
and conduct had earned for him a terrible reputation.
Although no one knew of it, he had conceived the scheme
of usurping the throne but up to the present time had
revealed his intentions to nobody. The King demanded of his Minister, "Have
you nothing new to tell me?" "Absolutely nothing, sire." At these words, the King cried in an
excited voice, "What, you, the Prime Minister, and you
do not know that several of my people have just died by
the roadside and that their death was caused from lack
of food? If there is any one who should be well informed
about what is going on in my Kingdom, it should
certainly be you." "Sire, from whom did you get this news?" "From Sun-Yen." "Ah, I can scarcely understand how this can
be. I have just received the reports from the
police and I did not see a single word on the subject of
this affair, therefore, I am quite astounded." "However that may be," said the King, "I
command that this evening's fete shall not continue an
instant longer." "Your orders shall be executed. Sire, as
soon as I have carried them out I shall return to my
office and secure what testimony I can about this
matter. The guilty parties shall have their just
deserts." Bowing humbly before the monarch, Ja-Jo-Mi
withdrew. A few minutes later and the Palace, which
formerly echoed to the shouts of merrymaking, was in
complete silence. The Prime Minister, upon retiring to his
office gave himself up to reflection upon the situation.
He was greatly troubled because he feared that he might
be removed from his office by the revelations of
Sun-Yen. "That fellow is an infernal nuisance and might
bring down the King's wrath upon my head. To prevent a
recurrence of such things there is but one thing to be
done — ^to get rid of him by sending him into exile.
With this dangerous fool out of the way, nothing, nor
nobody, can oppose me in the execution of my ambitious
designs and I can easily secure the throne." Such in substance were the reflections of
the Prime Minister, but it would be necessary to find a
pretext for the exile of Sun and Ja-Jo-Mi, the clever,
was not long in devising a scheme. He resolved to write a letter to San-Houni
full of bitter criticisms and threats against the King.
This letter he would sign with the name of Sun-Yen. Then
he would place it in the King's hanHs with the story
that it had been found on the road by a police agent. No sooner said than done. The letter was
written. Ja-Jo-Mi, adopting a disguise, left his home
and, dropping the missive in the path of an agent of
police, passed on in the darkness of the Korean night.
When the agent walked by he picked up the letter and
naturally glanced around but there was no one in sight.
He carried the note directly to his chief so that the
latter could look over the contents and restore it to
its owner. The Chief of Police read the letter through
with great astonishment. Desiring to give a proof of his
zeal, he ran to the palace and in a mysterious manner
demanded an immediate audience with the King. The
monarch had the Chief of Police brought to him at once
and was given the forged letter. One can well imagine
the surprise of the King. Anxious for light upon the
amazing situation he again called his Prime Minister. Ja-Jo-Mi, the clever, came with dispatch.
The King passed over to him the malicious letter, asking
if he believed that Sun-Yen was really the author. The
Prime Minister pretended to read the communication. He
saw that the King was in a state of uncertainty and he
determined to take advantage of it in order to ruin
Sun-Yen, once and for all time. "Sire," he said, "it often happens that we
are deceived by those whom we deem most faithful. As far
as Sun is concerned, I consider him perfectly capable of
this infamous business. I have known for a long while
that he has been thinking and dreaming of taking your
place on the throne. As for the annoyance which he
caused you a short time ago, he was the principal
instigator of that himself." "That's enough, my faithful Ja-Jo-Mi. Have
Sun thrown into prison. He will be tried immediately." The Prime Minister, rejoicing over his
triumph, had Sun-Yen taken into custody. When the King
was informed of his arrest he went personally to
interview the prisoner. "Do you recognize this ?" he shouted in
rage, holding out the letter. Words fail to give an idea of Sun's
astonishment. He realized that he was the victim of a
devilish plot but such was his stupefaction that he
could utter nothing in his own defense. He burst into
tears. The King continued: "I would never have
believed this of you." "Sire, I know nothing of this," wailed the
wretched Sun. These words irritated the King. "Ah, you understand nothing," he cried.
"Tell me, then, who is the writer of this letter?" "In any case, it was not I, sire." "Of course. Now just listen to me. You have
heard the proverb about the smoke ?" "Yes, sire." "Well, you know where there is smoke there
is fire. I mean by this that if you had not been moved
by evil intentions, you would not have addressed this
letter to your friend." "Sire, I see whence comes this evil. The
revelations which I recently made to you have stirred up
hatred in the hearts of certain personages who desire to
bring about my ruin. There's a black heart at work. I
swear to you that I am innocent." "So that's all you have to say for
yourself? That's enough." The King withdrew, leaving Sun in despair.
He ordered the Prime Minister to banish Sun at once and
designated his place of exile as Kang-Sin. SanHouni, who
was also compromised in the plot, was exiled to
Ko-Kum-To. Escorted to his home by an agent of police.
Sun told his wife what had happened. The unfortunate
woman was prostrated with grief. "What did I tell you the other day," she
said to her husband, but she soon gained control of
herself and regarded the misfortune which had fallen on
both of them in a calm light. "Let us be resigned, my dear. Doubtless it
will be painful to live so far from our King and our
friends but at least we shall have peace in the future."
Without delay, they busied themselves with
preparations for the departure. Sun summoned a few poor
families to whom he distributed the little money he
possessed. 'Twas but a short while and the moment to
leave was at hand. Sun-Yen and his wife found it hard to
break away from the embraces of their relatives and
weeping friends. Here endeth the first step of our legend. II THE journey of Sun-Yen and his wife to the
Island of Kang-Sin was uneventful and they were soon
alone in their new home. Their guards then returned to
the capital. What especially troubled Sun was the idea
that his wife might be lonely and depressed in this
isolated place. He spoke of this to her but she replied
with a great deal of cheerfulness, "Do not trouble
yourself about me. I have decided to follow you wherever
you may go and I shall never find the time wearisome so
long as I am with you" — the mark of a dutiful wife. As a matter of fact, the days passed for
our two exiles just as quickly as if they had been
living among their relatives and friends. Very soon
signs of Spring were to be seen. So Sun said to his wife
one day: "Spring time has come, it is a delightful
day. Let us take advantage of it and go for a little
outing." "With pleasure, my dear." "Good, let us climb the mountain If we
can." They set out gaily. On seeing them one
would never have thought they were the victims of Fate.
They enjoyed to the fullness of their hearts the charm
of the landscape which lay about them, and happiness,
was in their souls. Madame Sun was overflowing with joy.
"How peaceful everything is," said she to
her husband. "It is a real pleasure to be walking here
alone with you. When we lived at the Capital I was never
able to accompany you in your walks." "You are right. I was forced to conform to
the customs of the country." "Now we are at the foot of the mountain,"
she continued. "What a beautiful panorama lies before
us. Just look at it. I feel a poetic instinct within me.
Listen to these verses : The day is beautiful; amid the shrubs Are fragrant blossoms, clustered in sweet
sleep, The butterflies that seek them eagerly Seem poised to count each rain-bow tinted
leaf. And stupid with the heat the serpent lies Stretched lazily along the languid boughs.
Among the reeds that tremble in the wind. Deliberate leaps the frog, while swallows
pass Bearing the insect-prisoners to their
nests." "Do you know," she mused, "these animals
are happier than we." "What makes you say that?" queried Sun. "Because they have little ones to care for
while we have no children." "Console yourself, my dear, we are not yet
so old that Heaven may not smile upon us. Have
confidence in the future. But I think it is time to
return. The sun is going down and you must be tired." The two returned slowly to their home, lost
in thought. Now it came to pass one night that Sun's
wife had a dream. She saw an angel from Heaven bending
over her. She awoke, startled by the vividness of this
vision, and immediately told her husband about it. "Yes," said the latter, "that is very queer
but I shouldn't worry about it. Fatigue has caused this
nightmare." The truth was that this noble lady was soon
to become a mother. In fact, it was not long before she
gave birth to a daughter to whom they gave the name of
Cheng-Si. Sun, the benevolent, was overwhelmed with joy
— as one should be when Heaven smiles. Unfortunately, his wife lay seriously ill.
It was soon evident that there was no hope of saving
her. Scarcely three days had passed after the birth of
little Cheng-Si when her mother died. She sensed the
approach of death and whispered weakly to her husband: "My dear, I am going to leave you. I know
that your grief will be very great but do not give
yourself up to it. You must look after our little one.
Get a nurse for her if you can." With a supreme effort the dying woman
clasped her baby to her breast. "Alas," she said with a deep sigh, "this is
the last time I shall have you so near me." Sun, in tones of deepest sorrow, said to
his wife : "Dearest wife, can it be true that you are
going to leave me ? We have always protected and shared
with the unfortunate and yet the gods permit us to be
parted. It is an injustice." His wife did not hear his final words.
Death had already touched her brow and called her to her
ancestors. Sun saw but did not wish at first to believe.
He called to his wife, tears streaming down
his cheeks, but, alas, his words were unanswered. "Now, I am all alone," he cried in despair.
"What will become of me and this child ?" He gazed fondly at his daughter who was
stilt clasped to her mother's breast. This sad sight
increased Sun's grief. He took the little baby and
turned it over to the care of a nurse whom he managed to
secure. Then, beside himself with grief, he busied
himself with his wife's burial. All this happened so quickly that Sun-Yen
thought it had happened in a dream, but the sad evidence
was there before his eyes. Each day he could be seen
walking to the spot where his wife was sleeping. These frequent visits merely aggravated his
anguish and it was irtipossible for him to control
himself. Our friend was always in tears; he could
get no rest nor sleep and shortly more ill fortune came
to him. From having shed so many tears, Sun became
blind. This terrible blow almost prostrated him
but he continued to drag out the same wretched
existence. His greatest regret was in not being able
to look upon the face of his little daughter. So passed
several years. * * * * Meanwhile, Cheng-Si was growing up. She was
now in »her thirteenth year and was obliged to help
support her poor father who was without resources of any
kind. She had but one way to keep Sun from starving and
that was by begging. She went about this sad task
without any false modesty. Her wits, however, were not
asleep and one day she said to her father: "There is something which I do not
understand." "What is that, my child?" "Father, how is it that so many other
people can live with their relatives and friends while
we are here all alone?" "Ah, my daughter, it is very true that we
must live by ourselves. But things were not always thus.
There was a time when I lived at the Capital of Korea with your poor mother and we were
surrounded by many friends. I occupied a high position.
Our family belonged to the highest nobility and was
always in good standing at the Court of the King. But,
one day, because of a malicious slander, of which the
King thought me guilty, I was exiled here. My friend,
San-Houni, was trapped in the same affair and was sent
to Ko-Kum-To. He shares our downfall for he also comes
from an excellent family. I am very sorry that since my
arrival at this island I have had no news of my old
friend." "Perhaps it is not possible for him to
communicate with you," said the child in order to
console the old man. "Excuse me, father," she added, "it
is time for me to go to work." "Go, my child, and come home early." Little Cheng-Si, the fair, walked at a
rapid gait. She went first to the cemetery to pray a
moment beside her mother's grave. Cheng-Si was just as
industrious as she was intelligent. She gave up her
nights to study, while during the day she went from door
to door asking alms. One day, she went as usual to pray by her
mother's resting place. She remained there longer than
usual and did not return home at the customary hour. Sun, missing his daughter, was sorely
troubled. At last, he resolved to go search for her.
Leaning on his cane, he started out slowly and feebly.
Unfortunately, when he came to the edge of a pond close
by his home, he made a false step and fell into the
water. He groaned to himself, "This is certain death for
me, and my poor little girl will hunt for me
everywhere." And he began to shout lustily at the top of
his voice. Happily Sun-Yen's cries were heard by the
disciple of an anchorite who lived in a cave on the
mountain slope, a short distance from the lake. He came
running and soon had Sun out of the water. He demanded of him : "Where do you live?" "Right close by." "But how is it that you, a blind man, go
out alone? Don't you know that you are running a great
risk in doing this?" "Yes, I know it. I never do go out alone.
Today, however, I ventured away from my home to hunt for
my little girl. She did not return at her usual time so
I went to look for her. That is how I came to fall into
the lake from which I would never have come out alive
without your assistance. You have saved my life." "I have only done my duty," replied the
disciple, humbly. He took Sun by the arm and led him to his
little dwelling. On the way, he asked of him : "Will you have faith in what I am going to
tell you?" "Certainly." "Well, I predict, indeed I can read in your
face, that your evil days will not last forever. Within
three years you shall recover your sight and you shall
become Prime Minister. Your fortune also shall be
unsurpassed. To attain this goal you must pray
diligently to Chen-Houang (the Emperor of Heaven)." "Have I heard you aright?" cried Sun,
beside himself with astonishment and joy. "Nothing can be nearer the truth," gravely
replied the disciple. "But what must I do ? Tell me, tell me 1" "You must give me three hundred bags of
rice and I will pray in your stead." "Alas, I cannot give what you require of
me." "That doesn't make any difference. I do not
ask for the immediate delivery of the three hundred bags
of rice. It will be sufficient if you bind yourself in
writing to pay me when you have the means to do so." "I'll accept on those conditions," replied
Sun. The disciple passed over to him a paper on
which the poor blind man placed his signature. "I am obliged to leave you, now," said the
disciple. "Then, good-bye, until we meet again." When he was alone. Sun reflected upon what
the disciple had told him. The idea of seeing the
sunlight again and of acquiring honor and wealth filled
his very being with ecstasy. On the other hand, the
obligation of furnishing three hundred sacks of rice
considerably diminished his joy. A man, whose daughter
was obliged to beg to keep him from starving, would
never be able to fulfill the promise which he had
signed. He regretted having given a promise which he
could never hope to keep. Sun was drawn from his reveries by the
arrival of his daughter. "Why so melancholy, father?" inquired the
child. "Is it because I am late to-day that you seem
sad? I must ask your pardon. I went to the cemetery and
from there to gather some alms. They gave me some things
to eat, as your hands can tell. Don't you forgive me?" "My dear child, it is not you who makes me
so sad. Listen, and I will tell you what happened to me.
When you did not come home I was a little worried and
wanted to go and meet you. On the way, I fell into the
lake and gave myself up for lost when I was rescued by a
disciple of an anchorite. This man led me home and said
to me, while we were walking along, 'I predict to you
that you will no longer be blind and that some day you
will become the King's Prime Minister.' But I have to
pay him three hundred sacks of rice and I can never do
it. That is why I am sad." "Do not worry too much about that, father.
