very dark and small. Several persons were already occupying it but it
was too dark to distinguish any of them clearly. He joined one of the
inmates in a loud protest for some light--the inevitable result of
which would be to bring the jailer, who indeed did come running to see
what their outcries portended. He stepped between the two men to quiet
them.
“I shall report you to the Mandarin,” he declared, turning to
San-Houni’s son. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“San-Syeng.”
Yeng-So-Yei and Yeng-Si were naturally very much surprised at hearing
this name. They whispered to each other:
“That’s my son’s name, sure enough,” said Yeng-Si, “but it cannot
possibly be he for he is no thief.”
The night passed without San-Syeng being recognized by the two women.
At daybreak, they were startled by the loud neighing of a horse and
Yeng-So-Yei, who had gone to the narrow opening which served as a
window to their cell, cried:
“Mother, come here. That horse which has been neighing is the very one
which I gave my husband, or at least it resembles it very much.”
Yeng-Si, by way of reply, moaned:
“Oh, where can my poor son be?”
Thereupon, San-Syeng approached his mother and inquired the cause
of her grief. Yeng-Si told him of the many sad experiences she had
undergone since her departure into exile with San-Houni up to her
arrest and condemnation to death by the Mandarin of San-Jon.
When she had finished, the young man in turn told his story. His
concluding words were--“I have on my arm the name of San-Syeng, but I
do not know how it is that I bear these characters which I have tried
in vain to remove.”
Yeng-So-Yei who had been listening to the conversation could restrain
herself no longer and cried:
“Tell me, what was your wife’s name and where did she live?”
“Yeng-So-Yei was my wife’s name; she lived in the village of Yen-Yu,
but I found her home burned to the ground.”
“Oh, my dear San-Syeng,” cried the young woman. “Have I found you at
last,” and turning to Yeng-Si, “Mother mine, here is your son!”
Their greetings naturally consumed some time--their hearts were glad
and they were not ashamed to display their emotion. And yet the two
women felt bitter and sad to think that soon they were about to die
after having touched the threshold of that happiness which their
reunion promised. San-Syeng ultimately succeeded in calming them. He
enjoyed, he said, certain extraordinary powers of which he intended to
make instant use.
Presently the young General’s orderly visited his master’s prison where
he received orders to announce to the village the arrival of San-Syeng,
a special envoy of the King, and to arrest the Mandarin at once.
’Twas but a brief while and the orderly came to report to his master
that his commands had been carried out. Meantime, the town officials
had rushed to the prison where they surrounded San-Syeng and paid him
their homage. At their urging, San-Houni’s son left the prison and
betook himself to the town-hall.
Yeng-So-Yei, catching sight of the horse she had given her husband, ran
to the stately looking steed and imprinted a kiss on the end of its
nose. The animal seemed to understand her message, for its eyes as they
turned toward the young wife, seemed moist with tears.
“No tears now, my good fellow,” laughed Yeng-So-Yei. “You are happier
than I for you can continually accompany him whom I love, while I am to
be separated from him.”
San-Syeng, a witness of his wife’s gentle act, tenderly drew her to his
heart, and kissing her hair said:
“Henceforth we shall never part from each other.”
San-Syeng, his cup overflowing with happiness at having found his
mother and his wife at one and the same time, desired to be told about
his father, and, at his urgent request, Yeng-Si, with tears in her eyes
and a faltering voice, related to him the misfortunes of San-Houni.
“Don’t worry, mother dear,” pleaded San-Syeng. “After so much
suffering, you are going to have happiness in abundance. I shall do
everything I can to make life pleasant for you. Suppose that first we
go visit Ou-Pung, the sister, who was so kind to you.”
This suggestion was very pleasing to Yeng-Si and they started on their
journey to the temple of Ro-Ja. When they were passing by the lake
which recalled so many bitter memories, Yeng-Si bade her son to pause.
The little party halted while she told the melancholy tale of the
devotion of the old lady who had sacrificed herself without hope of
recompense or reward.
“Mother,” declared San-Syeng, “I am going to place a memorial in this
spot to perpetuate the sublime sacrifice of your poor companion.” The
General’s orderly was at once commissioned to employ workmen who were
to begin immediately to erect a suitable tribute to the old lady’s
memory.
