Horrible excesses.... a royal desperado.... martial implements
proscribed.... another scapegrace.... general suffering.... taxes
increased.... emperor furious.... a general cleaning out.... the
kings.... beginning of the great Japanese depredations.... king
supplanted.... a memorial.... omens of the fall of the dynasty....
Buddhism ascendent.... a traitor falls.... costly festival....
trouble in China.... the rising Ming power.... restiveness under the
Mongol yoke.... Yi Whan-jo appears upon the stage.... genealogy....
place of origin.... Mongol adherents try to make trouble.... Mongol
power opposed.... coinage.... a new capital.... divination.... first
mention of founder of present dynasty.... alarming Japanese
raids....“the mighty fallen”.... a curious spectacle....“Red Head
robbers”.... they invade Koryŭ.... a council.... P‘yŭng-yang
taken.... panic at the capital “Red Heads” beaten.... king favors a
Mongol pretender.... the dreaded Japanese.... king removes to
Han-yang.
With the year 1329 begins a series of events that almost baffles
description. The worst excesses of Rome in her decline could not have
shown more horrible scenes than those which made the Koryŭ dynasty a
by-word for succeeding generations. The king’s cousin, who was king of
Mukden, was always slandering him to the emperor, for he was itching for
the crown of Koryŭ himself. Meanwhile the king was building “mountains”
and pleasure-houses without end and his hunters were his favorites by
day and the courtezans his boon companions by night. His son was in
Peking learning the ways of the Mongol court and preparing to prove as
abandoned a character as his father. In 1331, at the request of the
king, the Emperor made the young man king. The cares of office seem to
have interfered with his debaucheries. The prince’s name was Chung,
posthumous title Ch‘ung-hyé. He was sent to Song-do and his father
called to Peking. This was well, for the young man hated his father
intensely. No sooner had he assumed the reins of power then he ran to
ten times the excess of riot that even his father had done. The whole of
his newly acquired power was applied to the gratification of his
depraved appetites and within a year so outrageous were his excesses
that the emperor had to recall him in disgrace to Peking and send back
the father to administer the government. This added fuel to the son’s
hatred of his father.
The reinstated king continued his old courses and added to his former
record another desperate crime, in that he frequently stopped a marriage
ceremony and forcibly carried away the bride to become a member of his
harem. It was a marvel that the people did not rise and drive such a
villain from the country. When he made a trip to Peking in 1336 the
emperor made him carry his son back to Koryŭ. He was such a desperate
scapegrace that Peking itself was not large enough to hold him.
The following year the emperor promulgated a singular order and one
whose cause it is difficult to imagine. It was to the effect that all
swords, bows and other martial implements be put away from all Koryŭ
houses and that no one be allowed to ride a horse; but all must go
afoot. This may have been a precautionary measure to prevent the
acquiring of skill in the use of weapons or in horsemanship, so as to
render less probable the future use of such acquirements in an attack
upon China.
At last, in 1340, the king died and it looked as if the desperate
character who for one short year had played fast and loose with Koryŭ
royalty would become king. A courtier, Cho Chŭk, surrounded the palace
with soldiers with a view to assassinating the young man who had not yet
received investiture from the emperor, and at the same time a message
was sent to the deceased king’s cousin, the king of Mukden, summoning
him to Song-do. The young Prince, bad as he was, had a considerable
following, and a desperate fight ensued in which he was wounded in the
shoulder. But Cho Chŭk’s forces were routed and he himself caught and
beheaded. The emperor learning of this through the Prince’s enemies,
called him to Peking and took him to task for killing Cho Chŭk, the
friend of the king of Muk-den; but the facts soon came out, and the
Prince was exhonerated and sent back to Song-do, having been invested
with the royal insignia. Unlike his father and grand-father, he did not
marry a Mongol Princess but took as his Queen a Koryŭ woman. He likewise
took a large number of concubines. Not content with this he had illicit
commerce with two of his father’s wives. The almost incredible statement
is made in the records that on one occasion, feigning drunkenness, he
entered the harem of his dead father and had the women seized and
violated them. They tried to escape to China but he prevented them from
securing horses for the purpose. His profligate life was the curse of
the country. Nothing was too horrible, too unnatural, too beastly for
him to do, if it afforded him amusement. He sent 20,000 pieces of cloth
together with gold and silver to purchase many things of foreign
manufacture, but what these were we are not informed. One of his
amusements was the throwing of wooden balls at a mark but when this lost
piquancy he substituted men for the target and frequently engaged in
this truly humane pastime. General distress prevailed. Many died of
starvation and many ran away to distant places and many became monks in
order to escape the king’s tyranny. Sons cut off their hair and sold it
in order to secure food for aged parents. The prisons were full to
overflowing. Suicide was a thing of daily occurence.