We shall find a way that will enable you to keep your
promise." After they had shared their meagre meal the
young girl went to her room where she began to reflect
upon her father's story. Not succeeding in going to
sleep, she went out to take a bath in the lake, after
which she began to prepare the sacrifice table in the
garden. She placed in the centre a vase filled with
water, lighted the incense burner and two candles, one
at each end, and began to pray to Heaven. Her prayers
continued almost until daybreak. Not until then did Cheng-9i go to her room.
Exhausted with fatigue, she fell asleep almost
Immediately. She dreamed that an old man was saying to
her, "Very shortly something is going to happen to you.
Some one will cross your path who will make you an
attractive proposal. Do not hesitate to accept, for It
Is an exceptional opportunity." On awakening, the child recalled her dream
and was pensive and thoughtful for a long while. In
reality her dream was soon to come true. Some dreams do.
In the days of our story, Korean merchants
in search of business were accustomed to make one trip a
year across the Yellow Sea, which lies between China and
Korea. The crossing was very difficult and dangerous
because of the rapidity of the current in certain spots.
After each trip they were always sure to report the loss
of some boat. Thinking to avoid this danger, the
merchants had recourse to a very andent and very
barbarous practice. In each village where they traded
they purchased a young girl. These victims were thrown
into the sea and the perils of the voyage were thought
to be in this way forestalled. Now, this day, Cheng-Si, the fair, had
scarcely left her home when she met one of these traders
in search of a human victim. The merchant asked the
young girl if she knew where he could find what he
wanted. To this request Cheng-Si replied: "You need not look any farther. If you want
to take me, I will go, but what will you give me in
exchange for my life?" "Anything that you want." "Suppose I ask for three hundred bags of
rice?" "I'll accept the offer, but I have some
partners and must consult with them, so I will not be
able to give you a positive answer for a few days." "I'll wait, then." "Good-bye," said the merchant. Happy at having concluded this bargain
which was to result so seriously for her, the young girl
impatiently awaited the merchant's return. One beautiful
morning she saw him coming toward the house and
immediately went to meet him. "Has the affair been settled?" she asked
him, without manifesting the least emotion. "Yes, you shall have your three hundred
bags of rice. Do you want them right away?" "Yes, indeed, if I may. Please wait a
moment, I must tell my father." Cheng-Si went into the house. She did not
know how to tell her father about her fatal decision. "To tell him the truth," she said to
herself "is to condemn him to a death from grief. I can
remember his anxiety that day when I was a little late
in coming home. Now suppose I should never come back —
but it must be done." The young girl threw her arms about her
father's neck and cried in a joyful voice: "Father, I have found a way to get you the
three hundred bags of rice that you owe the disciple.
Send for him at once." When the disciple had come, Cheng-Si took
him to the merchant's place of business and turned over
to him the three hundred bags of rice. She then
demanded, in exchange, the paper bearing her father's
signature, thanked him for having saved Sun-Yen's life,
and asked him to continue his prayers for the blind man.
The disciple promised to do so and left the young girl.
Very happy because of her sacrifice, she
hastened to her father and handed him the paper which he
had signed. "Where did you get this?" demanded the
surprised Sun. "From the disciple, to whom I gave the
three hundred sacks of rice." "But, how in the world did you get all that
rice, my daughter?" "In a very simple way. I sold myself the
other day." "What are you saying I Ah, unhappy girl, do
you want to kill me?" "Now do not worry about this, father. Let
me finish what I have to tell you. It is true that I
have sold myself but I am not going very far away and
perhaps I shall see you every day. There isn't anything
to be troubled about. I am sacrificing my liberty with
the best of good will so as to insure your happiness.
When we have saved up enough money I will pay back the
price of the rice and then, once I am free, nothing can
prevent me from remaining with you forever." The young girl, having calmed somewhat her
father's fears, went to the merchant's to learn the date
of her departure. The merchant told her that they were not
going to set sail for three months. Meanwhile, Cheng-Si
was thinking constantly of the solitude in which her
father would be after she had gone. What would become of
the poor blind man, alone and without resources? This
thought haunted her day and night. She sought to
accumulate a little money and some food which would be
enough for him to live on decently for some little time.
The three months soon came to an end and
the merchant returned to remind her of her promise. She
asked permission to speak to her father for the last
time. She had not yet revealed to him the entire truth.
The merchant, of course, consented and even went into
the house with her. "Father," she said, "I must leave you." "My daughter, leave me? And where are you
going?" "Father, I deceived you the other day. It
was not my liberty but my life which I gave in exchange
for the three hundred sacks of rice which you promised
the disciple. Yes, I was purchased, body and soul. I
have to plunge to the bottom of the Yellow Sea to pray
for a favorable passage for our sailors." Cheng-Si had tenderly placed her arms about
her father to support him while she was making this
fatal confession. Nevertheless, the blind man could not
bear the shock and he fell into a swoon. When he regained consciousness, he said in
a voice that was scarcely audible, "Unhappy child, is it
indeed true that you are going tO' abandon me in this
way? After having seen your mother die, must I see you,
too, leave the world before me? Oh, tell me that it is a
dream 1 Consider your poor blind father and think what
will become of him when he no longer has you with him.
No, it cannot be, you are not going to die." Sun-Yen burst into tears. His daughter
tried vainly to keep from weeping herself for she felt
that her heart was broken. The merchant, a witness of
the scene, was very much moved, too. He beckoned the
girl to him and said: "I will give you another hundred bags of
rice and we will not set sail for three days. Would you
like that:" Cheng-Si thanked the man profusely and went
with hira to the door. The following day, after she had
obtained the hundred sacks of rice, she sought an
audience with the leading magistrate of the town. He
consented to take charge of the maintenance of the old
gentleman in consideration of the one hundred bags of
rice which he took as a sort of deposit. The young girl did not leave her father
until the merchant came for her. She endeavored to
console the old gentleman as best she could. When the
time for the separation came, it was heart-rending.
SunYen threw his arms about his daughter's neck while
his frame was shaken with sobs. "I want to die with you. I will not let you
go alone." The cries of the poor blind man attracted a
number of the neighbors, who were also moved to tears at
the pathetic sight. Finally the trader grasped the girl
by the arm and said in a trembling, gentle voice, "We
must go now." Paralyzed by grief. Sun fainted and his.
arms slipped from about his daughter's form. "Good-bye, father," she called back as she
walked away. "Don't worry, we shall meet again in a
better place where we shall be happy forever." Cheng-Si renewed her requests to the
magistrate, who, shortly after, visited the unfortunate
father and tried to console him a bit, without
succeeding to the slightest extent. For Cheng-Si had gone. Here cometh to a close the second step of
our legend. Ill SAN-HOUNI, the scholar and intimate friend
of Sun-Yen, was likewise condemned to exile on account
of his friendship for the disgraced. He was obliged to
leave the Korean Capital, a circumstance which he
regretted exceedingly just at this time because his
wife, Yeng-Si, who was soon to become a mother, would
not have the comforts and advantages of the city. But of
what avail are innocence and regret when a Prime
Minister has rendered one undesirable in the eyes of the
Monarch? It was decreed that San-Houni be banished and
that he be forced to live on the island of Ko-Kum-To, a
desolate, sparsely populated rock in the Yellow Sea. It was a long journey. The trip would
consume several days. San-Houni's few servants took care
of the details of the packing but he himself went in
quest of a boatman who would agree to take him and his
wife across the waters to the island. His choice was not
a happy one but he was unaware of it. The most violent contrast existed between
the characters of Su-Rung and Su-Yeng, the two brothers,
whom San-Houni engaged for the trip. From this
difference in temperament great misfortunes were to
come. As long as they were in sight of the coast,
things went well, but when the party was on the open
sea, Su-Rung the wicked, revealed his designs. "I am somewhat taken with the wife of our
passenger," he whispered to his brother, "I want her and
I'm going to get her. Her husband grates on my nei-ves.
I must get him out of the way." "You are mad," replied Su-Yeng. "Do you
think for a minute that I will ever allow you to do
anything like that?" "Bah! You are jealous of me," cried
Su-Rung, in a fury. "Not at all, but your intentions disgust
me." Su-Rung said nothing further but it could
readily be seen that he had not given up his project. The terrible thing about all this was that
SanHouni and his wife had overheard the brothers. Their
anxiety grew and soon merged into real fear. They
discussed in low tones the peril which threatened them
and how it would be possible to escape. There was not much time left to them for
reflection. Su-Rung called the oarsmen and whispered
aside to them, "Men, I want you to grab that fellow and
his servant. Take and keep what money they have on them
and kill them. The woman alone must live. Make a good
job of it." Su-Yeng here interposed, "I think you
should be content with taking their money, but at least
spare their lives." "Mind your own business," shouted Su-Rung
in a rage. "I am master here. Get out of my way and let
me alone 1" Su-Yeng was forced to obey his brother's
injunction. As soon as he had turned his back, San-Houni
and his servant were put to death. The murder was
committed under the very eyes of the scholar's wife. She
was dazed with anger and sorrow. Having no desire to
survive her husband, she plunged into the sea, crying,
"In spite of you, I shall die with my husband." Su-Rung, however, ordered his sailors to
turn about and rescue the unhappy woman. A few minutes
more and Yeng-Si was pulled into the boat alive and
safe. Then the assassin, judging it indiscreet to
continue in the direction of Ko-Kum-To, changed the
course of his vessel to a spot he was well acquainted
with. The boat made a landing shortly after. Su-Rung
jumped ashore and approached an old woman on the beach,
to whom he said: "Go aboard my boat, you will find a woman
there. I want you to take her home with you. Be very
gentle and kind to her, encourage her, and console her,
for she has been deeply afflicted." The old lady at once set about doing what
SuRung had requested. Meanwhile, Su-Rung had anchored his boat
and as a sign of self-satisfaction he invited his men to
a feast, where they made merry and drank freely. Shortly
all the guests were drunk except Su-Yeng. He was broken
up at the turn of events and his inability to avert
Su-Rung's crime. Therefore, he resolved to profit by the
present situation by assisting, if it were possible, his
brother's unfortunate captive. He left the revelers
without being noticed and, setting out at a rapid gait,
soon reached the home of the old lady. He paused before
entering at the sound of voices and in the midst of the
lamentations of Yeng-Si, he could make out these words :
"Where do you come from?" "The Capital." "Is that so? I lived at Yeng-Yang." "Then how is it that you are in these
parts?" The old lady, for it was she who was
talking with Yeng-Si, uttered a deep sigh. "Alas, I have lived here for ten years,
much against my will. Like you, I am a victim of SuRung,
who murdered my husband. I am awaiting the hour of
vengeance, but it is slow in coming. Will this monster
remain unpunished forever?" Touched by her story, Yeng-Si forgot for
the time her own misfortunes to sympathize with her
companion. It was just at this moment that Su-Yeng
entered the room where the two women were and said in a
troubled voice: "Do not take things too hard. Perhaps you
will be rescued very soon. There is some one who is
looking out for you. I have a profound horror of my
brother's evil deeds. Listen, if you wish to escape you
will never have an easier time than now." "How so, your brother. . . ." "Don't be afraid. For the time being, he is
not capable of following you for he is asleep and dead
drunk, but there is not a minute to be lost. You know
the country for you have lived here a long while. You
must show the way to this lady who is a stranger. Here,
take this money, it will not do to wait any longer." The two women, weeping and sobbing, threw
themselves at the feet of their rescuer in gratitude. Su-Yeng helped them to their feet and urged
them again to leave. It would be advisable, he insisted,
to make haste for the rage of Su-Rung, if he captured
them, would be terrible. Yielding to the entreaties of Su-Yeng, the
two women set out. Their friend accompanied them for a
short distance. When they were alone, they walked as
rapidly as their strength would permit. At the end of
two hours Yeng-Si, thoroughly fatigued, requested that
they rest for a few moments. Her companion consented
quite willingly. So the two fugitives sat down to rest
their weary bodies. Suddenly the elder of the two said
to the other : "I'm going to ask you something." "What can I do for you?" "Well, I would consider it a great favor if
you would let me have your sandals in exchange for
mine." This request puzzled Yeng-Si a great deal
as she did not understand the purpose of the elder
woman's intentions. However, the old lady gave her
little time for reflection. "You are," she said, "like me, very tired,
but you are still young, consequently you are capable of
enduring greater hardships than I. I am very old. You go
on. If Su-Rung catches up — and he will not wait long —
I will tell him that I do not know in what direction you
went. Now, hurry on, but leave your sandals here with me
if you wish to be real kind." Yeng-Si arose at once. She thanked her
friend for her excellent advice and handed her sandals
to her without understanding in the least what motive
she had in this request. As she was leaving, the old
lady continued: "Just a moment. I am going to show you the
road which you should take to escape from Su-Rung. Keep
straight ahead until you come to a grove of bamboo whefe
you might rest a few moments if you like, then keep on
walking in the same direction until you come upon the
temple of Buddha. When you arrive at this spot, you will
be out of danger but be careful to follow my directions
explicitly." "I will do so, thank you." "Good, now, good-bye." When Yeng-Si had gone a short way, the old
woman arose, and taking the sandals, she turned toward a
lake which was a short distance away. Placing them at
the water's edge, she uttered a brief prayer and jumped
into the water. Yeng-Si, however, heard her cries. She
immediately retraced her steps, hastening to the lake
where she noticed the sandals beside the water and the
body of the old lady floating on the surface. This sight
almost overbore her. "Why did this poor woman drown herself?"
she muttered. "Can it be — yes, I imagine — her
persistency in asking for my sandals — oh, blessed one !
She had the idea of dying before saying good-bye. She
did not wish her death to be fruitless, so she placed my
sandals on the shore, that it would appear as if I had
committed suicide. Poor woman, how devoted she was I May
she have her reward in the Hereafter." If she had listened to the promptings of
her heart, Yeng-SI would have remained there mourning
for her unfortunate companion. Remembering the
entreaties of the latter, however, she hurried her steps
and shortly came to the forest of bamboo. Suddenly she
experienced the most agonizing pains. She trembled,
shivered, broke out into a cold perspiration and
suffered terribly. She understood that she was about to
become a mother. What a terrible situation she was in !
Here alone, away from everybody, what was to become of
her? Yes, it was a little boy. She seized the
poor, little being and covered it with tears and kisses.
"Poor child," she said, "what can I do with
you? You have no father and your mother does not know
what is going to become of you." Fortunately for Yeng-Si, some one had heard
her shrieks and cries. It was a nun from the temple that
the old lady had told her about. This nun ran to the
spot whence the cries came and was somewhat surprised to
find there the mother and child. After rendering what assistance she could,
she asked her how it came about that she gave birth to
the child in that place. Yeng-Si told briefly her sad story. The nun
was deeply touched at the tale — so fraught with sorrow.