Before reaching the shrine of Ro-Ja, Yeng-Si related to her son,
while they were passing by the grove of bamboo, which figures so
conspicuously in our story, under what pitiful circumstances he had
been born.
Ou-Pung, the sister, did not count upon seeing Yeng-Si and her
daughter-in-law so soon again. “This is my son,” proudly declared the
nun’s former companion.
San-Syeng showered warm and profuse thanks upon the sister for all the
attentions and kindnesses she had shown to Yeng-Si.
“Do not thank me, sir,” replied the sister. “I have only done my duty
in sheltering an unfortunate woman. Buddha has taken pity upon her and
has rewarded her piety and her long suffering by permitting her to find
you.”
Under the supervision of the orderly, a magnificent pagoda was rapidly
built by the water’s edge. Upon it could be read this inscription:
WITH EVERLASTING GRATITUDE TO
THE BENEFACTOR OF MY MOTHER.
Ou-Pung consented to go with her visitors to see the temple that
had just been completed. San-Syeng had directed that an altar for
sacrifices be placed before the pagoda and that Su-Rung be arrested and
brought to him. All of the thief’s property was to be seized.
This very moment, strange to say, Su-Rung was telling his brother,
Su-Yeng, of a peculiar dream he had had the preceding night. He had
seen himself surrounded by tongues of flame and his head, severed from
his body, was boiling in a large copper kettle.
“It signifies that your end is near and that you will die through the
will of man,” asserted Su-Yeng. “Why must you continue to lead this
sinful life? It would be more fitting that you experience remorse and
fear for an envoy of the King is in the neighborhood.”
Scarcely had Su-Yeng uttered these words, when there came a loud
rapping at the door. After a brief struggle, Su-Rung was reduced to
helplessness and securely bound. All the stolen objects that could be
found were collected, thrown in a heap, and the party turned their
steps toward the pagoda.
When the criminal was brought face to face with the young General, the
latter demanded:
“My name is San-Syeng. You know me, don’t you?”
Su-Rung, much surprised, could not imagine that his adopted son had
been elevated to the dignity of a King’s envoy, so he replied, coolly:
“Your name is not unfamiliar to me. My son was called San-Syeng.”
“You have a son, then?”
“Yes, he left me three years ago, to go to the Capital and since that
day I have had no news of him.”
“Well, you may know that I am the man of whom you boast being the
father. But I am not the son of a murderer. I have found my mother
who has told me about my birth and your infamous crimes. There, do
you recognize my mother?” added San-Syeng, indicating Yeng-Si to the
brigand with a gesture of his hand.
Yeng-Si, who had been watching Su-Rung attentively for some time, burst
out with:
“You vile wretch, so you’re still alive! Thank Heaven it is granted me
to satisfy my thirst for vengeance. My son, there stands your father’s
murderer. Kill him, strike him down, with your own hand! I could tear
the very eyes from his head!”
San-Syeng’s mother was beside herself and he sought to calm her,
representing that he had no authority to put any man to death without
an order from the King. Yeng-Si did not insist; her mind was crowded
with other more charitable thoughts when, in company with her friends,
she knelt in the beautiful pagoda to pray for the soul of the martyred
woman to whom she owed her life.
Su-Rung was immediately dispatched to the Capital under heavy guard.
When the troops and their prisoner were about to depart, San-Syeng,
turning to Su-Yeng, said:
“You have always been an honest, loyal man. Take these things which
your brother has unlawfully appropriated. They are yours.”
“Thank you so much, sir. But I no longer am in need of anything, for I
am going to die with my brother.”
“What is that? I do not comprehend your decision.”
“When a tree is brought to the ground by the woodsman, can the branches
continue to live?”
“But if your brother was a criminal, you have nothing to reproach
yourself with.”
“That may be true, but nevertheless I am determined to leave this
life with the brother I have always loved and with whom I have always
lived.” And San-Syeng found it useless to endeavor to dissuade Su-Yeng
from his fatal purpose.
