[Illustration: ㆁ ㅎ ㄱ ㅋ ㅁ ㄴ ㄹ ㅂ ㅍ ㅅ ㄷ ㅊ ㅌ ㅈ
아 야 ㆍ 어 여 으 이 오 요 우 유
]
WINNING BUDDHA’S
SMILE
_A Korean Legend_
ADAPTED AND TRANSLATED BY
CHARLES M. TAYLOR
[Illustration]
BOSTON
RICHARD G. BADGER
THE GORHAM PRESS
COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY RICHARD G. BADGER
All Rights Reserved
Made in the United States of America
The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A.
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 Musée 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.
I
[Illustration]
WINNING BUDDHA’S SMILE
I
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 Sun-Yen, 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 the
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. Sun-Yen 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 leaving 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 I 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 hands 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. San-Houni, 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
[Illustration]
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 still 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 impossible 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. To-day, 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!”
“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-Si 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 ancient
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! 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!
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 him 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. Sun-Yen
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._
III
[Illustration]
III
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 nerves. 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 San-Houni 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!”
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 Su-Rung 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 Su-Rung, 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 where 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! 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 when 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
[Illustration]
IV
When the vapors of intoxication had cleared from Su-Rung’s 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.”