"What do you count upon doing?" she asked
her. "Alas, I do not know. Here I am alone and
without resources. How can I bring up my little one? I
shall have to abandon him, but I shall not live long
anyway, I am sure of that, so perhaps I shall make way
with myself." "That would not be doing exactly right.
Suppose you try to follow my advice. Give your child to
some charitable person and come live with me." "I could not ask for anything better, but
why can't I take my little one along with me?" "Because it is against the rules of our
order to receive children. I know it is hard for you to
give up your little one, but since you scarcely have any
choice in the matter, you must resign yourself. If you
were to continue on your way with your little son you
would unquestionably fall into the hands of the
brigands. Besides, it is possible that you may be able
to reclaim your child some day in the future. When he
becomes a man he will aid you in getting retribution for
his father's death." Yeng-Si followed the advice of the nun. She
wrapped the little fellow as well as she could, tearing
bandages from her own clothes. Since she wished to have
some sign which would enable her to recognize her son,
she took his arm and with a needle traced on the pink
flesh the characters forming the name of San-Syeng. Then
she went over these letters with India ink which the nun
gave her. Finally, slipping off the ring which she wore,
she placed it in the wrappings of the child. This
finished, she started out accompanied by the nun. They
were going to the neighboring village to place the child
at a street corner and then return to the temple. Very soon, Yeng-Si could sight the roofs of
the little village where she was to say "good-bye" to
her son. Alas, the child, whom she and her husband had
been looking forward to with such great joy, would be
abandoned just as if she were an unnatural mother. Her
cup was filled to the brim with sorrow, for her husband
had been murdered before her eyes and now her son was to
be left on a street corner. More dead than alive, she
gently placed the child on the ground after giving him a
last fond kiss. With a supreme effort she regained her
courage and walked slowly away, shedding tears of
sorrow, while the hunger-cries of the baby grew louder
and louder. She tottered along very, very feebly, she
was so torn with emotion and anguish. The nun, familiar
with sad scenes, was nevertheless deeply moved. . "Pray, pray to Heaven," she said to
Yeng-Si, "some day you will find your son. He will come
to you wh6n he grows up. Something within me gives me
confidence in what I am telling you, but prepare
yourself for a long separation — take courage." Here endeth our third chapter. IV WHEN the vapors of intoxication had cleared
from Su-Rung'si brain, his first thought was of his
captive. He ran to the old woman's hut where the widow
of San-Houni was confined. Great was his astonishment on
finding the house empty. In vain did he burst into
anger, and shout. No one answered. Breathless from rage,
he went to his brother. "Have you seen these two women?" "No. I
have not seen them since I was here last." "They have
disappeared, but I know how to find them." Su-Rung set out in pursuit accompanied by
his brother. The latter feared that Su-Rung in his fury
would do harm if he succeeded in coming upon the
fugitives and Su-Yeng wished to be present to protect
them should the worst come to the worst. Traveling speedily, the two brothers very
soon reached the shores of the lake, of which we have
spoken before. Here they saw Yeng-Si's sandals by the
water's edge and a body floating in the middle of the
lake. Even Su-Rung was moved by the sight and
cried : "The poor woman is drowned." "Brother," replied Su-Yeng, "you would not
listen to me and you have been punished. You wished to
make this woman your slave and she has escaped from your
clutches in spite of your efforts. What a great
misfortune for us." "You mean to say that it is my fault," took
up Su-Rung, angrily, "You are to blame yourself. Why did
you let my prisoner escape?" The dispute between the two brothers lasted
in this manner until Su-Rung's rage had cooled. Instead
of retracing their steps at once they continued on their
way to the neighboring village and were the first ones
to find the baby which Yeng-Si had left there a half
hour or so before. Quite pleased at his unusual
discovery Su-Rung took the little being and carried it
home with him where he confided it to a nurse,
instructing her to take the greatest care of the little
boy. Several times Su-Rung questioned his
brother concerning the escape of the two women. Not
being successful, however, in learning anything about
the matter he dismissed the entire subject from his
mind. The murderer of San-Houni gave all his time
to the education of the child he had adopted. He treated
him as if he were his own son. It must be said that the
little fellow gave him abundant cause for satisfaction.
He was good to look upon, extremely intelligent and grew
up rapidly. One day he asked Su-Rung : "Father, where is my mother?" "Your mother," replied Su-Rung, very much
embarrassed by the question, "your mother died a short
time after you were born." Su-Rung was in the habit of accompanying
his adopted son to school. The young scholar was not
long in distinguishing himself among his comrades who
could not witness his success without a show of jealousy
and hate. To obtain revenge they could find nothing
better to do than to taunt him about having no parents.
"No parents," shouted the indignant boy.
"Why, I have a father and it is not my fault if I lost
my mother before I was able to know her. I do not see
why I deserve your reproaches." "That shows that you really do not know
anything about yourself. Su-Rung is not your father. He
is only a thief and a robber. He found you on a street
corner and brought you up." This revelation troubled the child very
much and he made it known to Su-Rung. "Don't be troubled about that, my child,"
replied the latter. "These boys are jealous of you and
they invent these stories to anger you. They are not
worth bothering about at all." Yeng-Si's son was somewhat reassured by
this. But other circumstances aroused his suspicions. He
accidentally discovered the name of San-Syeng tattooed
on his arm. Additional evidence was furnished him when
he found a ring one day while rummaging among some old
books and papers. He hid this precious object in his
pocket, saying to himself: "I believe what the fellows told me was
true after all." From this day on, San-Syeng was constantly
preoccupied with thoughts as to who his parents might
be. In order to more easily solve this problem he
determined to travel through the country, thinking that
some day he would be able to discover those to whom he
owed his birth. When he had reached his seventeenth year,
SanSyeng asked Su-Rung for permission to make a trip
through Korea in order to finish his education. SuRung
made no opposition, although he preferred that his
adopted son take a traveling companion. Nevertheless, he
did not insist but gave his consent for San-Syeng to
travel alone on a journey that would consume perhaps two
years. San-Syeng had been gone several weeks when
he came to a beautiful little village where he counted
upon remaining but a short while. Until now, his voyage
had been uneventful. But the time for adventure was at
hand. The first incident was somewhat distasteful.
San-Syeng had stopped for a moment in the street where
some children were playing. He was watching their antics
with pleasure when he received a shock. He had just
heard one of the gamins ask one of his comrades. "Do you know that robber, Su-Rung?" "By name, yes, but I have never seen him.
Why do you ask me that? He's a wicked man." "Because they tell a remarkable story about
that fellow. One of my friends was at school with the
son, or rather the adopted son, of this thief. It seems,
in fact, that Su-Rung found the child abandoned by the
roadside and took him home and raised him. Thanks to his
robberies, the man is very rich. He has just sent his
son on a long trip. That's what my friend told me." San-Syeng had not missed a word of this
conversation. His curiosity was aroused to the highest
pitch, so he approached the youngster who had spoken,
and asked, "Pardon me, friend, would you tell me your
name? Do you know Su-Rung?" "Sir, I know this man only through having
heard tales of him." This reply hardly satisfied San-Syeng, but,
believing that the child had been frightened, he did not
pursue his questioning further but walked on. Shortly afterward, San-Syeng came to the
village of Yen-Yu, where he decided to tarry for a few
days to recover from the fatigue of his travels. Before seeking a lodging he took a stroll
through the village to see the sights. His attention was
drawn to a great mansion surrounded by a vast garden, so
he turned in this direction to view it more closely. He
came to a pause when he saw in the garden a young girl
of marvelous beauty. It was impossible to approach her
as the garden was surrounded by a continuous wall. He
walked on for a few paces and then, yielding to some
indescribable impulse, he retraced his steps. The young
girl was still there. She turned a candid look toward
the walker, giving the young man a subtle thrill of
pleasure. It is true that his eyes had never met such a
sight — a bright oval face as fresh as a half ripened
peach, eyes that rivaled the stars in their brilliancy.
Her hair, which fell down over her shoulders, was as
fine and golden as the clouds which disappear behind the
mountain peaks in the rays of the setting sun. Add to
these attractions a very small hand and a gait as
graceful as the flight of a bird. The admiration, of
San-Syeng could not be restrained. He could not take his
eyes away from the vision of loveliness. The girl,
walking up and down the garden, now and then cast
furtive glances at the youth who was watching her. San-Syeng was in a veritable daze. For a
considerable time he remained in the one spot, even
after the beautiful unknown had disappeared. Finally, he
decided to find a lodging, hoping also to obtain some
information concerning the beautiful girl whose charms
still held him. His first action, therefore, on arriving
at the village inn, was to inquire : "To whom does yonder mansion belong that is
surrounded by such a beautiful garden? Its owner is
doubtless a personage of some importance?" "Yes, it is the estate of a very rich
family, the head of which, Yeng-Yen-Sa, is dead. The
only people who live in that large house are his wife
and his daughter." "Is the daughter married?" "No, sir, she is scarcely seventeen years
old." San-Syeng's curiosity was satisfied for the
moment. When alone, he gave himself up to reflection.
First, he determined to lengthen his stay in Yen-Yu. He
was burning with desire to see the unknown beauty again.
Each day for hours at a time he would walk in the
neighborhood of the garden where he had first seen the
young girl who was constantly occupying his thoughts.
Alas ! his beautiful stroller of the garden remained
indoors. He was sad unto death. One evening, when his
sorrow, revived again by the memory of his parents, was
more acute than ever, he sought distraction in music. He
took his flute, and, stationing himself near the garden,
improvised the following verses : "Homeless am I — I know neither Heaven nor
Earth. I am walking in despair, seeking in vain
for those who gave me birth. In a garden there is a flower of marvelous
beauty. I would like to pluck this blossom, but the
brandies which bear it are so high I cannot reach them.
My most ardent desire would be to die and
become a butterfly so that I could hover about this
adorable flower." San-Syeng then deverly composed a sweet
melody, to serve as an accompaniment to this poetry,
which he played upon his instrument with much feeling. The young girl had heard everything. Deeply
perplexed, she asked herself what could be the meaning
of the charming words which had come to her ears. "If this young man," she mused, "does not
know Heaven nor Earth, it means he has lost his parents.
If he wants to be transformed into a butterfly to flit
around a flower, it means he loves a young girl." Very much puzzled, she sent her servant to
inquire who could be the author of the verses she had
just heard. She wondered if it were not the young man
whom she had seen a few days before walking near the
garden. Still impressed by what she had heard, she took
her own instrument and in turn improvised the following
verses : "The spider spins her web from flower-stem
to flower-stem, but the butterfly does not come. I have dug a lake in my garden to attract
the swans, but in vain are my labors. I have planted a tree to serve as a refuge
for the swallow, but the bird remains mute to my call
while displeasing birds come a-flocking. To-day, however, I heard the song of the
blue bird. He has at last arrived and very soon he will
be close and dear to me. The age of sixteen is the fair Springtime
of life. If I want to be happy, I should not wait much
longer." These words filled San-Syeng with a deep
joy for they seemed to be a reply to his own verses and
he felt overwhelmed with emotion. He went home, but it
was in vain that he tried to sleep. On her part, the young girl slept with
difficulty, as her mind was agitated by what had just
taken place. Now it came to pass that her father
appeared before her in a dream and said, "My daughter,
there is stopping at the inn nearest our home a traveler
whose merits I bring to your attention. It is the son of
San-Houni, the scholar, one of my best friends. I would
like you to marry this young man." She objected that she was not even
acquainted with the youth. "Yes, my daughter," replied her father,
"you have already seen him. He comes of a very noble
family. Good-bye, my daughter." The young girl wished to detain her father,
but to her sorrow her efforts were of no avail; the
vision faded and she awoke in tears. "How can I obey my father's command," she
complained. "I must devise some way to meet this young
man. I will go into the garden again this evening and
perhaps I shall see the man whom my father has ordered
me to marry." She was not disappointed in her hopes. When
night had lowered its curtain of darkness she went down
into the garden and caught sight of San-Syeng. But
instead of going to meet him, she turned and rushed into
the house like a frightened kitten. San-Syeng was stupefied and broken up by
her sudden disappearance. Despairing of being able to
talk with the girl he loved, he resolved to write to
her. So the next evening he returned to the garden with
a letter. Again the young girl appeared for a few
minutes. He walked in front of her, tossed the letter
over the garden wall, and left. The young girl ran to pick it up, hurried
with it to her room, where she read the neat characters
: "Mademoiselle, excuse my boldness. I have
but a few words to say. Do you know what the butterfly
is? It is an insect that is fond of flowers. Nights when
attracted by the light of the lamps which it takes for
flowers, it throws itself into the flame and perishes."
"This is a comparison that applies to me
closely," thought the young girl. "I shall have my
answer for this young man to-morrow." The next evening when San-Syeng returned to
his post by the garden wall he saw the girl raise both
hands and point to the moon. After this graceful and significant gesture
she ran into the house. San-Syeng went home, much perplexed. "She
made a sign to me," he pondered, "but what meaning does
this sign have?" He reflected for a long time, conjuring
up hypothesis after hypothesis. Finally, he struck his
forehead with an exclamation of joy, crying: "I believe
I have it. The girl raised both of her hands, she must
have meant the number ten. Then she pointed to the moon,
that surely means at night. She wanted to tell me that
she would meet me to-morrow evening at ten o'clock.
That's it beyond a doubt." He awaited with impatience the following
evening. Long before the appointed time he was in the
garden, worried and anxious as to whether he had not
given an erroneous interpretation to the young girl's
gesture. At ten o'clock she came daintily along the
garden path, advancing gaily and smiling. She paused to
pick a flower which she placed between her lips. One
might have thought she was playing the flute, so sweet
were the soft, low sounds of song which came from her
throat. Picking up a dead branch she amused herself by
whipping the leaves which strewed the ground. San-Syeng
contemplated the vision with an admiration that held him
spellbound. One might have said it was like a cat
entrapping a mouse. When she arrived within a few paces
of him she stopped as if frightened and seemed about to
draw back. Then San-Syeng advanced toward her. "How
beautiful she is," was his thought. So great was his
admiration that he could not find a single word to say.