Before returning to the Capital, San-Houni’s son visited several more
of the provinces, looking after the King’s business. When his mission
was concluded, he sought audience with the King for the purpose of
reporting what he had seen, heard, and done. The Queen was a patient
and attentive listener while the young General was telling the story
of his adventures. However, when San-Syeng had finished speaking,
Cheng-Si, with a sob in her voice, cried:
“Oh, you are so much happier than I!”
Her strength failed her and she slipped from her seat to the floor.
Those in the Royal Chamber crowded about the prostrate Queen--at
a respectful distance, however--who was not long in regaining her
consciousness. Thereupon San-Syeng asked her tenderly, as he bowed
before her, what had been the cause of her sudden swoon.
“Alas!” mourned Cheng-Si. “It has been three years since I have seen my
father, and in all that time I have had no word of him. That is why I
am so sad and down-hearted.”
The King and his General assured her that they would use all possible
means within their power to find the Queen’s father. The Queen’s pretty
and shapely head was bowed in deep meditation, when suddenly she cried:
“Well, let’s collect all the blind men in the Kingdom; invite them to a
big feast. I’m going to give every one of them a little token.”
“Majesty,” replied San-Syeng, “it shall happen as you have wished.”
No time was lost; orders were issued to every Mandarin to send every
blind man in his jurisdiction to the Capital. And thus it came to pass
that Cheng-Si collected all the blind men of Korea in order to give
them a token.
* * * * *
_But more anon, for here endeth the ninth step of our legend._
X
[Illustration]
X
Many months had come and gone since the day when the unfortunate and
broken-hearted Sun-Yen had seen his daughter pass away to certain
death. He led a wretched existence--his strength being sustained only
by the promise of the disciple that his sight would be restored to him
at the end of three years. But the allotted time had passed and the
poor victim of Ja-Jo-Mi, the unscrupulous, had not recovered his sight.
His dejection was pitiful to behold, and he awaited with impatience the
death that would free him from his constant misery.
Now, one day Sun-Yen was disturbed in the midst of his morbid
meditations by the arrival at his poor dwelling of the Mandarin of the
province.
“The King,” declared this dignitary, “desires to assemble all the blind
men of the Kingdom at a banquet. You must go to the Capital.”
“My strength will never permit me to make such a long journey,” replied
Sun-Yen. “As it is, I can scarcely take a few steps from my own door.”
“You need not be troubled about that. I will provide you with a horse
and guide.”
“I thank you from the bottom of my heart, but is it really necessary to
spend so much on my account?”
“It is the King’s order. Everything is prepared and you can start this
very moment.”
Sun-Yen was easily persuaded. A few days and he was in the Capital.
At the orders of San-Syeng, an elaborate and tasty feast had been
prepared. The ladies of the Court had been instructed to see that
nothing was lacking for the comfort of the blind men who had come
from all corners of Korea. They watched over them and came to their
assistance when--on account of their blindness--they were awkward and
clumsy. The banquet was nearing an end when Sun-Yen arrived--tired and
travel-stained. The servants led him to one of the ladies who could
not conceal a grimace of disgust when she saw him. In fact, the old
gentleman did present a very disagreeable appearance to the eye. The
lady made a disparaging remark which Sun-Yen overheard and to which he
replied:
“I am well aware of what you are saying, but kindly listen to what I
have to say. The actions and outer garb of men may differ much, but
good hearts and good manners should be in the bosoms of us all. The
wicked and crafty often conceal a cowardly and vile disposition beneath
a beautiful exterior. People of wisdom pay no attention to form, but
probe to the bottom where kindness and gentleness often abide. When
you see an apple that looks attractive but contains a worm, you may
contemplate its beauty but you keep your mouth away. Heaven alone is of
lasting beauty and nothing beside it matters. I have been deceived by a
so-called religious man who had no other intention but a selfish desire
to supplant his Master.
“I planted a beautiful fruit tree and it bore a single flower of
exquisite beauty and charm. A gust of wind swept this flower toward
the sea where it was peacefully rocked in the cradle of the waves. The
flower often thought of the poor tree from which it had been stolen and
the latter, shorn of its only child, was slowly dying of a broken heart.