The king sent to Kang-neung to levy a tax on ginseng, but as none could
be found the messenger levied on the well-to-do gentlemen of the place
and this was so successful that the king widened the scope of his
operations and made it as hard to live in the country as at the capital.
Everything that could possibly be taxed was put on the roll of his
exactions. No form of industry but was crushed to the ground by his
unmitigated greed. When amusements failed he tried all sorts of
experiments to awaken new sensations. He would go out and beat the drum,
to the sound of which the workmen were building the palace. This
building had iron doors, windows and roof. If the king’s pander heard of
a beautiful slave anywhere she was seized and brought to this palace
which was also her prison and where she spent her time in weaving in
company with many other women who had been similarly “honored.” Often by
night the king would wander about the city and enter any man’s house and
violate any of its inmates.
When this all came to the ears of the emperor he was furious. An envoy
was sent to Song-do with orders to bring the wretch bound to Peking. The
king came out to meet this envoy but the Mongol raised his foot and gave
the wretch a kick that sent him sprawling on the ground. He was then
bound and locked up and after things had been put in some sort of shape
in the capital the king was carried away to Peking to answer to the
emperor. Many of the king’s intimates were killed and many fled for
their lives. A hundred and twenty concubines were liberated and sent to
their homes.
When the king was brought before the emperor the latter exclaimed “So
you call yourself a king. You were set over the Koryŭ people but you
tore off all their flesh. If your blood should become food for all the
dogs in the world justice would still be unsatisfied. But I do not care
to kill any man. I will send you to a place from which you will not soon
return.” So he was placed on a bier, the symbol of humiliation, and sent
away to Ké-yang “twenty thousand _li_ away,” so the records say. No man
went with him save his bearers. They carried him from village to village
like a dead man. He died on the journey at Ak-yang before reaching his
place of exile. When the people of Koryŭ heard of this there was general
rejoicing; and a proverb was made which runs, _Aya mangoji_. The _Aya_
refers to Ak-yang where he died and _mangoji_, freely translated, means
“damned.”
The heir to the throne of Koryŭ was a lad of eight years. The emperor
asked him, “Will you be like your father or like your mother?” The lad
replied, “Like my mother,” and thereupon he was proclaimed king of
Koryŭ. His posthumous title is Ch’ung-mok. Orders were sent to Song-do
to discharge all the servants and officials of the late king, and to put
an end to all the evils which had been fastened upon the people. The
iron palace was turned into a school. The examination laws were changed.
Heretofore the examination had been simply with a view to ascertaining
the candidate’s knowledge of the classics. Now it was made to include an
exegesis of obscure passages and exercises in penmanship. This was
followed by an essay on “What is the most important question of the
time.” The emperor also ordered the establishment of a new department,
to be called the Bureau of General Oversight.
The empress of China at this time seems to have been a Koryŭ woman and
her relatives, who abounded in the Koryŭ capital, expected to have their
own way in all matters. This new department, however, arrested and
imprisoned many of them and a number died in consequence. The empress
therefore sent a swift messenger demanding the reasons for this. The
reasons seem to have been good, for the matter was dropped. Of course
the young king was not of an age to guide the affairs of state in
person. We are left in ignorance as to what form of regency administered
the government for him.
In 1348 the boy king died and the question as to succession arose. The
king’s younger brother Chi was in Koryŭ at the time; but Keui, the son
of Ch‘ung-suk, the twenty-seventh monarch of the line, was in China. The
Koryŭ officials asked that Keui be made king, probably because he was of
a proper age to assume the responsibilities of royalty; but the emperor
refused, and the following year, 1349, Chi was made king at the age of
twelve, posthumous title Ch‘ung-jong. Keui, the unsuccessful candidate,
was married to a Mongol princess, perhaps as a consolation for his
disappointment.