The young girl too remained silent. San-Syeng thought,
"My first words must express all the love I feel, but my
tongue is weak and incapable of it. What is her feeling
toward me ? Does she have a tender and loving heart, or
has wickedness already penetrated this beautiful young
soul? Let's try a little trick." The girl saw San-Syeng drop suddenly to the
ground. Without an instant's hesitation she ran to his
help. Supporting his head in her hands, and after
dusting off his clothes which had been soiled by the
fall, she assisted him to arise and led him to a nearby
bench. Then San-Syeng said wearily, as if he were
just regaining consciousness, "Pardon me, mademoiselle,
I am confused with all the trouble I am givirtg you." "Not at all, sir," replied the young girl.
"I am happy to have been able to render you assistance.
I only ask for permission to put one question to you.
Where do you live?" "I live at Nam-Hai and my name is.
San-Syeng." "Has it been very long since you left that
town?" "Almost six months." "And have you seen many interesting things
on your journey?" "Yes, many." "Your parents are still alive, I suppose ?"
"No, mademoiselle, I lost my parents a long
time ago. And are your father and mother still alive?" "My father is dead and I live with my
mother. Wasn't it you who came here playing the flute
the other evening?" "It was I, mademoiselle. And tell me,
didn't you reply on your instrument?" "Yes." "I am very grateful. You have condescended
to listen, you have not repulsed me, and this evening
you have given me the greatest of pleasures by talking
with me." "But, sir, were you ill just a while ago ?"
"Mademoiselle, I lost my head through love
of you. May I in turn ask why you did not reply to my
note? You made a sign to me and I imagined that you were
inviting me to return this evening at ten o'clock. Was I
right?" "Yes, sir, you divined my thoughts exactly.
Do you know you have given evidence of great
intelligence. You have captured my heart without the
slightest effort, like the fisherman who catches a fish
that is surprised to see itself so easily taken. Now you
may call me Yeng-So-Yei, for that is my name." At these words, San-Syeng seized the hand
of the girl and covered it with kisses. "I have not sought to ensnare you. It was
merely my love, my boundless love, which impelled me to
act thus. But it is late. Your mother will notice your
absence and will become worried. Let us meet again
to-morrow at the same hour." The young girl nodded her head as a sign of
acquiescence and withdrew into the house. In the
solitude of her room she thought for a long time of the
events of the evening. "I love this young man," she
said, "he is so intelligent and has such a splendid
appearance. In giving him my heart I have done nothing
but obey my father's counsel. Therefore, I should have
no remorse about my conduct. I shall marry the man I
love and accomplish my father's wish." Similar reflections agitated San-Syeng's
mind. "How beautiful and good she is I" he would repeat
to himself. "I love her to distraction. I can never wait
until to-morrow evening to see her. How long this night
and day are going to be I" The hours rolled around, however, and the
time came for San-Syeng to visit the girl once more. She
came running to meet him, her face radiant with joy and
happiness. After they had exchanged a few words of
greeting she said to San-Syeng : "Let's go into the house. We can talk
better. You can come to my room where no one will
disturb us." "But don't you fear that your mother will
notice something?" "My mother is very old and feeble, we have
nothing to fear from her." San-Syeng followed the young girl. He was
much impressed to see with what skill she had arranged
her room. He complimented her on her taste and good
judgment and added: "How happy you must be I" "And aren't you happy, too?" "Alas, I have lost my parents, and I am
alone in the world. Life is no longer attractive to me.
You have given me the first pleasure in my life and I am
obliged to resume my travels within a few days." "But why must you leave ? Haven't you told
me that you loved me?" "Yes, I love you with all my heart and
soul. But it is only another misfortune for me because I
can never marry you." "Why do you say that?" "I can never marry you because you are
rich, while I am penniless." "Fie, foolish," teased the girl, drawing
him to her. "Don't you know that I love you and that
nothing can prevent me from being your wife and
companion? We shall marry. Do not leave me. Remain with
me to-night, my mother will not know." Their lips were united in one long kiss. At
daybreak San-Syeng departed. He regarded himself as the
happiest of mortals and promised to spare no effort to
make life happy for the girl who had thosen him for her
husband. Every evening the young man went to visit
his wife. Now it came to pass one night, that her
mother, unable to sleep, arose from her couch and went
walking through the house. Passing before the door of
her daughter's room she heard, above the sound of
mingled kisses, her daughter speaking with some one.
Immediately she fell into a great fury. She tried to
open the door, but was unsuccessful. Calling a servant,
she said: "Take a sabre, and place yourself before
this door. You are to kill the first person who leaves
that room." San-Syeng and his wife had not heard these
words for they were asleep. The girl had another dream
in which she saw her father. "My daughter," he said,
"you are in great danger. Your husband's life is
threatened. Arise and see what is on the other side of
your door. Find a way for your husband to escape. Give
him my favorite horse so that he can take flight. You
may also give him my sword. You will be separated for
some time, but you will be united in the days to come."
Startled by the warning, the young girl
softly opened the door where she saw the servant with
drawn sabre. "What are you doing here — and with a
weapon, too?" she demanded. "I am standing guard at your mother's
orders and I am to kill the first person who leaves your
room." "Why, my mother is mad. There is no one
with me. I was just about to call you anyway and send
you on an errand. I would like to write and I haven't a
single bit of paper. Will you get me some?" "I cannot leave this post, mademoiselle." "Why not? If you are afraid that my
mother's prisoner will escape, let me have your sabre. I
will take your place while you get me what I want." The servant was persuaded with little
difficulty. Scarcely had he left than the young lady ran
to her husband and cried: "Up at once or you are lost.
My mother has learned that there is some one with me and
has stationed a servant at the door with orders to kill
any one who leaves rriy room. Wait for me in the
garden." San-Syeng arose hurriedly and descended
cautiously and quietly into the garden. The servant
returned and received the assurance that no one hadv,
left the room which he had been guarding. "I think I shall take a walk in the
garden," the girl suggested. "This room is too warm for
me." She went direct to the stables where she
led out the horse which her father had mentioned and
brought him to San-Syeng. The two lovers embraced and
wept bitterly at being forced to part in so abrupt a
fashion. The girl had gathered together her jewels and
what silver she had at hand and turned them over to
San-Syeng together with her father's favorite sword.
San-Syeng, despite his protest, was forced to accept
them. He slipped from his finger the ring which he had
found among the books long years before and the
significance of which he did not even guess. "Take this keepsake," he said to his wife.
"It is a token of my undying love. As long as I live I
shall think only of you and. I hope soon to come back
for you. I will go to the Capital and shall soon have
matters fixed so that I may rejoin you. Good-bye." He went away, his head bowed in sadness,
while the young girl, tears rolling down her cheeks,
followed him with her eyes until she saw him disappear
in the black depths of the wood. "I wish I could burn that forest and then
my SanSyeng would have to take the mountain road, and I
wish the plagued mountains were at the bottom of the
sea," cried the unhappy girl — "for I would be able to
see my husband again." She remained for a long time in the one
spot motionless as a statue. At last, she decided to go
to her room, following in spirit San-Syeng who was
galloping briskly toward the Capital. He arrived there
when there was great excitement among the people of the
city because of the death of the King and the exile of
the young Prince to the Isle of Cho-To, events upon
which we shall comment in the coming stage of our story.
Here the fourth stage of our legend cometh
to a close. V IT was Ja-Jo-Mi, the Prime Minister, who
had been the chief cause of all the evils which had come
to Sun-Yen and San-Houni. This dignitary, no longer
having any one to fear, enjoyed absolute power. The King
had entire confidence in him and placed in his hands the
administration of the government. Ja-Jo-Mi had taken
advantage of this to give all the important and
lucrative offices to his followers. For example, he
discharged in disgrace a general whom he disliked and
replaced him with one of his most zealous but
incompetent partisans. Even with kll this power the
ambitious Minister was not satisfied. Why should he not
push things to the limit and place himself upon the
throne? For the present, it was only a dream which
Ja-Jo-Mi hoped to realize some day. But he was only
awaiting a favorable occasion and this was not long In
presenting itself. The King fell suddenly ill. His
condition became so grave that the leading physicians of
the Kingdom were obliged to confess their inability to
cure him. He was well aware of his serious condition and
cherished no illusions about it. He sensed the flutter
of the wings of Death — wings drenched with the tears of
weeping humanity. He sent for the Prime Minister, to
whom he spoke after the following fashion : "I am going to die. My great regret is in
leaving a son too young efficiently to govern the
country. Factions will take advantage of the situation
to disturb the peace of the Kingdom. Yet I wantmy son to
succeed me on the throne. Consequently I am requiring of
you a further proof of your devotion. Promise me to give
this child the guidance of your counsel and wisdom.
Teach him to govern kindly and finish his education." JaJo-Mi, the unscrupulous, swore solemnly
that he would faithfully observe the last commands of
his master. The monarch desired to see his son, so the
latter was brought to his bedside. The King tenderly
took the youth in his arms. He seemed to wish, through
him, to cling longer to the life he was leaving. But the
fatal hour had come ; he drew his last breath in a sob.
His son, overcome by grief, uttered wild
crieS' — "Oh, my father, my only refuge, why do you
forsake me? Why must you leave me?" Finally he fell into
a swoon. The Prime Minister, who was present at this
scene, tried to calm the young Prince with profuse and
hypocritical condolences. His words were far from being
in accord with his inner thoughts. The King's death
filled his soul with joy, for it rendered easier the
project he had been dreaming about for so long. When the funeral ceremonies were over, the
Governors of the provinces held a conference upon the
question of choosing a new King. The Governor's choice
naturally fell upon the shoulders of the deceased King's
son. This decision exasperated Ja-JoMi; he protested
furiously against it, saying that the Prince was too
young to attend to affairs of state and he painted a
very black picture of the conditions of the country if
the government were placed in his hands. "Moreover, the dying King appointed me to
rule until his son should be capable of taking the
throne." The ^Prime Minister expected favorable
results from this announcement. The Governors, however,
contented themselves with exchanging significant
glances, but they did not utter a word in support of the
Minister's proposal. This cold reception did not leave Ja-Jo-Mi
any delusions as to the attitude of the Governors on the
subject. Renouncing the powers of peaceful persuasion,
he resolved to employ force. He summoned the General
whose support he was assured of and said to him : "You will throw into prison any official
who is hostile to me." The General bowed in a sign of obedience
and withdrew. Although very much terrified, the
Governors did not submit peacefully to this new means of
intimidation and Ja-Jo-Mi condemned several of the most
influential of them to banishment. No one was in a
position now to oppose the execution of his designs. Having thus overridden the opposition of
the Governors, Ja-Jo-Mi went to the young King. "All powerful Prince," he said, kneeling
respectfully, "forgive me if I disturb you in your
grief. The welfare of the people compels me to discuss
with you certain things which I fain would defer to a
more opportune moment." "Speak," bade the young King. "You are doubtless well aware that,
according to the precepts laid down by the venerable
philosopher, Kong-Ji, no one can reign in Korea before
attaining a certain age. In spite of your exceptional
intelligence and remarkable ability I fear that you are
too young to rule alone. Your father, my regretted
master, on his death bed, requested me to look after the
interests of the State while you were preparing to
assume them yourself. It is with great regret that I
remind you of this last wish of the deceased King, for I
am aggravating your sorrow, I know. But I hope that you
will conform to your father's desires and the
philosopher's wisdom." Ja-Jo-Mi had hoped to convince the Prince
with these arguments. Great then was his astonishment
when the youth replied: "You are interpreting the last words of my
dear father for your own ends and in your own interests.
He asked you to guide and advise me but did not intimate
that you should take my place at the head of the
Koreans. Know then, that it is my intention to govern in
person. I have nothing more to add." It was a summary dismissal. Ja-Jo-Mi,
feigning to acquiesce in the desires of his sovereign,
withdrew backwards, saying : "Sire, it shall be as you wish." Thus the ambitious Minister had
encountered, in the energy of the young King, a
formidable obstruction in the path of his plans. But it
did not discourage him. Since the Prince would not
relinquish his post with a good grace, he would
commandeer it by force. It would be very easy. All the
officeholders at the Capital were devoted to Ja-Jo-Mi,
for it was through him that they held their places. The
people were not to be feared for they lacked leaders.
One bright and beautiful day, the King found himself
under arrest and transported to ChoTo. The Prime
Minister had ordered the prisoner to be guarded by the
troops day and night and the deposed Prince was kept
under the strictest surveillance all the time. Ja-Jo-Mi, the unscrupulous, for the time
being, was master of the land. He hoped soon to be
completely rid of the legitimate King and to finish his
days tranquilly on the throne that he had so
treacherously usurped. These events had caused a growing unrest
throughout the length and breadth of Korea. The people
were talking and grumbling, but they did not dare openly
to manifest their disapproval. The conduct of the Prime
Minister became an every-day topic of conversation. On
the street corners, bolder groups were wont to gather
and discuss matters vigorously. One day, when San-Syeng was out walking he
noticed one of these crowds; he hurried back to his
lodgings and inquired of Hong-Jun, his landlord, who had
formerly held an important commission in the army, "What has happened? I see that the
inhabitants of this city, ordinarily so calm and
peaceful, laboring under unusual excitement. What's the
cause of it?" "What, don't you know?" replied Hong-Jun.
"It is rumored that the Prime Minister, who always did
have a detestable reputation, has just crowned his
infamy by exiling the King's son. Instead of occupying
the throne, our young ruler is in prison." San-Syeng was thunder-struck. Heeding only
the impulses of his noble heart, he resolved to discover
some means to help the unfortunate young ruler. He had a dream that night which served to
strengthen his resolution. He saw in his dream a person
whom he had already met in the course of his travels and
who asked his name. "My name is San-Syeng." "Good, I belong to the same family as you.
My name is San-Houni. I was banished from the Capital by
Ja-Jo-Mi. While on my way to the island of Ko-Kum-To I
was murdered by the robber SuRung. Listen, for I have
something to ask of you. At this very moment, the
deceased King's son is in exile at Cho-To. He is also a
victim of Ja-Jo-Mi. Go, help him." San-Syeng told his questioner that he had
fully made up his mind to assist the young ruler. "Can
you not," he added subsequently, "give me some
information about my family?" "It is impossible for me to grant your wish
for the present," was the rejoinder, and the vision
disappeared. When San-Syeng awoke he recalled his dream
in all its minute details. What could this mystery be which surrounded
SuRung? San-Syeng had heard the man whom he regarded as
a father spoken of as a thief and now he was pictured as
an assassin. All this gave the young man food for
serious reflection. However, the most urgent matter now
was to go to the succour of the young exile and
San-Syeng took immediate steps to leave for Cho-To. It was an island that was easily accessible
but by the orders of JaJo-Mi no one was permitted to
land there without a permit from the Prime Minister. In
vain did San-Syeng try to evade the vigilance of the
soldiers who were guarding the shore. He was forced to
confess that it was impossible to land on the island.
