THE MONK'S STORY
One evening, after Yung Pak had finished his supper, he sat talking with
his father and Wang Ken.
The early evening hour was often spent in this way. It was a time of day
when Ki Pak was generally free from any official duty, and he was glad
to devote a little time to his son. He would inquire about the boy's
studies as well as about his sports, and Yung Pak would regale his
father with many an amusing incident or tell him something he had
learned during study hours. Sometimes he would tell of the sights he had
seen on the streets of Seoul, while on other occasions he would give
account of games with his playmates or of his success in shooting with a
bow and arrow.
This latter sport was very common with the men and boys of Korea. It was
approved by the king for the national defence in time of war, and often
rewards were offered by rich men for winners in contests. Most Korean
gentlemen had private archery grounds and targets in the gardens near
their houses.
Ki Pak had an arrow-walk and target in his garden, and here it was that
Yung Pak used to practise almost daily. He often, too, invited other
boys to enjoy the sport with him.
At regular times every year public contests in arrow-shooting were held,
and costly prizes were offered to the winners by the king. The prizes
were highly valued by those who secured them, and Yung Pak looked
forward with eager anticipation to the day when he should be old enough
and skilful enough to take part in these contests.
While Yung Pak was listening to the conversation between his father and
tutor on this evening, a knock was heard.
On opening the door there was seen standing at the entrance a man rather
poorly clad in the white garments worn by nearly all the people of
Korea. But upon his head, instead of the ordinary cone-shaped hat worn
by the men of the country, was a very peculiar structure. It was made of
straw and was about four feet in circumference. Its rim nearly concealed
the man's face, which was further hidden by a piece of coarse white
linen cloth stretched upon two sticks and made fast just below the eyes.
This method of concealing the face, together with the wearing of the
immense hat, was a symbol of mourning. Such a sight was not uncommon in
the streets of Seoul, and Yung Pak knew well its meaning.
With great courtesy and hospitality Ki Pak invited the stranger within
the house.
"I thank you for your kindness," said the visitor. "I am a stranger in
your city, a monk from a monastery in Kong-chiu. Your peculiar law not
allowing men upon the street after nightfall compels me to seek
shelter."
"To that you are entirely welcome, my friend," said Ki Pak, whose
hospitable nature would have granted the monk's request, even if
sympathy for sorrow and reverence for religion had not also been motives
for his action.
"Let me get the man something to eat," said Yung Pak as the monk seated
himself upon a mat.
"Certainly, my son; it is always proper to offer food to a guest who
takes refuge under our roof."
Quickly the boy sought his mother in the women's apartments, and very
soon returned with a steaming bowl of rice, which he placed before the
visitor.
This gift of rice was especially pleasing to the traveller, as no dish
is held in higher honour in Korea. It is the chief cereal, and the
inhabitants say it originated in Ha-ram, China, nearly five thousand
years ago. Yung Pak called it Syang-nong-si, which means Marvellous
Agriculture. He had learned from Wang Ken that it was first brought to
Korea in 1122 B.C.
To the monk the warm food was very refreshing, and after he had eaten a
generous amount he entered into conversation with his hosts.
He told of the monastery where he made his home, and his account of the
various religious ceremonies and their origin was very interesting to
Yung Pak, who found that the visitor not only knew a great deal of the
history of the country, but was also familiar with its fables and
legends.
Like many who live in retirement and dwell in a world apart from their
fellows, this monk thought the people of former times were superior to
the men of his own day. Especially did he praise the kings of years long
gone by.
"Do you think," said Yung Pak, "that the old kings were any better than
our own gracious ruler?"
Yung Pak was very jealous of the honour of his king.
"Why, yes," replied the monk. "And to prove my statement let me tell you
a story:
"Many years ago there was in Cho-sen a king named Cheng-chong. He was
celebrated throughout his kingdom for his goodness. It was a habit with
him to disguise himself in ordinary clothing and then to go out and
mingle with the common people. In this way he was often able to
discover opportunities for doing much good to his subjects.
"One night Cheng-chong disguised himself as a countryman, and, taking a
single friend along, started out to make a tour of inspection among his
people, that he might learn the details of their lives.
"Coming to a dilapidated-looking house, he suspected that within there
might be miserable people to whom he could render assistance. Desiring
to see the inside of the house, he punched a peep-hole in the paper
door. Looking through this hole, the king perceived an old man weeping,
a man in mourning garb singing, and a nun or widow dancing.
"Cheng-chong was unable to imagine the cause of these strange
proceedings, so he asked his companion to call the master of the house.
"In answer to the summons, the man in mourning made his appearance. The
king, with low and respectful salutation, said:
"'We have never before met.'