With the year 1350 begins a series of Japanese depredations on the
coasts of Koryŭ which were destined to cover a period of half a century
and which, in their wantonness and brutality, remind us strongly of
similar expeditions of the Norse Vikings on the shores of western
Europe. In the second year of the young king these corsairs came, but
were driven off with a loss of 300 men. Soon, as if in revenge, over 100
Japanese boats were beached on the shores of Kyŭng-sang Province; the
government rice was seized and many villages wantonly burned.
That same year a kingdom called Ul-lam sent an envoy with gifts to the
king of Koryŭ.
In 1351 again the Japanese corsairs came and ravaged the islands off
Chul-la Province.
The emperor, for some reason not stated, decided to make Keui, his
son-in-law, king of Koryŭ. He was therefore proclaimed king at the
Mongol court and started for Song-do. This was the distinct wish of the
Koryŭ officials and of course the boy upon the throne was helpless. He
fled to Kang-wha and the next year was killed by poison, but by whose
hand administered or at whose instigation is neither known nor recorded.
This new king’s posthumous title is Kong-min.
The Japanese cared for none of these changes but steadily pursued their
ravages, gradually creeping up the western coast.
A Koryŭ man, Yi Săk, who had studied profoundly and had passed the civil
examinations in China, now returned to Koryŭ and memorialised the king
in reference to five special points; to wit, (1) The necessity of having
definite boundaries for the fields. (2) Defense against the Japanese
corsairs. (3) Making of implements of war. (4) The fostering of study
and learning. (5) The evils of Buddhism.
All during this reign, so say the records, there were signs and omens of
the fall of the dynasty. There were earthquakes, eclipses and comets;
worms ate the leaves of the pine trees in the capital, and as the pine
tree was the emblem of the dynasty this was ominous; red and black ants
had war among themselves; a well in the capital became boiling hot;
there was a shower of blood; for many days a fog like red fire hung over
the land; black spots were seen on the sun; there was a shower of white
horse hair three inches long; hail fell of the size of a man’s hand;
there was a tremendous avalanche at Puk-san, near the present Seoul.
These _ex post facto_ prophecies show the luxuriance of the oriental
imagination.
In spite of the Confucian tendency which had manifested itself Buddhism
had no intention of letting go its hold on the government, and we find
that in his second year the king took a Buddhist high priest as his
teacher, and thus the direction was given to his reign that tended to
hasten it toward its fall. He also conferred high positions upon
Buddhist monks and so alienated the good will of all the other
officials. This hostile feeling took definite shape when Cho Il-si
surrounded the palace with a band of soldiers, killed many of the
leaders of the party in power together with many of the relatives of the
Mongol empress, and announced himself prime minister. To screen himself
he told the king that it was not he who had caused the execution, but
two other men; and he even went to the extreme of putting to death two
of his confiding friends in order to give color to this statement. But
Cho Il-si had overestimated his strength and the king, by secret
negotiations, was soon able to decorate the end of a pole with his head.
Twelve of his accomplices were also killed.
As the Mongol empress was a Koryŭ woman, the maternal grandmother of the
crown prince of China was of course a Koryŭ woman. She was living in
state in Song-do when her grandson came from Peking to make her a visit.
It is said that in the festivities which graced this unusual occasion
5,100 pieces of silk were used in making artificial flowers. Such a
feast had never before been seen at the capital of Koryŭ, however
frequent they may have been at Peking.