Not disheartened by his failure, however, he resolved to
await more auspicious circumSitances for the carrying
out of his project. Here endeth the fifth stage of our legend.
VI LET us retrace our steps. The reader will
recall how the adorable Cheng-Si, daughter of the
unfortunate Sun-Yen, had agreed, in order to procure
help for her father, to become the victim that the
Korean merchants were to offer the hungry monsters of
the Yellow Sea. When the vessel that bore the young girl
had reached the open sea and the merchants had finished
a session of prayer, they summoned Cheng-Si before them.
"The time for the sacrifice has come," they
told her. "Now you may retire, purify your body, put on
your most beautiful gown. We will wait for you here." Cheng-Si obeyed their commands with
resignation. She soon appeared on the deck, fresh as a
new rose. One might have thought that she was going to
her wedding instead of her death. The traders had prepared a magnificent
altar covered with white and bearing curiously carved
incense burners. From the midst of the incense arose
fragrant blue clouds of myrrh. At each end of the table
burned an immense candle, the flames from which
flickered to and fro in the breeze. The girl was stationed between the two
candles, in front of the incense burners. The merchants
knelt and began to pray. Cheng-Si, the fair, consigned
her soul to Heaven. Not that she exjJerienced regret at
leaving this life, but her last thoughts were of the
blind father whom she had forsaken. Her prayers concluded, the girl, without
showing a trace of emotion, threw herself resolutely
into the Eea while the vessel continued on its way.
Cheng-Si, who fully expected to drown in a few minutes,
perceived with astonishment that she was resting on the
surface of the water. In her plunge she had struck an
obstacle and this obstacle was nothing else than a
gigantic sea turtle. The animal kept on swimming,
without seeming to be incommoded by his unusual burden.
The young girl naturally seized this unlocked for chance
of salvation. She allowed herpelf to be borne by the
turtle and soon she enjoyed such a feeling of security
that she fell asleep and a vision came to her. Her
mother appeared before her, borne on the fleecy sheets
of a cloud, and left with her these words : "My daughter, be not afraid. Heed what I
have to say to you and, above all things, follow my
advice. Do not forsake the turtle who has saved your
life until he has carried you safely to the shore." With
this message, the vision vanished. Upon awakening, Cheng-Si glanced about her
in all directions and noticed an island in the near
distance. "Doubtless that is to be my future home," she
said to herself. "My dream is already beginning to come
true. I shall follow my dear mother's advice." The turtle, arriving close to the shore,
turned aside into a deep subterranean passage and kept
on swimming for several hours until it reached a point
where the channel was very narrow. The innocent Cheng-Si
jumped ashore crying: "Thank you, good turtle, for saving my
life." While the large animal turned and swam back
toward the sea the girl tried to comprehend the
situation in which she found herself. Amidst the deep
darkness she was seized with a great fear. "Alas!" she
cried, "poor me, I have escaped death only for a little
while. How can I get out of this cave?" Suddenly she saw
a ray of sunlight that filtered through the rocky vault
above her head. She turned in this direction and saw two
small polished stone flasks which shone in the sunlight.
Lying conspicuously close by was a letter addressed to
Cheng-Si herself. The young girl had had so many
adventures in so short a time that this strange
coincidence did not cause her any surprise. Breaking the
seal on the letter, she read the following: "Drink the contents of these two bottles.
One of them will wash away the fatigue of your long
voyage. The other will clarify your ideas about the
strange events which no doubt have troubled you." Cheng-Si drank the two beverages and she
immediately felt a renewed energy flowing through her
veins. Her head was as clear as a bell. She picked her
way carefully along the sides of the cavern in ^he
direction whence the sunlight came. Her way was soon
blocked by a pile of dirt which she painfuW-Y dug aside
with her own hands. Presently she ^ad made an opening
large enough to admit her slender body. Drawing herself
up through the hole iphe found that she was in the
hollow trunk of an immense tree whose roots reached way
down into the floor of the cave. Cheng-Si enjoyed to the fullest measure the
dazzling bright daylight. She was in an enchanted
garden. Not only were there trees of luxuriant green
foliage, spreading gorgeous blossoms caressed by the
soft, sweet breath of variegated butterflies, and bees
and birds, but the air itself was laden with an
intoxicating perfume. A huge wall served to dose the
garden from outside view. In the centre arose a
magnificent dwelling which harmonized nicely with its
surroundings. After a few minutes rest, Cheng-Si picked
her way carefully through the briars and brambles
covering the trunk of the tree and began to stroll about
the garden. Now it so happened that the beautiful house
and this fairy garden were the residence and place of
recreation for the young King whom Ja-Jo-Mi, the
unscrupulous, in his wickedness, had exiled, as we have
previously seen. His captivity had already lasted for
several months. The young Prince, giving himself up to a
bitter melancholy, could not take his thoughts from the
memory of his parents. Ceaselessly he thought of his
father and his mother, both of whom had shown him such
tender affection. At times he would ponder over the
future where he could see no issue from the plight in
which he found himself but death. "Why should I cling to life any longer?
This everlasting loneliness, is it not the most cruel of
punishments? Yes, it is better to die," mourned the
young Prince so sadly that at his approach even the
birds stopped singing. This very day he was determined to carry
out his dismal plans. He carefully made all his
preparations. A rope tightly attached to the bough of a
tree at one end with the other end passed around his
neck would be his instrument of deliverance. The poor
victim of Ja-Jo-Mi said his last prayers. In a few
minutes his body would be swinging into space. But the
Prince hesitated. He had just seen a young girl, a
beautiful vision in white, strolling along the shady
paths of his garden. "Who in the world can that be?" queried the
Prince. "It seems that I am not here all alone, after
all. I must solve this mystery." He forgot his plans of suicide; his
melancholy mood disappeared. A single glimpse of a woman
had had this potent effect on him — ^believe it or not.
He untied the cord from about his neck and started in
headlong pursuit after the charming apparition. 'Twas
effort wasted! The girl turned around a tree and
vanished as if by magic. The young Prince was sorely perplexed. He
questioned whether he was not Breaming. But no, his eyes
had clearly seen. Later on, when the curtain of twilight
began to lower its darkness the prisoner entered his
house to seek slumber but all night long he was haunted
by the memory of the girl he had seen in his garden and
he could not sleep. Almost before daybreak, he dressed in great
haste and left the house. A butterfly hovered about his
head. He tried to catch it but could not. He stubbornly
gave chase, following it in its many turns and
wanderings about the garden. Suddenly the insect
disappeared in the hollow trunk of a tree. The young man
had closely watched the insect's flight, and feeling
certain now of capturing his prey, he advanced with open
hands. He expected to find a butterfly, and, behold, he
discovered a beautiful young girl before him. So great
was his surprise that he recoiled for a moment, but
quickly suppressing this instinctive impulse, he went
toward her, saying: "Excuse me, for having disturbed you in
your retreat. I stumbled upon it purely by accident. I
was chasing a butterfly that took refuge in the trunk of
this tree, and in trying to catch it I came upon you." Cheng-Si needed these words to reassure
her. At the sight of the young man she was seized with
an unusual fear. Her agitation prevented her from
speaking, but the young King continued : "I am very sorry to have troubled you. Calm
yourself. May I ask where you live?" "I have no parents, or home, sir. I was
walking by the seashore when I fell into the water. A
turtle caught me on his back and carried me tO' this
island where I have been for several days." "Like you, I am an orphan," the Prince went
on. "I am a son of the late King of Korea. After my
father's death I was banished to this island by the
Prime Minister, Ja-Jo-Mi. Both of us have been
unfortunate it seems. But, wouldn't you like to come and
rest yourself for awhile in my house?" "Thank you very much. But as you are a
prisoner you are not free to allow this, are you?" "Be at ease about that. It is quite true
that I am a prisoner, but no one disturbs my lonely
life. They think that behind these high thick walls,
outside of which they have stationed a number of
soldiers, it would be useless to inflict upon me other
guards or restrictions. You can follow me fearlessly.
Come, it will rest you a bit." Cheng-Si followed the young man. Hand in
hand they went toward the exile's home, exchanging very
few words. "Here, this will be your room," said the
young King. "I will leave you to make yourself at home."
Cheng-Si, once alone, reflected upon what
had happened to her. "This young man is charming and
very likable," was her thought. "Like me, he has
undergone great hardships." As for Ki-Si, he had totally forgotten that
only a short time before he had planned to take his own
life. He could think of nothing but his beautiful guest.
He was drawn from his meditation by the arrival of the
servant who came each day to bring his food. "Good," said the young King. "Place it on
that table and leave me. I shall serve myself to-day." When the servant had gone, Ki-Si went for
the girl. "Will you share my meagre dinner?" he
asked. "Gladly, sir." They seated themselves and began to eat. "How happy I am to take my repast in your
company," said the young Prince. "Why, sir, how is that?" "Because I have been here alone for so
long." "Yes, I should think it must be very dreary
for you." When the meal was over they went for a walk
in the garden, the King meanwhile relating all his
troubles to Cheng-Si, who was greatly moved thereby, and
said: "Do not take things too hardly, my friend.
Have patience. Later, when you regain the throne, you
will forget these unhappy days." "No," said the young man. "There will be no
throne for me. Ja-Jo-Mi will have me killed." Cheng-Si gave him a little pat on the cheek
and said, "Don't be sad, my friend. Cheer up. The
future will smile upon you." Several weeks passed. One afternoon, the
two went to sit down upon a bench in the garden, as was
their custom. The young Prince laughed scornfully, as he
pointed out to Cheng-Si the graves scattered here and
there in the sun-kissed grass. "Why are you laughing like that?" she
questioned. "Why," he replied absently, and as if
speaking in a trance. "I am laughing when I think that
life is nothing more than a long mockery of bitterness
and sorrow and lasts so briefly after all. Like the
flies that spend their lifetime in a single sun's ray,
we live but a moment. We strive for honors and glory and
what not. And to what purpose, since death gathers all
of us under a common shroud and places us on an
equality. Friendship and love alone can bind mankind to
one another." Then he was silent. The contrast between
his own sentiments and the aspect of Nature was
striking. The most profound sadness filled his heart.
Everything out-of-doors on the contrary seemed to be
dancing in a delightful frolic of love. Ki-Si, his head close to the pearly
shell-like ear of Cheng-Si, continued: "See that butterfly yonder I He is robbing
that little white flower. Perhaps he is intoxicated with
its perfume; perhaps he is leaving a kiss on its rosy
lips? Ah, these insects are happier than we mortals." Cheng-Si was pensive. She was thinking of
the many troubles that had made the young Prince esteem
life so lightly. But she said to herself that if he
could so easily detect love and the loveable in Nature,
his soul could not be entirely immune to the sentiment
itself. Possibly she was beloved by her companion. She said to him merrily, "Chase away your
sorrow. You will not always be unhappy. As the
Spring-time follows Winter, so laughter follows tears.
Soon the moon will be shining, for the moon loves the
sun and will pursue it into the darkness of night. When
it rains the earth is refreshed and gladdened." The sun was sinking below the horizon in a
blaze of gold and glory. Everything marked the hour of
rest and peace. The birds were flying to their nests,
shaking the branches in their flight. A great silence
lay over all Nature. The young Prince took ChengSi's
delicate little hand in his and murmured, "I love you." "I love you," was the girl's answer. After this tender confession, the two
remained for a long time without saying a word, buried
in a deep revery, happy in their mutual love. When they had gone home and had finished
their evening repast, Ki-Si said to the young girl : "It is customary in our country for parents
to give their children in marriage, but we are orphans,
so what shall we do to get married?" "Let's marry ourselves," replied Cheng-Si,
naively. "Good, let's get ready for the ceremony." They drew up a large table and covered it
with a red cloth. Two candles — signifying youth ; a
needle and thread — signifying union; and incense
burners, were placed on this improvised altar before
which the betrothed pair knelt to pray to Heaven, after
which they drank the sacramental wine from the same cup.
The ceremony was over. Love soon invited
them to its wedding joys and the following days were
filled with an ineffable happiness and delight. Now it came to pass one night that the
Prince had a dream. He saw in his dream a large bottle
the upper portidn of which had been broken, whence a
crimson stream was slowly flowing. Ki-Si awoke with a
start and aroused his companion. "Ja-Jo-Mi is going to
kill me," he cried with a sob. "I shall be forced to
desert you, soul of my soul. Listen to my dream." Cheng-Si, too, fell a victim to despair.
"Let's save ourselves while we can," she cried. "We will
set fire to our house and try to reach the seacoast.
Ja-Jo-Mi will believe that you are dead." "No," vetoed the King. "It will be futile.
I have had a dream which tells me of misfortune which I
shall try in vain to escape." "But, I think," rejoined Cheng-Si, who had
regained her composure, "that you are wrong to be so
alarmed at this dream. It does not have the meaning
which you attribute to it. When one breaks the neck of a
bottle one holds it carefully by the bottom. This means
that your people are determined to convey to you their
good wishes, and the blood which trickles from the
bottle signifies the royal purple with which you will be
vested." This explanation assuaged Ki-Si's griefs
but imperfectly. Nevertheless he said to Cheng-Si : "Well, suppose we leave. Let the fire bum
up this place. I have spent too many sad days here." Placing burning brands in various parts of
the house they hurried into the garden. They made their
way to the hollow tree where Ki-Si had discovered his
treasure and through it descended into the cave. Shortly
they were by the seaside. How could they go any farther? They had no
boat. The young King, rather than fall alive into the
hands of Ja-Jo-Mi, determined to kill himself. He ran
toward the water but Cheng-Si like a flash seized her
husband by his gown and showered upon him gentle
reproaches : "Why would you desert me? Is it not my duty
to follow you wherever you may go, even to the bottom of
the sea ? If you are bound to die, let us die together."
"No, my dear, you are young. I met you by
chance. It is not fitting that your fate should be thus
linked to mine. Life for you may yet be a happy one. Let
me go. Let me die alone." But Cheng-Si clung desperately to her
lover. She wanted to follow him into the Valley of the
Shadows; in fact, she would have preferred to have
preceded him into the Darkness. Here endeth the sixth stage of our legend.
VII SAN-SYENG had been waiting impatiently for
several months for an opportunity to penetrate the
defenses of the island of Cho-To where the young King
was exiled. He was beginning to feel discouraged when he
had another dream. SanHouni appeared before him saying,
"You should take a boat and go to the southern cape of
the island. There you will find the King and his Queen.