“The crescent of the moon seems to emerge from the waters. The fishes
are frightened, believing they see a golden hook on a gigantic line
which will lift them from their homes in the sea.
“Every month the moon is hidden from our sight for a brief season.
Then soon its light reappears in all its wondrous glory. But I, on the
contrary, have never seen the light of day since I was stricken by
blindness.
“For three years my eyes have shed tears more abundant than the rain
which comes from the Heavens. My sighs are sadder than the night wind
that whistles through the forest tops.”
Concluding, the blind man said, with a sigh: “If my lack of a comely
appearance and a rich garb displeases you, put me in a corner by
myself, please.”
The lady was surprised to hear such profound and poetic speech from the
mouth of this old man. She begged his pardon for having treated him
with so little respect. At the request of Sun-Yen he was placed at a
table by himself.
While he was eating, the lady went to the Queen and repeated to her the
strange speech of the blind visitor.
Cheng-Si was very much struck by the recital. She told her impressions
to her husband and then expressed a desire to have all the blind men in
the Palace pass before her--one by one.
“I wish to make a present to each one,” she said.
Immediately, the long file began to form, Sun-Yen being the last of the
line. When he stood before the Queen, the lady said:
“Majesty, here is the blind man whose startling words I brought you.”
Cheng-Si summoned the old man closer and said to him:
“Why do you express such radical views against our government, our
religion and the world?”
“Because, my Queen, the world and religion and the government have
caused me evils without number. I was powerful and I was exiled. I
had the best of wives and I lost her. I became blind and my only
consolation, a little daughter, was taken away. She furnished a
beautiful example of filial love, sacrificing her life on the promise
that I would regain my sight. The poor girl is dead and I am still
deprived of the light of day.”
These words moved Cheng-Si profoundly for in this sordid old man she
recognized her father. She uttered a cry.
“Don’t you know Cheng-Si?”
“My daughter,” stammered Sun-Yen, and instantly his eyes opened and he
saw before him the daughter that he had thought forever lost.
The prediction of the disciple was at last fulfilled and under these
happy circumstances, shaken by emotion and joy, father and daughter
fell into each other’s arms.
The King, a witness of this scene--to him incomprehensible--did not
delay long in finding out the cause, and he cried:
“Stop the banquet. This requires no witnesses.”
When alone with her father and her husband, Cheng-Si told the King the
story of her family.
Sun-Yen was completely transformed with delight as he heard his
daughter speaking. When she had finished her story he asked, “How did
you escape death? How did you come to marry the King?”
So Cheng-Si told her father of her adventures from the time of her
embarkation on the merchant’s vessel up to her arrival at the Capital
with the King.
“Then,” cried Sun-Yen, “it was San-Syeng who saved you?”
“Yes, father.”
“What’s he doing? Where is he?”
“The King has appointed him General. I shall have him brought to you.”
When San-Syeng arrived, Sun-Yen asked him:
“What was your father’s name?”
“San-Houni.”
On hearing this name, Sun-Yen embraced the young man, crying, “Oh, son
of my dearest friend, tell me quickly where your father is.”
“Alas, he is no longer in the world. He was exiled when you were, but
he was murdered by Su-Rung, the thief, before reaching Ko-Kum-To. He
sleeps with his ancestors.”
“What, he is dead?” cried the old man, bursting into tears.
San-Syeng’s eyes also moistened at the mention of the father whom he
had never known.
The King offered them a few words of condolence and said: “You shall
be my Prime Minister,” indicating Sun-Yen. The old man accepted this
responsible charge with a bow and a few well chosen words of gratitude.
“Now, proceed with the banquet,” said the Queen.
The other blind men had been informed of what had taken place and a few
among them envied the good fortune of Sun-Yen.
“Alas,” they cried, “We cannot even see the recipient of this good
fortune.”
Sun-Yen the benevolent, spoke to them in a gentle tone and in the name
of the King invited them to stay several days at the Capital, and the
blind men, you may believe, accepted with joy, for they knew they would
be well taken care of.