The records state that in 1355 there was a great rebellion in China. We
must remember that between the years 1341 and 1368 affairs were in a
chaotic state in China. The last Mongol emperor, Tohan Timur, came to
the throne in 1333 and gave himself up to licentiousness and luxury. No
attention was paid to the filling of offices according to the
time-honored law of literary merit, but the best positions were given to
Mongols by pure favoritism. This caused widespread dissatisfaction among
the Chinese and from that time the doom of the Mongol dynasty was
sealed. In 1355 the low-born but brilliant leader Chu Yuan-chang, at the
head of the insurrectionary army, crossed the Yang-tse river and took
Nanking. This was the great rebellion spoken of in the Koryŭ annals and
soon an envoy arrived from Peking demanding aid in the shape of
soldiers. Twenty-three thousand men were sent on this forlorn hope. In
1356 a Mongol envoy brought incense to be burned in all the Koryŭ
monasteries, doubtless with a view to securing supernatural aid against
the rising Ming power. At the same time great uneasiness was again
caused by raids of the Japanese, which increased in frequency and
extent. One gang of robbers alone carried out of Kyŭng-sang Province, at
one time, 200 boat-loads of rice. This year also saw the Ming forces
pressing on toward Peking and driving the Mongols back step by step. As
the fortunes of the Mongols waned the loyalty of Koryŭ waned
accordingly. For the mass of the Koryŭ people, the Mongol yoke had never
been less than galling, and they hailed the signs of the times which
pointed toward her overthrow.
This tendency to restlessness under the Mongol yoke was shown when the
Mongol envoy was carrying the incense about the country to various
monasteries. Everywhere he treated the people like abject slaves and
trampled on their prejudices and rights. When he came to Chul-la
Province the governor promptly threw him into prison and put his son to
death. The Mongols in Peking were of course too busy with their own
troubles to attempt to chastise Koryŭ for this; and this very impunity
added impetus to the anti-Mongol feeling.
In this same year, 1356, we see the first rising of the cloud that was
soon to spread over the country and, breaking, clean the land of the
corruption which had so long been festering at her core. This event was
the coming to the capital of the father of the man who founded the
present dynasty, on the ruins of Koryŭ. This man was Yi Cha-ch‘un whose
posthumous title, given after the founding of this dynasty, was Whan-jo.
As his son founded this dynasty it will be fitting to inquire briefly
into his antecedents. His great-grandfather was Yi An-sa, a Koryŭ
official who died in 1274, and who was afterwards given the title
Mok-jo. His son was Yi Hăng-yi, born in Tŭk-wun in Ham-gyŭng Province,
who was compelled by the Mongols to take office under them while they
held possession of the north. His posthumous title is Ik-jo. His son was
Yi Ch‘un, born in Ham-heung in Ham-kyŭng Province, who held rank under
Koryŭ between 1340 and 1345. His posthumous title is To-jo. His son was
Yi Cha-ch‘un of whom we are now speaking. He was born in 1315 and at the
time of which we are writing he was made prefect of his native place,
Sang-sŭng, in Ham-gyŭng Province. This part of Koryŭ had been held by
the Mongols during the whole period of their occupation of Koryŭ until
their loosening grasp let it fall back into the hands of Koryŭ and the
king hastened to reorganise his government there.
The relatives of the Mongol empress still nursed the delusion that they
could do as they pleased in Koryŭ, secure in the possession of such
powerful friends at Peking. But they soon discovered their mistake, for
their misdeeds met the same punishment as did those of others.
Infuriated at this they planned an insurrection. They thought this newly
acquired district of Sang-sŭng would be the most likely to co-operate
with them in this scheme; so they opened negotiations with its people.
The king therefore summoned Yi Whan-jo to Song-do and warned him against
these traitors. Foiled here, the empress’ relatives appealed to the
country to rise in defense of the Mongol supremacy, which was being thus
rudely flouted. They learned what Koryŭ thought of Mongol supremacy when
they were incontinently seized and put to death and their property
confiscated. The next step was the sending back to China of the Mongol
“resident.” This was followed by an expedition into trans-Yalu territory
which seized all the land there which formerly belonged to Koryŭ.
Fearing, however, that he was going a little too fast, the king sent an
envoy to Peking to tell the emperor that the local governor of the north
was responsible for these reprisals and not the central Koryŭ
government. Troops were nevertheless stationed in each of these newly
acquired districts and fields were cultivated to provide for their
maintenance.
Not long after this the important question of coinage came up. We have
already seen that the medium in Koryŭ was little bottle-shaped pieces,
but as these were each a pound in weight they could be used only for
large transactions. Each one of them was worth a hundred pieces of
linen. It was decided to change to a system of regular coinage, and so
the silver was coined into “dollars” each worth eight pieces of
five-strand linen. It is probable that in all small transactions barter
was the common method of exchange although there may have been a metal
medium of exchange as far back as the days of ancient Chosŭn, a thousand
years before Christ.