But make haste, if you are too late you will find that
the Prince has gone to abide with his ancestors." On the strength of his dream, San-Syeng
immediately began preparations for his journey to the
spot that had been indicated to him. While yet some
distance from the island, he could distinguish on the
beach a man and woman, both apparently very young,
talking and gesticulating with great earnestness. Soon
he imagined he could catch a few words which were
carried to him on the light breeze, causing the
impression that a disagreement had arisen between the
two young people. When he came within hailing distance
he called politely : "Why are you quarreling in this way
when Spring-time is smiling upon you so sweetly?" Ki-Si replied: "We would like to cross the
sea but having no boat and deprived of all resources, we
are contemplating suicide. But I do not want my gentle
companion to follow me to the grave, while she, on the
other hand, is bent upon dying with me. That is the
cause of our dispute." "Give up your melancholy ideas,"
remonstrated San-Syeng. "You are not going to die. I
will place my boat at your disposal and take you
wherever you want to go." "Many thanks, you have saved our lives,"
cried Ki-Si, joyfully. The young King and Queen immediately
clambered aboard the boat and San-Syeng made a rapid
trip over the arm of the sea which separated the' island
of Cho-To from the city of Chang-Yang. When they were safely ashore, Ki-Si
inquired of San-Syeng if he would kindly direct him to a
place where he and his wife could pass the night.
SanSyeng suggested that they put up at the same inn
where he was staying — an invitation which they heartily
accepted. So far San-Syeng' s dream had been
realized. Nothing was left for him to do but to make
sure that the young people were really those of whom
San-Houni had told him. But this was no easy thing. He
did not dare question them too closely. There was too much at stake to reveal the
truth. San-Syeng resolved to wait until time and
opportunity would dispel his doubt. Meantime, the house on the island where the
young Prince had lived since he had left the Capital had
become food for the fire and flamed The guard in charge
of Ki-Si rushed to inform the General whom Ja-Jo-Mi had
appointed to watch the island of Cho-To. The General,
greatly agitated and worried, gave orders to double the
guards about the garden wall. Anyone who sought to leave
was to be arrested on the spot. Other soldiers were
instructed to do their utmost in fighting the spread of
the flames. They were too late. The house was now like
unto a gigantic furnace. "Search everywhere for the King," ordered
the General. "If he isn't dead he must be hidden
somewhere in the garden. Look in all the corners and
dark places." This hunt was, as we well know,
unsuccessful, and the General, concluding that the royal
prisoner had perished in the flames, sent word to that
effect posthaste to Ja-Jo-Mi. Upon receipt of this news, the Prime
Minister was elated. The death of the rightful King
swept aside the last obstruction in the path of his
plans. He immediately summoned the General whom he had
placed in command of the guards at Cho-To, and when the
latter came Ja-Jo-Mi met him with these words : "How lucky we are I Such an event deserves
to be celebrated in proper style. Let's have a grand
banquet to which we can invite all our friends." Ja-Jo-Mi's partisans were living in
idleness and ease, wallowing in an era of merry-making
and debauchery. Everywhere they went they continually
sang the praises of Ja-Jo-Mi, "the coming King of
Korea." The people, however, were grumbling and
commenting, but the fear of the tyrant kept them from
expressing too openly their complaints. Ki-Si, whom Ja-Jo-Mi believed to be dead,
was keeping under cover at the little town of ChangYang.
One day when he was chatting with SanSyeng, the
proprietor of the inn burst in upon them excitedly,
saying: "There is great excitement in the streets. Quite
a number of troops, who are on their way to the Capital,
have just arrived in town." "What's exciting about that?" questioned
SanSyeng. "These soldiers were ordered to guard our
young exiled King at the Island of Cho-To. It seems that
the poor Prince lost his life in a big fire and the
General, who had charge of this mission, is bringing
back his men. The people, you know, fairly hate
Ja-Jo-Mi, who holds the support of the army and who has
placed a heavy yoke about the neck of all Korea. Hence,
at the sight of these soldiers, excitement has spread
all over the town." "Do you hate Ja-Jo-Mi, too?" asked
San-Syeng of the inn-keeper. "The same as every one else, sir." "Well, it doesn't seem an easy matter to me
to overthrow this Ja-Jo-Mi. He has the army with him and
they haven't much love for the common people." "That's where you are wrong, sir. The only
troops really devoted to the Prime Minister's cause are
those at the Capital ; in fact, the others are ho*tilc
to him. Why, the garrison of our town and the Mandarin
himself are opposed to Ja-Jo-Mi. If our Mandarin were to
appeal to the soldiers who are here and if his example
were followed by the other Mandarins, Ja-Jo-Mi and his
satellites could easily be put down." "But once Ja-Jo-Mi is deposed, whom can
they place upon the throne?" "That, sir, is a difficult question.
Unhappily, the King's son is dead. Perhaps, however, a
member of the Royal Family might be found who would
accept the trust." "And suppose, for the sake of argument,
that it were not true that the King's son were dead?" "The simplest thing would be to confer upon
him the succession to his father." "Your reasoning is good," continued
San-Syeng. “You stand well in the eyes of the people
and you are a friend of the Mandarin. Would you consent
for us to undertake the enterprise?" "Willingly," replied the innkeeper. "We
should get together on this. I must, however, leave you
now for a while. I'll see you presently." When he was alone with Ki-Si, San-Syeng
asked: "Would you like to join us in our fight against
Ja-JoMi ?" At the question the Prince, who had seemed
afflicted with great uneasiness and a sort of illness
during the preceding conversation, fell to the floor in
a faint. San-Syeng turned his attention at once to the
prostrate form of his friend who lay as rigid as a log
and seemed to be unable to utter the least sound.
San-Syeng called Cheng-Si and she came running in terror
to her husband. San-Houni's son told her what had taken
place. The young woman threw herself on her husband's
breast and drenched him with her tears. San-Syeng,
profoundly moved by this sight, cried to Cheng-Si: "In
Heaven's name, madame, tell me who you are !" "I have great confidence in you, sir. You
have saved our lives and I will tell you the truth. My
husband is Ja-Jo-Mi's victim, the King's son. I met him
by chance. I fell into the sea and was carried by a
turtle to the island where the Prince was held captive.
I became his wife and we fled from our prison together
and you met us, rescued us, and brought us here. That's
our story. And, now you understand, sir, do you not?" Meanwhile the young King had regained
consciousness. When San-Syeng observed this he began to
withdraw toward the door saying: "Sire, forgive my
imprudence — excuse my impatience — ." Ki-Si tried to stop him. "No, sire, first of all you must pardon the
familiarity with which I treated you. My excuse is that
I did not know with what august personages I was
speaking. Now that I do know, it is hardly fitting that
I remain in the same room as yourselves." It happened that the owner of the inn was
passing before the door of the room where Ki-Si and his
wife were and San-Syeng promptly told him the story. The
innkeeper prostrated himself and, with his face to the
floor, cried: "It is a supreme honor to be permitted to
house Your Majesties." He lost no time in telling the Mandarin,
who was thunderstruck with amazement and who could
scarcely suppress his joy at hearing the news. Summoning
an escort of troops, he marched to the inn where the
King lodged. The soldiers surrounded the house, while
the Mandarin, in all the glory of his gorgeous robes,
went to pay his respects to the Sovereign. The Prince gave him a hearty welcome. By
his side stood San-Syeng, who, after bowing to the King,
turned to the Mandarin and said: "We must take our
Sovereign to the To-Wan (the Mandarin's palace, or town
hall) so that he may be sheltered by a roof worthy of
his rank." The Mandarin approved this suggestion, and
at once the party set out for the To-Wan. Hardly was he there before the King turned
to San-Syeng, saying: "I wish to bring about a complete
re-organization of the Government." "Sire, all my ability, all my strength, are
at your disposal," was San-Syeng's respectful reply. "Good, then you become my General!" replied
the Prince. San-Syeng was confused, but had to obey the
wishes of the Prince and he knew the latter would confer
offices only upon those whom he deemed the most worthy
among his followers. Orders were issued for the
preparation of a great banquet and for the dispatch of
couriers to all corners of the Kingdom to announce to
the people the coming of their King. This welcome news put joy and happiness
into the hearts of the Koreans, and shouts of joy were
heard throughout the length and breadth of the land. "O Beloved King! Night has vanished to give
place to the day. The times of wretchedness and evil are
gone and the era of happiness is at hand. Clouds were hiding the face of the Sun, and
the flowers, deprived of light, were wasting away; but
the wind has swept away the clouds and the light comes
to us again. Everything will flourish in the gentle,
healthful rays of the wonderful Sun. Hail, son, hail
brother — hail to our King! Forward 1 Hold back — not
for fire, nor for the waters, nor for the mountains.
Sweep aside all obstacles. If the wicked-hearted seek to
restrain you, kill them. But look ever to the Sun; its
warmth will give you strength and courage. We want you —
^beloved King! And we will serve you and keep you
always. Now — away with tender things and soft thingsi —
we're off to war!" While the populace was manifesting its
delight in talk and other harmless ways, the King was
busy with his preparations for the overthrowing of the
usurper. He questioned San-Syeng as to the distance to
the Capital. This distance was considerable and, at the
advice of his General, he decided that he would put his
forces on the march as soon as possible. San-Syeng took an active interest in the
training of the army. To toughen his men, he made them
attach small, but heavy, bags of sand to their legs. For
an entire day they were obliged to march with this
equipment. The following day, the army broke camp and
took the field. The soldiers now having only their
weapons to carry, made rapid progress. At the end of two
days they were before the Capital City. SanSyeng
stationed his troops in a cordon about the city with
orders to let no one — no matter who it might be — leave
or enter the town. Then he wrote an ultimatum, which he
ordered to be copied many times on strips of bamboo, and
distributed widely in all parts of the city. This
proclamation announced the arrival of the legitimate
King at the head of his army and that His Majesty came
to give battle to the unfaithful Minister, JaJo-Mi, the
unscrupulous. The latter was living in an atmosphere of
absolute security. Entertainment followed entertainment;
feast followed feast. Suddenly it was announced to
Ja-Jo-Mi that the King's son was at the gates of the
Capital with an army and that there was a great
disturbance among the people. Ja-Jo-Mi, astounded by the news, summoned
his General, at whom he cast the most violent reproaches
and profane oaths (some of these we dare not print as
the transcriber of this legend is a pious man). "How is
it that you told me that the King's son was dead and now
they say that the city is in a state of siege? Who is it
that is at the head of the troops who are attacking us?"
"It cannot possibly be the King's son,"
replied the General, humbly. "I am positive that he died
in that fire — his body is ashes. Doubtless it is some
daring adventurer who has brought this horde of rogues
and robbers upon us." There was no time for further discussion.
The populace, having read the bamboo messages, arose in
revolt. They were already advancing toward the Prime
Minister's palace. They burst down the doors and swept
through the palace like the demon waves of the Yellow
Sea. Ja-Jo-Mi and his General were seized — the palace
set on fire. Simultaneously the King made a peaceful
entry into the city at the head of his troops and the
people turned over to him the usurping Minister and his
General. Ki-Si called his Commander-in-Chief,
San-Syeng. "No one shall be put to death. It will be
sufficient, for the time being, to throw the guilty
wretches into prison." Subsequently, he issued orders to
the eflfect that only Ja-Jo-Mi, his General, and their
principal adherents, be held as prisoners. The new King had barely taken possession of
the palace of his fathers than he ordered a reduction in
the taxes which were oppressing his people. These
measures were approed by his Queen who desired that they
be even carried further. "Who knows," she said, "if the Mandarins
will carry out the orders; perhaps they will continue to
persecute the people to their profit? You must be
assured that everything is going as you wish and
dispatch deputies who are charged with seeing that your
decrees are observed." The King recognized the wisdom of this idea
and ordered San-Syeng to send out in all directions
honest and devoted men on this errand. This done, the
new General left the Capital, wearing the modest clothes
he had worn when the King had placed the command of the
troops in his hands. Here cometh to a close the seventh stage of
our legend. VIII SAN-SYENG had been a very powerful factor
in establishing the legitimate sovereign of Korea on the
throne but he did not by any means consider his life
work as finished. His primary duty was to find his
parents and to return to the lovely girl to whom he had
given his heart. Despite the many adventures through
which he had passed, he had never ceased thinking of
Yeng-So-Yei. He did not suspect that serious events were
also taking place in her own little sphere. Now it came to pass one morning after
SanSyeng's departure that Yeng-So-Yei found her mother
dead in her room. The poor young woman was prostrated
with grief. She refused to be consoled and the solitude
in which she lived merely aggravated her anguish. And
yet a new calamity lay right in her path. The populace,
rising in revolt against the nobility and tax
collectors, were burning and pillaging throughout the
village and Yeng-SoYei just had time enough to dash
through a secret gate in the city wall and make her
escape into the open country. In a short space of time she had lost her
mother, her fortune and her home. She did not, however,
feel entirely cast down. "At least San-Syeng is left to
me," was her thought. "I shall go to the Capital and hunt for
him." In order to carry out her project more easily, she
assumed masculine attire and, thus disguised, set out on
her journey. Now it came to pass that having no notion
of the road she should follow, she completely lost her
way. Moreover, an intense fog settled down upon the
fields and earth to make her situation more unpleasant.
She walked and walked, but to her great despair she met
no one, nor could she find the slightest shelter wherein
she might escape the dampness. Tired, almost unto death,
she threw herself down beside a clump of tall bamboo,
intending to rest but a few moments, but in spite of her
wellmeaning resolutions, she was soon fast asleep. The grove of bamboo toward which Fate had
turned the steps of Yeng-So-Yei was the very one where
so many long years before Yeng-Si had given birth to
San-Syeng. The unfortunate woman who was obliged to
abandon her child and to become a nun would often visit
the spot which brought back such painful memories;
indeed, she seemed to take a keen pleasure in seeing the
spot where she had become a mother. And the sight
thereof would cause her to weep. It so happened that one day the nun,
returning from her sad pilgrimage, saw a young man,
sound asleep, stretched across the narrow footpath. At
first she was a bit startled and frightened but,
conquering her distrust, she gazed curiously at the
sleeper. "My son would have been about the same age,"
she reflected. "I will wait until this young man awakes
and speak with him." She stood by jhis prostrate form
and it seemed as if she were unable to take her eyes
from his face. Finally, unable to be patient any longer,
and after satisfying herself that no one was watching
her, she decided to wake the strange traveler. "Pardon my curiosity, sir — but this
situation is a strange one." "What situation?" demanded Yeng-So-Yei. "How comes it that you are sleeping here on
this road?" "It comes — because I was very tired." "Where do you live?" "At Yen-Yu, but I am on my way to the
Capital." "To the Capital? But you are not on the
right road.^' "Am I lost? Oh, what shall I dorTears came
into the poor girl's eyes. Yeng-Si was moved also. "How," she asked again, "does it happen
that you are traveling alone in this way? It is hardly
safe for you." "I know that, but I am forced to do so for
I am an orphan." "Would you like to come with me?" "Yes, but I can accept your hospitality for
a short time only. I must be on my way." At these words, they walked together toward
the temple of Ro-Ja. Ou-Pung, the sister, consented to take the
young traveler in, but made it very plain that it was
impossible for her to keep a man about the house for
more than two or three days. Yeng-So-Yei asked no more than that. After
she was installed in her room, she went to seek Yeng-Si.