The new Prime Minister was not long in assuming his office. The King
constantly summoned him to his councils. Now it came to pass one day
that he sent for him and said, “I am intending to lead an army against
Jin-Han. My father suffered a severe defeat while attacking that
country and it is my duty to avenge him. What do you think of it?”
“Sire,” replied Sun-Yen, “May I have permission to reflect upon this
matter for a few days before giving you my opinion?”
The same day, San-Syeng questioned the King’s father-in-law upon the
subject of Ja-Jo-Mi and Su-Rung. The young General was thirsting for
revenge. He expected to find Sun-Yen in a similar frame of mind but the
Prime Minister spoke to him as he had done to the King.
“You will know my decision in a few days. I must consider this.”
When he was alone Sun-Yen considered the problem from every angle.
Although misfortunes a-plenty had been his share, he did not hold any
resentment against humanity. He felt a great tolerance for his most
bitter enemies. “Of what good is revenge,” he thought. “What will it
profit us to declare war which sooner or later will bring reprisals?”
Inspired by such sentiments, the Prime Minister went to the Sovereign.
“Sire,” he said, “do you not believe that it would be advisable to know
what your subjects think of this war before undertaking the campaign?”
“Assuredly,” replied the King. “I would gladly be informed upon that
question, but how can we learn the opinion of all the Koreans?”
“That will be very easy, sire. Have a grand meeting of your people here
at the Capital. Their sentiment will be the sentiment of the country at
large. I shall have a few words to say, and then if you persist in your
intentions, we shall begin the war.”
The King approved Sun-Yen’s suggestion and orders were issued that an
immense feast be prepared. Hundreds of tables were decorated and filled
with food. The guests were to be divided into five groups: the Royal
Family, the Governors, the Army, the common people and the criminals
and other unfit. The repast, the first of this kind in all Korea, was a
merry one. Before the guests separated, Sun-Yen asked for silence, and
in a powerful voice pronounced the following words:
“By virtue of my office as Prime Minister, I have taken it upon myself
to put one question to all of you. Our Master, the King, wishes to
undertake an expedition against Jin-Han to avenge his father’s defeat.
Is this expedition opportune? To me, war is the worst of evils. It
causes destruction beyond measure, and it is impossible to count the
innocent ones who perish on the battlefield and at home. What is the
cause of your heavy taxes if not the need of maintaining a large army?
“With peace all is different. The public welfare increases. Mankind,
created to love and not to slaughter, may enter into relations which
will increase mutual happiness. Nature furnishes us an example of
peace, does it not? When we see a ferocious dog on the highway
attacking another dog, incapable of defending itself, we hasten to help
the weaker. Why should we be more cruel with our fellow men than with
our animals? Perhaps the stronger dog will always seek to oppress the
weaker, but are we not superior beings and do we not possess reason
which teaches tolerance and mercy to our neighbors? Therefore, it is my
opinion, sire, that we should not declare war.
“I do not wish the punishment of our guilty neighbors although several
of them have done me a great deal of harm. Let us pardon them. May this
example serve as a lesson to those peoples who have similar wicked
thoughts.”
These words met with unanimous approbation. Every one seemed to be of
Sun-Yen’s opinion and loud shouts of approval went up from the crowd.
“What happiness is ours! We are like the grass which the Springtime
brings to life, like the beneficial rain after a long drought.” From
the tremendous crowd arose cries of gladness which were a token of
thanks, a hymn of joy and a fervent prayer for the future of the land.
’Twas a happy epoch for our country. Content reigned everywhere. Under
the benevolent influence of Sun-Yen, everybody in Korea worked and
lived in peace.
* * * * *
One day the Prime Minister disappeared. He could not be found. Possibly
he had been carried to Heaven in a cloud--to his last and well-deserved
home with his ancestors.
* * * * *
_For it has been proclaimed by The Great Teacher and Venerable
Philosopher from the depths of his Wisdom, that all things having the
appearance of Evil are transient and that Goodness will overcome and
Virtue triumph._
* * * * *
_So--having passed through the ten stages of its life--our legend here
cometh to an end._
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
Page 79: “Governor’s” corrected to “Governors’”.
Page 97: “revery” corrected to “reverie”.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been left unchanged.