"'True,' was the reply, 'but whence are you? How is it that you should
come to find me at midnight? To what family do you belong?'
"Cheng-chong answered: 'I am Mr. Ni, living at Tong-ku-an. As I was
passing before your house I was attracted by strange sounds. Then
through a hole in the door I saw an old man crying, a dancing nun, and a
man in mourning singing. Why did the nun dance, the bereaved man sing,
and the old man weep? I have called you out on purpose to learn the
reason of these things.'
"'For what reason do you pry into other people's business?' was the
question in reply. 'This is little concern to you. It is past midnight
now, and you had better get home as soon as you can.'
"'No, indeed. I admit that it seems wrong for me to be so curious in
regard to your affairs, but this case is so very extraordinary that I
hope you will not refuse to tell me about it. You may be sure that I
shall not betray your confidence.'
"'Alas! why such persistence in trying to learn about other people's
business?'
"'It is very important,' replied the king, 'that I should obtain the
information I have asked of you. Further than that I cannot explain at
present.'"
Yung Pak wanted to interrupt the storyteller here and say that he did
not blame the man for objecting to telling his private business, but he
had early been taught that it was highly improper for a Korean boy to
break into the conversation of his elders.
The monk continued:
"'As you are so urgent in your desire to know the cause of the strange
proceedings you have witnessed, I will try to tell you. Poverty has
always been a burden upon my family. In my house there has never been
sufficient food for a solid meal, and I have not land enough even for an
insect to rest upon. I cannot even provide food for my poor old father.
This is the reason why my wife, from time to time, has cut off a portion
of her hair and sold it for an amount sufficient to buy a bowl of bean
soup, which she has generously given to my father. This evening she cut
off and sold the last tress of her hair, and thus she is now bald as a
nun.'"
Yung Pak already knew that Korean women who devote their lives to
religious service kept their hair closely clipped, so the monk did not
need to explain his reference to a bald-headed nun.
"'On this account," said the man to Cheng-chong, 'my father broke out
into mourning in these words:
"'"Why have I lived to this age? Why did I not die years ago? Why has
this degradation come to my daughter-in-law?" Tears accompanied his
words. My wife and I tried to console him, and, besides urging him not
to weep, she danced for his amusement. I also danced and sang, and thus
we diverted the old man's thoughts and caused him to smile. That is the
true reason of our queer behaviour. I trust you will not think it
strange, and will now go away and leave us to our sorrow.'
"The king was very much impressed by the man's story, particularly with
the evidence of such great devotion to his father, even in the time of
poverty and misfortune. So he said: 'This is really the most
extraordinary instance of filial love that I ever saw. I think you
should present yourself at the examination to-morrow.'
"'What examination?'
"'Why, there is to be an examination before the king of candidates for
official position. You know that all officials have to pass an
examination before they can receive an appointment. Be sure to be
there, and you may be fortunate enough to secure a position which will
remove all fear of poverty from your household.'
"Having thus spoken, Cheng-chong bade the man good night and went at
once to his palace.
"Very early in the morning he caused proclamation to be made that an
examination would be held that day, at a certain hour. Notwithstanding
the brief time for preparation, when the hour arrived a large number of
men presented themselves at the king's palace as candidates.
"In the crowd was the poor man whom the king, in his disguise, had
talked with the night before. Though he understood little of the matter,
he felt that his visitor of the previous night must have known perfectly
about it.
"When all had assembled, the following was announced as the subject of
the examination: 'The song of a man in mourning, the dance of a nun, the
tears of an old man.'
"With the exception of the poor man, not a single one of the candidates
was able to make a bit of sense out of the subject. He alone knew it
perfectly well, because of his own personal sad experience. Consequently
he was able to turn in a clear essay upon the subject, which, upon
examination, the king found to be free from error.
"Cheng-chong then bestowed the degree of doctor upon the man, and
ordered that he be brought into his presence.
"Upon the man's appearance, the king asked: 'Do you know who I am? It is
I who last night advised you to be present at this examination. Raise
your head and look at me.'
"With fixed gaze the man looked at the king, and recognized his
benefactor. He at once bowed himself to the ground in gratitude, and in
words of the most humble sort returned his thanks.
"'Go at once,' said Cheng-chong, 'and return to your wife and old
father. Make them happy with the good news you have for them.'
"This story of royal generosity has been handed down from generation to
generation, and I give it to you," concluded the monk, "as an example of
the goodness of our ancient kings and the rich inheritance we have from
them. True devotion to parents has never been unrewarded in Korea."
His story concluded, the monk expressed a desire to retire for the
night. At Ki Pak's command a servant led him to a sleeping-room. Yung
Pak and the other members of the family also retired, and were soon
buried in peaceful slumber.