The question again came up as to the advisability of moving the capital
to Han-yang, the present Seoul. Enquiry was made at the ancestral temple
but what answer the spirits made, if any, we are not told. All dishes
and implements as well as tile were made black because the peninsula is
nearly surrounded by water and black is the color that corresponds to
water according to Chinese and Korean notions. Black was substituted for
the prevailing color in dress which was at that time blue-green, and
men, women and monks all donned the sable attire.
It was at length decided to change the capital to the other site and
palaces were ordered built there. They were, so some say, probably
outside the present south gate of Seoul.
It is said that in order to decide about the removal of the capital the
king had recourse to that form of divination which consisted in making
scrawls at random with a pen and then examining them to see what Chinese
characters the marks most resembled. At first they did not favor a
change, but after several trials the favorable response was obtained.
The year 1359 beheld a recurrence of the dreaded Japanese incursions. At
this time the robbers burned 300 Koryŭ boats at Kak-san. An official, Yi
Tal-jung, was sent to govern the great north-eastern section of the
land. He was a friend of Yi Whan-jo, the prefect of Sang-sŭng. As he
approached that place his friend Yi Whan-jo came out to meet him,
accompanied by his son Yi Song-gye who was to become the founder of the
present dynasty, and whom we shall designate by his posthumous title
T‘ă-jo. When Yi Whan-jo handed his friend a cup of wine he drank it
standing, but when Yi T‘ă-jo handed him one, so the story runs, he drank
it on his knees. When the father demanded why this greater deference was
shown his son the guest replied, “This boy is different from us,” and,
turning to the young man, he continued. “When I have passed away you
must always befriend my descendants.”
The Japanese raids had now reached such alarming proportions that an
extra wall was built about Song-do and all the government granaries
along the coast were moved far inland to be out of the reach of
piratical parties, who would naturally hesitate to go far from their
boats.
The breaking up of the Mongol power was foreshadowed by the act of a
certain Mongol district Hă-yang which, with its garrison of 1,800 men,
now came and enrolled itself under the banner of Koryŭ. How had the
mighty fallen! Less than eighty years before the world had trembled
beneath the hoof-beats of the “Golden Horde.” This was followed by the
submission of a wild tribe in the north called Pang-guk-chin, and a
Mongol rebel sent a messenger with gifts to the court of Koryŭ.
Meanwhile the Japanese were ravaging the southern and western coasts
without let or hindrance. It was a curious spectacle, a country eaten up
by its own excesses receiving humble deputations from former masters and
at the same time being ridden over rough-shod by gangs of half-naked
savages from the outlying islands of Japan.
There was one tribe in the north however, called the Hong-du-jŭk or
“Red-Head Robbers,” who threatened to invade the country, but forces
were sent to guard against it. In the case of the Japanese marauders the
difficulty was to know where they were going to strike next. There was
military power enough left in Koryŭ had it been possible to so place the
forces as to intercept or bring to action the robber gangs. The Japanese
had really begun to threaten Song-do itself and the king wished to move
the capital to Su-an in Whang-hă Province. He went so far as to send a
commissioner to look over the site and report.
The king was not blessed with an heir, and in 1360 he took a second
wife, which was the cause of constant quarrelling and bickering.
