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 office-holders 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 Cho-To. 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 Su-Rung. 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 Su-Rung? 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
Ja-Jo-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 circumstances for the
carrying out of his project.
* * * * *
_Here endeth the fifth stage of our legend._
VI
[Illustration]
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 experienced 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 sea 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 unlooked for chance of salvation. She allowed
herself 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 the direction
whence the sunlight came. Her way was soon blocked by a pile of dirt
which she painfully dug aside with her own hands. Presently she had
made an opening large enough to admit her slender body. Drawing herself
up through the hole she 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
close 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
dreaming. 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! 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 Cheng-Si’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 reverie, 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 portion 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 burn 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
[Illustration]
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. San-Houni 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. San-Syeng 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 flame.
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: