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 Chang-Yang. One day when he was chatting with
San-Syeng, 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 San-Syeng.
“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 hostile 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-Jo-Mi?” 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! 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
things--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. San-Syeng
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, Ja-Jo-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 effect 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 approved 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
[Illustration]
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 San-Syeng’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-So-Yei 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 well-meaning 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 his 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 do?”
Tears 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! Where are you?”
These words made a vivid impression on Yeng-So-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 how 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 daughter-in-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 San-Jon. 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 Yeng-So-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 Yeng-So-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. Yeng-Si 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-Syeng!” 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
[Illustration]
IX
On leaving the Capital, San-Syeng had a three-fold 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 home-coming. 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, San-Houni
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 Su-Rung 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.