The “Red-Head Robbers” were led by Kwan Sŭn-sang and P‘a Tu-ban. They
now took the city of Mukden and entering Liaotung, sent a letter to the
king of Koryŭ saying “We have now consolidated our power and intend to
set up the Sung dynasty again.” The Mongols were thus beset on both
sides and were in desperate straits. Three thousand of the “Red-Heads”
crossed the northern border and carried fire and sword into the frontier
towns. A Mongol general, deserting the banners of his waning clan, took
service with these people. His name was Mo Ko-gyŭng. He collected 40,000
men and crossed the Yalu. Eui-ju fell forthwith and the prefect and a
thousand men perished. Chöng-ju soon fell and In-ju was invested, but a
stubborn resistance was here encountered. The prefect, An U, was the
only prefect in the north who was not afraid of the invaders. He made
light of their power and by swift counter-marches and brilliant
manoeuvers succeeded in making them fall back to Chöng-ju. In the mean
time Gen. Yi An was sent north to P‘yŭng-yang to take charge of the army
of defense. The tide of fortune had turned again and the invaders were
in full march on P‘yŭng-yang. A council of war was held at which it
appeared that all the generals were about equally frightened. With a
powerful force in hand and an easily defended town to hold they still
considered only how best to make a retreat. Some were for burning
everything behind them and retiring to some point more easy of defense;
but Gen. Yi An thought they had better leave a large store of provisions
in the city, for the enemy would pause and feed there until everything
was gone, and this would give the Koryŭ army time to gain needed
reinforcements. This course would also appear so foolish to the enemy
that few preparations would be made to meet the Koryŭ troops later. This
plan was adopted and the army retired into Whang-hă Province and left
the gates of P‘yŭng-yang open to the invaders. This caused the greatest
consternation in the capital, and every citizen was under arms. The king
immediately sent and deprived Gen. Yi An of the office which he had so
grievously betrayed and put the command into the hands of Gen. Yi
Seung-gyŭng.
The invading host was now feasting in P‘yŭng-yang and the king and queen
in Song-do were practicing horse-back riding with the expectation that
they would be obliged to leave the capital. It was the beginning of
winter and the cold was intense. The Koryŭ soldiers died by hundreds and
the people were being wantonly killed by foraging parties of the “Red
Heads.” The records say that they left “heaps upon heaps” of dead in
their track.
As in duty bound the Koryŭ forces went north and engaged the invaders at
P‘yŭng-yang. At first the latter were successful and a thousand Koryŭ
troops were trampled under the hoofs of the enemy’s horses; but in the
end the “Red Heads” were defeated and, retreating northwards, were hotly
pursued as far as Ham-jŭng. There they were reinforced and attempted to
make a new stand; but the Koryŭ troops, drunk with success, attacked
them with such abandon that they were obliged to build a palisade within
which they intrenched themselves. The Koryŭ generals surrounded this
stockade and, by a simultaneous assault of horse and foot, broke through
the barrier and put the occupants, numbering 20,000, to the sword. The
leader, Whang Chi-sŭn was taken alive. A remnant fled to the Yŭn-ju
River where the ice broke beneath them and 2,000 perished. The few
survivors made a desperate stand on a hill but were starved out and
compelled to continue their flight, in which hundreds more were cut down
along the road; and at last, out of 40,000 men who had come across the
Yalu, just three hundred recrossed it and were safe.
Hardly had this happened when seventy boat-loads of these same “Red
Heads” arrived at P‘yŭng-ju and soon after a hundred boat-loads more
disembarked at An-ak and scoured the surrounding country. They were,
however, soon put to flight by Gen. Yi Pang-sil whom the king rewarded
richly for his services.
It was at this time that the king first received an envoy from Chang
Sa-sŭng, a pretender to the Mongol throne. The king made the first move
toward breaking away from the Mongol yoke by sending an envoy in return.
The Koryŭ court evidently was in great doubt as to just how matters were
going to turn out in the struggle that was under way in China. By
favoring these advances on the part of a Mongol, whether of the imperial
family or not, it is probable that the king lost the good-will of the
Mings who, as we shall see, looked with satisfaction upon the overthrow
of Koryŭ and the founding of the present dynasty.
The alarming increase both in the frequency and the violence of the
Japanese incursions gave scope for the development of the military
genius of Gen. Yi Whan-jo, the father of the founder of this dynasty. He
was appointed general of the west to guard against the freebooters. The
people of Song-do were in dismay over the proximity of the dreaded
Japanese and over the defeat of all the armies sent to put them down.
Many civil officials took part in the martial preparations and even took
the field in defense of their country. The Japanese were now penetrating
Kyŭng-geui Province. In this year, 1360, they landed on Kang-wha, killed
three hundred men and stole 40,000 bags of rice. So many men were in
mourning that the king was obliged to curtail the period of mourning
from three years to only a few days. The palace in Han-yang had now been
completed and the king removed to that place, apparently because it was
further from the sea shore and more difficult of access by the Japanese.