that the long-wished-for child was only a daughter, but their
disappointment was soon forgotten in the joy and pride they felt in her
beauty and wit and goodness.
Unhappily, while Sim Ching (for so the girl was named) was still a
child, her mother died, and her father’s grief over the loss of his wife
was so great that he became completely blind. He was now obliged to
leave the most of his business affairs in the hands of his servants, and
these servants were so dishonest and so idle that they either wasted or
stole all his money. At last he became so poor that he could scarcely
provide enough food to keep himself and his daughter alive.
One day the merchant in his unhappiness wandered away from home, and
being blind and so unable to tell where he was going, he fell into a
deep pit out of which he was unable to climb.
He feared he would die there, but presently, hearing footsteps on the
road above, he called out loudly for help.
The footsteps he heard were those of a greedy and dishonest priest who
lived near by. Every day he passed by this way on his walks to and from
the temple.
Hearing the voice from the pit, the priest went to the edge of it and
looking down into it, saw the blind man there below.
“Who are you?” asked the priest, “and how have you fallen into this
pit?”
“I am a poor blind man, who was once a rich merchant,” replied the man
in the pit. “I lost at once both my sight and my wealth, and because I
cannot see I fell into this pit from which I am not able to climb. For
the sake of mercy reach down your hand and draw me out.”
“Not so,” replied the priest. “That would be a foolish thing for me to
do. Instead of drawing you out, I might myself be pulled in. But if you
will promise to give me a hundred and fifty bags of rice that I may
offer them up in the temple, I will go and get a rope, and throw the end
of it down to you, and by that means I may be able to pull you out
without danger to either of us.”
The priest asked for the rice for the temple not because he really
wished to make an offering of it, for indeed he meant to keep it for
himself, but he thought, “If this man was once rich, no doubt he must
still know some wealthy people, and if he goes to them and asks for rice
to offer up in the temple they will be more likely to give it to him
than if he told them it was for me.”
When the poor man heard that the priest demanded his promise of a
hundred and fifty bags of rice before he would help him, he cried aloud
with grief and wonder.
“How is it possible I should promise you such a thing as that?” he
cried. “None but a very rich man could make such a gift to the temple,
and I am so poor that I cannot even provide food enough for myself and
my daughter.”
“Your daughter!” cried the priest. “You have then a daughter?”
“Yes; and she is so beautiful that no one in the whole land can compare
with her for fairness, and she is as good as she is beautiful, and as
witty as she is good.”
“Now listen!” said the priest. “If you will swear to give me the bags of
rice, not only will I pull you out of the pit, but I foresee that
because of this gift your daughter will be raised to the highest place
in the land, and you yourself will receive great wealth and honor, and
your sight will return to you.”
This the priest said, not because he really foresaw anything of the
kind, but because he wished to tempt the blind man into making him the
promise of the rice.
The poor man still declared that he had no means of making such an
offering, but the priest urged and begged and threatened, until at last
the blind man gave his promise.
The priest then ran and got a rope, and soon pulled the blind merchant
out of the pit.
“Now remember!” said he. “Exactly a month from now I will send my
servants for the rice, and you must in some way have it ready, whether
you beg or borrow or steal it, and if you do not, you shall receive a
good beating for breaking your bargain with me, and be thrown into a
prison that is worse than any pit.”
The priest then went on to the temple, while the blind man returned
home, very sad and sorrowful.
As soon as he entered the door, his daughter saw by his look that
something unfortunate had happened and begged him to tell her what it
was.
At first he would not say because he feared to frighten her, but she
asked him so many questions that at last he was obliged to tell her the
whole story.
Sim Ching was indeed terrified when she heard what her father had
promised the priest.
“Alas! Alas!” she cried. “How can we possibly get the rice ready for
him? You know it is only by the kindness of the neighbors that we have
the handful that I have cooked for our dinner to-day.”
The poor man began to weep. “What you say is true,” he cried. “Better
that I should have died in the pit than be thrown into prison as will
surely happen to me if I cannot give the priest the hundred and fifty
bags that I promised him.”
The blind man now set out to beg, telling every one his sad story and
asking them to help him to collect the rice, but the people of the
village were themselves poor and had no more than enough food for their
own families.
Time slipped by, until at last the day arrived when the priest’s
servants were to come to demand the rice, and the blind man had not yet
been able to get together even one bagful of rice, let alone a hundred
and fifty.
He and his daughter sat together very sorrowful, and now and then the
blind man bemoaned himself as he thought of how he was to be beaten and
thrown into prison, for he had now learned enough about the priest to
know that he could expect no mercy from one as cruel and greedy as he.