The latter related the tale of her sad life and this
pitiful story so touched the young woman that she wept
with her new friend in sympathy. The next morning Yeng-Si stopped at the
traveler's room. Picking up a ring which she saw lying
on the table, she examined it closely and demanded,
sharply : "Perhaps, I may be a bit inquisitive, but I
would be very much obliged to you if you would tell me
where you obtained this ring?" "It is a keepsake from my best friend." "Where is your best friend?" "He has gone to the Capital. I want to join
him as soon as I can." "How old is he?" "We are almost the same age — ^both of us.
But why do you ask these questions?" Yeng-Si did not reply, at once. Her eyes
filled with tears, and suddenly she broke out, sobbing:
"My son! My poor son I Where are you?" These words made a vivid impression on
YengSo-Yei. "Can it be that this poor woman is my
husband's mother?" she thought to herself. She tenderly took her tearful companion in
her arms and asked gently, "Was your son called San-Syeng?" At the sound of this name, Yeng-Si, more
agitated than before, cried: "Yes, that was the name I gave him and I
personally inscribed the name of San-Syeng on my baby's
arm in characters that could not be removed. This ring,
which I hold in my hand, I placed in his clothes when I
was obliged to abandon him." "Mother, my dear mother," cried
Yeng-So-Yei, throwing herself in Yeng-Si's arms. "Your
son is my husband and I am on my way to find him." "Do my ears hear aright?" cried Yeng-Si.
"But, what in the world does this costume mean?" "I put it on so as to be able to travel
with more security." The two women embraced each other tenderly,
mingling their warm tears. Ou-Pung, the sister, who was
passing outside, hearing the sound of sobs, entered the
room. "What are you crying about?" she asked. "Good friend, we have been showing
hospitality not to a young man, but to the wife of my
own lost son," replied Yeng-Si. "How happy I am for your sakes!" Yeng-So-Yei then explained to the nun why
she had assumed the garb of a man. "You were right," rejoined the sister, "but
what motive impelled you to leave the town where you
were living?" The young wife briefly told the story of
her misfortune. She was now more anxious than ever to
find her husband and she wasted few words in her
recital. "I shall find him easily," she added, "no
matter |iow changed he may be. He has probably kept the
horse which I gave him when he left me and if I cannot
recognize the husband, I will know my father's horse." "Well," said the nun to Yeng-Si, "the end
of all your sorrows is at hand. Follow your daughter and
together you will find San-Syeng." "Yes, it will not be our fault if we do not
find him." Accustomed to having lived together for so
long, Yeng-Si and the sister experienced keen regret at
parting from each other. But Ou-Pung was the first to
suggest that Yeng-Si leave with her daughterin-law for
she was happy at the good fortune which had come to her
deserving companion. So it came to pass that Yeng-Si and
Yeng-So-Yei set out together for the Capital. When they
came close to the grove of bamboo, San-Syeng's mother
could not suppress her tears. "Why are you crying so, mother?" "It was here, my child, that seventeen
years ago I gave birth to him who is now your husband. A
short distance from here I abandoned him to go with
Ou-Pung, the nun. These recollections pain me greatly."
The two women continued on their way. After
several hours' walking, they came to the shores of a
wide lake. Yeng-Si paused by the water's edge, and
raising her eyes to Heaven, cried in a weak and
trembling voice : "Dear and unfortunate friend, what has
become of you?" She told Yeng-So-Yei of the sublime
devotion of the woman, who had enabled her to escape
from the hands of Su-Rung. During the few following days their trip
was without incident until they came to the town of
SanJon. Here they resolved to remain for a day as they
were fatigued by their journey and they entered the
first inn which they stumbled upon. The inn-keeper's son was at once smitten by
YengSo-Yei who was, as we know, a marvel of grace and
beauty. Finding his attentions repulsed, he resolved to
obtain revenge — the mark of a small mind. One of the
maid-servants was ordered to place in the young wife's
apartment some jewels which belonged to the young man.
The thing was done without difficulty — and the servant
swore under threats of punishment that she would tell
the plot to no one. Next morning the rejected suitor entered
YengSo-Yei's room, saying: "Madame, you will pardon me? Some one has
stolen my jewels. I have searched in all the other rooms
of the house and I ask your permission to do the same in
yours." "Willingly, sir." It can be readily imagined that the two
women were greatly astonished to see the young man
discover in their rooms, as if by magic, the jewels
which he claimed had been stolen from him. They asserted
that they were innocent, but it was useless. They were
arrested in the name of the Mandarin and were taken
before him for a preliminary examination. They renewed vigorously their denials, the
Mandarin meanwhile listening attentively. He had been
impressed by the singular beauty of Yeng-So-Yei, but
gave no visible evidence of it, and committed the two
women to prison. A few moments after, he had word
brought to them that if Yeng-So-Yei would consent to
marry him, no mention would ever be made of the theft.
In case of refusal — it was to be — death. The young wife spurned the Mandarin's
messenger with great indignation. "Tell your master that he is a villain. I
am married and I will never be unfaithful to my husband,
not even to escape torture and death." The Mandarin, very much irritated, gave
orders that the execution of the prisoners should take
place in three days. The keeper of the prison, who was
also the executioner, went about his sinister
preparations. Keenly touched by the plight of the two
women, he visited them and said: "I shall be very glad to render you any
service that you ask. I am obliged to obey the commands
of the Mandarin, but I do not hesitate to say that he is
one of the vilest of men." The jailer's voice trembled as he spoke.
YengSi and her daughter-in-law, torn with anguish, were
wailing and sobbing. Was it thus that they were to leave
the world — one without having seen her son — the other
without embracing her husband? "Oh, my San-Syeng! Oh, my San-SyengI" they
cried. Their grief was so poignant that it overmastered
their strength and they lost consciousness. Here the eighth stage of our legend cometh
to a close. IX ON leaving the Capital, San-Syeng had a
threefold mission in view : to make certain of the
faithful execution of the King's commands, to find his
parents, and to rejoin his wife. The young man did not
make light of the difficulties that lay before him, but
he resolved to bend all his efforts toward accomplishing
his heart's desires. He was optimistic and cherished the
brightest hopes of having his wishes crowned with
success. His adorable Yeng-So-Yei obviously had the
first claim to his attention, and he set out with haste
to see her. When but a short distance from the town of
Yen-Yu where his wife dwelt, the new General learned
that the place had been given over to revolt and
pillage. San-Syeng immediately mobilized the royal
troops from the neighboring towns and order was restored
in a few days. The Mandarin, whose exactions had been
the primary cause of the revolt, was arrested and sent
to the Capital together with the ring-leaders in the
disturbance. This task accomplished, San-Syeng made
pleasant preparations to surprise Yeng-So-Yei by his
homecoming. Alas the house where he expected to find his
beautiful little wife had been burned to the ground, as
if blasted by a dragon's fiery breath. He could not
master his sorrow and burst into sobs. His orderly, who
accompanied him, endeavored to console him, but in vain,
and was at last obliged to lead his master away from the
heap of charred embers and ashes. He learned that
Yeng-So-Yei's mother was dead and that the orphan, when
the fire broke out, had fled and no one could tell
whither she had gone. San-Syeng naturally determined to travel in
search of his wife, but his body was tired and weary and
he resolved to indulge in the luxury of a short nap
before leaving the town. During his slumbers, SanHouni
appeared before him for the third time, saying : "My poor child! You are looking for your
parents and you are unable to find them. It is now time
to tell you that I am your father. In the olden days I
enjoyed a great deal of influence at the Court, but my
enemy, Ja-Jo-Mi, had me sent into exile, with my best
friend, Sun-Yen. I was murdered by SuRung whom I hired
to take me to Ko-Kum-To. As for your mother and your
wife, you will find them at San-Jon. A cruel Mandarin
has condemned them to death. Hurry to their rescue ; the
slightest delay may be fatal." San-Syeng awoke with a start, shook himself
and started on his journey. Presently he reached the
town referred to in his dream. He was not long in
learning that his mother and his wife, unjustly accused
of theft, were in a prison cell and were to be put to
death the very next morning. The young man ran to the prison where, of
course, he found it impossible to enter, so he had
recourse to a wise little trick. He entered a merchant's
shop near by, threw his robe over a random object and
dashed out of the doorway. He was soon caught, arrested,
and thrown into prison. Before employing this ruse, San-Syeng had
ordered his servant to come early the next day with his
master's horse and take his place before the prison
gates. The room into which the young man was
thrust after his arrest was very dark and small. Several
persons were already occupying it but it was too dark to
distinguish any of them clearly. He joined one of the
inmates in a loud protest for some light — ^the
inevitable result of which would be to bring the jailer,
who indeed did come running to see what their outcries
portended. He stepped between the two men to quiet them.
"I shall report you to the Mandarin," he
declared, turning to San-Houni's son. "What's your name,
anyway?" "San-Syeng." Yeng-So-Yei and Yeng-Si were naturally very
much surprised at hearing this name. They whispered to
each other: "That's my son's name, sure enough," said
YengSi, "but it cannot possibly be he for he is no
thief." The night passed without San-Syeng being
recognized by the two women. At daybreak, they were
startled by the loud neighing of a horse and YengSo-Yei,
who had gone to the narrow opening which served as a
window to their cell, cried : "Mother, come here. That horse which has
been neighing is the very one which I gave my husband,
or at least it resembles it very much." Yeng-Si, by way of reply, moaned: "Oh, where can my poor son be?" Thereupon, San-Syeng approached his mother
and inquired the cause of her grief. Yeng-Si told him of
the many sad experiences she had undergone since her
departure into exile with San-Houni up to her arrest and
condemnation to death by the Mandarin of San-Jon. When she had finished, the young man in
turn told his story. His concluding words were — "I have
on my arm the name of San-Syeng, but I do not know how
it is that I bear these characters which I have tried in
vain to remove." Yeng-So-Yei who had been listening to the
conversation could restrain herself no longer and cried:
"Tell me, what was your wife's name and
where did she live?" "Yeng-So-Yei was my wife's name; she lived
in the village of Yen-Yu, but I found her home burned to
the ground." "Oh, my dear San-Syeng," cried the young
woman. "Have I found you at last," and turning to
Yeng-Si, "Mother mine, here is your son!" Their greetings naturally consumed some
time — their hearts were glad and they were not ashamed
to display their emotion. And yet the two women felt
bitter and sad to think that soon they were about to die
after having touched the threshold of that happiness
which their reunion promised. San-Syeng ultimately
succeeded in calming them. He enjoyed, he said, certain
extraordinary powers of which he intended to make
instant use. Presently the young General's orderly
visited his master's prison where he received orders to
announce to the village the arrival of San-Syeng, a
special envoy of the King, and to arrest the Mandarin at
once. 'Twas but a brief while and the orderly
came to report to his master that his commands had been
carried out. Meantime, the town officials had rushed to
the prison where they surrounded San-Syeng and paid him
their homage. At their urging, San-Houni's son left the
prison and betook himself to the townhall. Yeng-So-Yei, catching sight of the horse
she had given her husband, ran to the stately looking
steed and imprinted a kiss on the end of its nose. The
animal seemed to understand her message, for its eyes as
they turned toward the young wife, seemed moist with
tears. "No tears now, my good fellow," laughed
YengSo-Yei. "You are happier than I for you can
continually accompany him whom I love, while I am to be
separated from him." San-Syeng, a witness of his wife's gentle
act, tenderly drew her to his heart, and kissing her
hair said: "Henceforth we shall never part from each
other." San-Syeng, his cup overflowing with
happiness at having found his mother and his wife at one
and the same time, desired to be told about his father,
and, at his urgent request, Yeng-Si, with tears in her
eyes and a faltering voice, related to him the
misfortunes of San-Houni. "Don't worry, mother dear," pleaded
San-Syeng. "After so much suffering, you are going to
have happiness in abundance. I shall do everything I can
to make life pleasant for you. Suppose that first we go
visit Ou-Pung, the sister, who was so kind to you." This
suggestion was very pleasing to Yeng-Si and they started
on their journey to the temple of Ro-Ja. When they were
passing by the lake which recalled so many bitter
memories, Yeng-Si bade her son to pause. The little
party halted while she told the melancholy tale of the
devotion of the old lady who had sacrificed herself
without hope of recompense or reward. "Mother," declared San-Syeng, "I am going
to place a memorial in this spot to perpetuate the
sublime sacrifice of your poor companion." The General's
orderly was at once commissioned to employ workmen who
were to begin immediately to erect a suitable tribute to
the old lady's memory. Before reaching the shrine of Ro-Ja,
Yeng-Si related to her son, while they were passing by
the grove of bamboo, which figures so conspicuously in
our story, under what pitiful circumstances he had been
bom. Ou-Pung, the sister, did not count upon
seeing Yeng-Si and her daughter-in-law so soon again.
"This is my son," proudly declared the nun's former
companion. San-Syeng showered warm and profuse thanks
upon the sister for all the attentions and kindnesses
she had shown to Yeng-Si. "Do not thank me, sir," replied the sister.
"I have only done my duty in sheltering an unfortunate
woman. Buddha has taken pity upon her and has rewarded
her piety and her long suffering by permitting her to
find you." Under the supervision of the orderly, a
magnificent pagoda was rapidly built by the water's
edge. Upon it could be read this inscription : WITH EVERLASTING GRATITUDE TO THE
BENEFACTOR OF MY MOTHER. Ou-Pung consented to go with her visitors
to see the temple that had just been completed. SanSyeng
had directed that an altar for sacrifices be placed
before the pagoda and that Su-Rung be arrested and
brought to him. All of the thief's property was to be
seized. This very moment, strange to say, Su-Rung
was telling his brother, Su-Yeng, of a peculiar dream he
had had the preceding night. He had seen himself
surrounded by tongues of flame and his head, severed
from his body, was boiling in a large copper kettle. "It signifies that your end is near and
that you will die through the will of man," asserted
Su-Yeng. "Why must you continue to lead this sinful
life? It would be more fitting that you experience
remorse and fear for an envoy of the King is in the
neighborhood." Scarcely had Su-Yeng uttered these words,
when there came a loud rapping at the door. After a
brief struggle, Su-Rung was reduced to helplessness and
securely bound. All the stolen objects that could be
found were collected, thrown in a heap, and the party
turned their steps toward the pagoda. When the criminal was brought face to face
with the young General, the latter demanded : "My name is San-Syeng. You know me, don't
you?" Su-Rung, much surprised, could not imagine
that his adopted son had been elevated to the dignity of
a King's envoy, so he replied, coolly: "Your name is not unfamiliar to me. My son
was called San-Syeng." "You have a son, then?" "Yes, he left me three years ago, to go to
the Capital and since that day I have had no news of
him." "Well, you may know that I am the man of
whom you boast being the father. But I am not the son of
a murderer. I have found my mother who has told me about
my birth and your infamous crimes. There, do you
recognize my mother?" added San-Syeng, indicating
Yeng-Si to the brigand with a gesture of his hand. Yeng-Si, who had been watching Su-Rung
attentively for some time, burst out with: "You vile wretch, so you're still alive!
Thank. Heaven it is granted me to satisfy my thirst for
vengeance. My son, there stands your father's murderer.
Kill him, strike him down, with your own hand! I could
tear the very eyes from his head!" San-Syeng's mother was beside herself and
he sought to calm her, representing that he had no
authority to put any man to death without an order from
the King. Yeng-Si did not insist; her mind was crowded
with other more charitable thoughts when, in company
with her friends, she knelt in the beautiful pagoda to
pray for the soul of the martyred woman to whom she owed
her life. Su-Rung was immediately dispatched to the
Capital under heavy guard. When the troops and their
prisoner were about to depart, San-Syeng, turning to
Su-Yeng, said: "You have always been an honest, loyal man.
Take these things which your brother has unlawfully
appropriated. They are yours." "Thank you so much, sir. But I no longer am
in need of anything, for I am going to die with my
brother." "What is that? I do not comprehend your
decision." "When a tree is brought to the ground by
the woodsman, can the branches continue to live?" "But if your brother was a criminal, you
have nothing to reproach yourself with." "That may be true, but nevertheless I am
determined to leave this life with the brother I have
always loved and with whom I have always lived." And
San-Syeng found it useless to endeavor to dissuade
Su-Yeng from his fatal purpose. Before returning to the Capital,
San-Houni's son visited several more of the provinces,
looking after the King's business. When his mission was
concluded, he sought audience with the King for the
purpose of reporting what he had seen, heard, and done.
The Queen was a patient and attentive listener while the
young General was telling the story o'f his adventures.
However, when San-Syeng had finished speaking, Cheng-Si,
with a sob in her voice, cried : "Oh, you are so much happier than I !" Her strength failed her and she slipped
from her seat to the floor. Those in the Royal Chamber
crowded about the prostrate Queen — at a respectful
distance, however — who was not long in regaining her
consciousness. Thereupon San-Syeng asked her tenderly,
as he bowed before her, what had been the cause of her
sudden swoon. "Alas !" mourned Cheng-Si. "It has been
three years since I have seen my father, and in all that
time I have had no word of him. That is why I am so sad
and down-hearted." The King and his General assured her that
they would use all possible means within their power to
find the Queen's father. The Queen's pretty and shapely head was bowed in deep meditation,
when suddenly she cried : "Well, let's collect all the blind men in
the Kingdom; invite them to a big feast. I'm going to
give every one of them a little token." "Majesty," replied SamSyeng, "it shall
happen as you have wished." No time was lost; orders were issued to
every Mandarin to send every blind man in his
jurisdiction to the Capital. And thus it came to pass
that ChengSi collected all the blind men of Korea in
order to givt them a token. But more anon, for here endeth the ninth
step of our legend. X MANY months had come and gone since the day
when the unfortunate and broken-hearted Sun-Yen had seen
his daughter pass away to certain death. He led a
wretched existence — his strength being sustained only
by the promise of the disciple that his sight would be
restored to him at the end of three years. But the
allotted time had passed and the poor victim of
Ja-Jo-Mi, the unscrupulous, had not recovered his sight.
His dejection was pitiful to behold, and he awaited with
Impatience the death that would free him from his
constant misery. " Now, one day Sun-Yen was disturbed in the
midst of his morbid meditations by the arrival at his
poor dwelling of the Mandarin of the province. "The King," declared this dignitary,
"desires to assemble all the blind men of the Kingdom at
a banquet. You must go to the Capital." "My strength will never permit me to make
such a long journey," replied Sun-Yen. "As It Is, I can
scarcely take a few steps from my own door." "You need not be troubled about that. I
will provide you with a horse and guide." ''I thank you from the bottom of my heart,
but is it really necessary to spend so much on my
account?" "It is the King's order. Everything is
prepared and you can start this very moment." Sun-Yen was easily persuaded. A few days
and he was in the Capital. At the orders of San-Syeng, an elaborate
and tasty feast had been prepared. The ladies of the
Court had been instructed to see that nothing was
lacking for the comfort of the blind men who had come
from all comers of Korea. They watched over them and
came to their assisltance when — on account of their
blindness — they were awkward and clumsy. The banquet
was nearing an end when Sun-Yen arrived — tired and
travel-stained. The servants led him to one of the
ladies who could not conceal a grimace of disgust when
she saw him. In fact, the old gentleman did present a
very disagreeable appearance to the eye. The lady made a
disparaging remark which Sun-Yen overheard and to which
he replied: "I am well aware of what you are saying,
but kindly listen to what I have to say. The actions and
outer garb of men may differ much, but good hearts and
good manners should be in the bosoms of us all. The
wicked and crafty often conceal a cowardly and vile
disposition beneath a beautiful exterior. People of
wisdom pay no attention to form, but probe to the bottom
where kindness and gentleness often abide. When you see
an apple that looks attractive but contains a worm, you
may contemplate its beauty but you keep your mouth away.
Heaven alone is of lasting beauty and nothing beside it
matters. I have been deceived by a so-called religious
man who had no other intention but a selfish desire to
supplant his Master. "I planted a beautiful fruit tree and it
bore a single flower of exquisite beauty and charm. A
gust of wind swept this flower toward the sea where it
was peacefully rocked in the cradle of the waves. The
flower often thought of the poor tree from which it had
been stolen and the latter, shorn of its only child, was
slowly dying of a broken heart. "The crescent of the moon seems to emerge
from the waters. The fishes are frightened, believing
they see a golden hook on a gigantic line which will
lift them from their homes in the sea. "Every month the moon is hidden from our
sight for a brief season. Then soon its light reappears
in all its wondrous glory. But I, on the contrary, have
never seen the light of day since I was stricken by
blindness. "For three years my eyes have shed tears
more abundant than the rain which comes from the
Heavens. My sighs are sadder than the night wind that
whistles through the forest tops." Concluding, the blind man said, with a
sigh: "If my lack of a comely appearance and a rich garb
displeases you, put me in a corner by myself, please." The lady was surprised to hear such
profound and poetic speech from the mouth of this old
man. She begged his pardon for having treated him with
so little respect. At the request of Sun-Yen he was
placed at a table by himself. While he was eating, the lady went to the
Queen and repeated to her the strange speech of the
blind visitor. Cheng-Si was very much struck by the
recital. She told her impressions to her husband and
then expressed a desire to have all the blind men in the
Palace pass before her — one by one. "I wish to make a present to each one," she
said. Immediately, the long file began to form,
Sun-Yen being the last of the line. When he stood before
the Queen, the lady said : "Majesty, here is the blind man whose
startling words I brought you." Cheng-Si summoned the old man closer and
said to him: "Why do you express such radical views
against our government, our religion and the world?" "Because, my Queen, the world and religion
and the government have caused me evils without number.
I was powerful and I was exiled. I had the best of wives
and I lost her. I became blind and my only consolation,
a little daughter, was taken away. She furnished a
beautiful example of filial love, sacrificing her life
on the promise that I would regain my sight. The poor
girl is dead and I am still deprived of the light of
day." These words moved Cheng-Si profoundly for
in this sordid old man she recognized her father. She
uttered a cry. "Don't you know Cheng-Si?" "My daughter,"
stammered Sun-Yen, and instantly his eyes opened and he
saw before him the daughter that he had thought forever
lost. The prediction of the disciple was at last
fulfilled and under these happy circumstances, shaken by
emotion and joy, father and daughter fell into each
other's arms. The King, a witness of this scene — to him
incomprehensible — did not delay long in finding out the
cause, and he cried: "Stop the banquet. This requires no
witnesses." When alone with her father and her husband,
Cheng-Si told the King the story of her family. Sun-Yen was completely transformed with
delight as he heard his daughter speaking. When she
had finished her story he asked, "How did you
escape death? How did you come to marry the King?"
So Cheng-Si told her father of her
adventures from the time of her embarkation on the
merchant's vessel up to her arrival at the Capital with
the King. "Then," cried Syn-Yen, "it was San-Syeng
who saved you?" "Yes, father." "What's he doing? Where is he?" "The King has appointed him General. I
shall have him brought to you." When San-Syeng arrived, Sun-Yen asked him :
"What was your father's name?" "San-Houni." On hearing this name, Sun-Yen embraced the
young man, crying, "Oh, son of my dearest friend, tell
me quickly where your father is." "Alas, he is no longer in the world. He was
exiled when you were, but he was murdered by Su-Rung,
the thief, before reaching Ko-Kum-To. He sleeps with his
ancestors." "What, he is dead?" cried the old man,
bursting into tears. San-Syeng's eyes also moistened at the
mention of the father whom he had never known. The King offered them a few words of
condolence and said: "You shall be my Prime Minister,"
indicating Sun-Yen. The old man accepted this
responsible charge with a bow and a few well chosen
words of gratitude. "Now, proceed with the banquet," said the
Queen. The other blind men had been informed of
what had taken place and a few among them envied the
good fortune of Sun-Yen. "Alas," they cried, "We cannot even see the
recipient of this good fortune." Sun-Yen the benevolent, spoke to them in a
gentle tone and in the name of the King invited them to
stayseveral days at the Capital, and the blind men, you
may believe, accepted with joy, for they knew they would
be well taken care of. The new Prime Minister was not long in
assuming his office. The King constantly summoned him to
his councils. Now it came to pass one day that he sent
for him and said, "I am intending to lead an army
against Jin-Han. My father suffered a severe defeat
while attacking that country and it is my duty to avenge
him. What do you think of it?" "Sire," replied Sun-Yen, "May I have
permission to reflect upon this matter for a few days
before giving you my opinion?" The same day, San-Syeng questioned the
King's father-in-law upon the subject of Ja-Jo-Mi and
SuRung. The young General was thirsting for revenge. He
expected to find Sun-Yen in a similar frame of mind but
the Prime Minister spoke to him as he had done to the
King, "You will know my decision in a few days. I
must consider this." When he was alone Sun-Yen considered the
problem from every angle. Although misfortunes a-plenty had been his
share, he did not hold any resentment against humanity.
He felt a great tolerance for his most bitter enemies.
"Of what good is revenge," he thought. "What will it
profit us to declare war which sooner or later will
bring reprisals?" Inspired by such sentiments, the Prime
Minister went to the Sovereign. "Sire," he said, "do you
not believe that it would be advisable to know what your
subjects think of this war before undertaking the
campaign?" "Assuredly," replied the King. "I would
gladly be informed upon that question, but how can we
learn the opinion of all the Koreans?" "That will be very easy, sire. Have a grand
meeting of your people here at the Capital. Their
sentiment will be the sentiment of the country at large.
I shall have a few words to say, and then if you persist
in your intentions, we shall begin the war." The King approved Sun-Yen's suggestion and
orders were issued that an immense feast be prepared.
Hundreds of tables were decorated and filled with food.
The guests were to be divided into five groups : the
Royal Family, the Governors, the Army, the common people
and the criminals and other unfit. The repast, the first
of this kind in all Korea, was a merry one. Before the
guests separated, Sun-Yen asked for silence, and in a
powerful voice pronounced the following words : "By virtue of my office as Prime Minister,
I have taken it upon myself to put one question to all
of you. Our Master, the King, wishes to undertake an
expedition against Jin-Han to avenge his father's
defeat. Is this expedition opportune ? To me, war is the
worst of evils. It causes destruction beyond measure,
and it is impossible to count the innocent ones who
perish on the battlefield and at home. What is the cause
of your heavy taxes if not the need of maintaining a
large army? "With peace all is different. The public
welfare increases. Mankind, created to love and not to
slaughter, may enter into relations which will increase
mutual happiness. Nature furnishes us an example of
peace, does it not? When we see a ferocious dog on the
highway attacking another dog, incapable of defending
itself, we hasten to help the weaker. Why should we be
more cruel with our fellow men than with our animals?
Perhaps the stronger dog will always seek to oppress the
weaker, but are we not superior beings and do we not
possess reason which teaches tolerance and mercy to our
neighbors? Therefore, it is my opinion, sire, that we
should not declare war. "I do not wish the punishment of our guilty
neighbors although several of them have done me a great
deal of harm. Let us pardon them. May this example serve
as a lesson to those peoples who have similar wicked
thoughts." These words met with unanimous approbation.
Every one seemed to be of Sun-Yen's opinion and loud
shouts of approval went up from the crowd. "What
happiness is ours! We are like the grass which the
Springtime brings to life, like the beneficial rain
after a long drought." From the tremendous crowd arose
cries of gladness which were a token of thanks, a hymn
of joy and a feryent prayer for the future of the land.
'Twas a happy epoch for our country.
Content reigned ever)rwhere. Under the benevolent
influence of Sun-Yen, everybody in Korea worked and
lived in peace. One day the Prime Minister disappeared. He
could not be found. Possibly he had been carried to
Heaven in a cloud — to his last and well-deserved home
with his ancestors. For it has been proclaimed by The Great
Teacher and Venerable Philosopher from the depths of his
Wisdom, that all things having the appearance of Evil
are transient and that Goodness will overcome and Virtue
triumph. So — having passed through the ten stages
of its life — our legend here cometh to an end. |