Now there lived in another city, not far away, a very rich merchant who
owned many ships that traded in foreign lands. This merchant had become
so proud of his wealth and his power that he called himself the Prince
of the Sea, and so it was that he obliged others to address him. This
greatly offended a powerful Water Spirit who lived under the sea over
which the ships of the merchant sailed. And now, in order to punish the
merchant, the Water Spirit sent storms down upon the ships. Many were
destroyed, and others were driven on to reefs, or back to the ports they
sailed from. So many misfortunes overtook the vessels that sailors
became afraid to sail on them, and the merchant began to fear he would
be ruined.
In his trouble he sent for a number of wise men and magicians and asked
them why he was now so unlucky, and what he could do to bring back good
fortune.
The wise men and magicians studied their books and consulted together
for a long time, and then they came to the merchant and said, “We have
found why you are so unlucky. Your pride has offended a powerful Water
Spirit, and it is he who is wrecking your ships or driving them back
into port. There is only one way in which to turn aside his anger. If a
young and beautiful maiden can be found who will willingly offer herself
as a sacrifice to him, then he will be satisfied and will punish you no
further. Otherwise he will certainly destroy every vessel you send out,
and so in the end you will be ruined.”
When the merchant heard this, he was in despair. “Now indeed there is no
hope for me,” he cried, “for I am very sure there is not, in the whole
of Korea, a maiden who would be willing to be sacrificed to this Water
Spirit, however great the reward I might offer. For indeed of what use
would any reward be to her, if in order to gain it she must be drowned
in the sea.”
However, his head steward, who had charge of his affairs, begged him at
least to send out a proclamation and to offer a reward to the family of
any maiden who would consent to the sacrifice. “It may be that such a
one will be found,” said he;--“some one who values the fortunes of her
parents even above her own life.”
The merchant finally agreed to the wishes of his steward, and messengers
were sent forth to read the proclamation aloud in every city, town and
village in the country. They went this way and that, East, West, North
and South, and finally one of them came to the place where the blind man
and his daughter lived. The day the messenger came to the village was
the very day when the servants of the wicked priest were to come and
demand the hundred and fifty bags of rice from the blind man.
The merchant’s messenger took his stand not far from the blind man’s
house, and from there he read aloud the proclamation as to the sacrifice
and the reward that would be paid to the parents of any maiden who would
be willing to be thrown to the Water Spirit.
The people of the village gathered about him in a great crowd to listen,
but after they had heard what he said, they began to make a great noise,
with cries and laughter.
“Some parents there may be,” they cried, “who would be wicked enough to
sacrifice their daughters for the sake of the reward, but what girl
would ever go willingly to such a fate; and the messenger himself tells
us that unless the maiden went willingly, the sacrifice would be
useless.”
Sim Ching heard the noise outside, the voice of the messenger, and the
laughter of the crowd, and as she was of a very curious nature, she went
to the door to hear what was going on.
The man was already turning away, and Sim Ching asked a woman who was
standing near what the man had been saying. The woman told her, laughing
as she spoke. “How could any one suppose that any maiden would consent
to be thrown to this monster in order that her family might have the
reward!” cried the woman.
But Sim Ching ran after the man and caught him by the sleeve.
“Wait!” cried she. “Do not go until you have told me something. You say
your master will richly reward the family of any maiden who will
willingly give herself to this Water Spirit. Would he give as much as a
hundred and fifty bags of rice to such a family?”
“That and more,” replied the messenger. “My master is very rich, and
the reward will be generous.”
“Then I will go with you and be the sacrifice,” said Sim Ching. “Permit
me only to go and bid farewell to my father, and then I will be ready.”
The messenger was rejoiced that he had been able to secure the maiden
for his master and gladly consented to wait until she had spoken with
her father.
But when Sim Ching went back into the house and told her father what she
intended to do he was in despair. He wept aloud and rent his clothes.
“Never, never will I consent to such a sacrifice,” cried he.
But his daughter comforted him. “Do you forget,” said she, “what the
priest promised you? Did he not tell you that if you offered up this
rice to the temple, all would be well with us, and that I would be
raised to the highest place in the kingdom? Let us have faith and
believe that the gods of the temple can save me at the last even though
I be thrown into the sea.”
As her father listened to her, he grew quieter, and at last gave his
consent for her to go.
The neighbors who had heard what she meant to do gathered about to bid
her farewell and could not but weep for pity, even while they praised
her for her dutifulness toward her father.
Sim Ching at once set out with the messenger, who was in haste to bring
her before his master. Indeed he feared that if she thought too long of
what she had consented to do, she might repent of her bargain.
When he reached the merchant’s house and told him he had found a maiden
for the sacrifice, his master could scarcely believe him. “Does she
understand what is required of her, and is she willing?” he asked.
The messenger assured him that she understood perfectly and was rejoiced
at the thought of securing the reward for her father.
Sim Ching was now brought before the merchant, and when he saw her
beauty and youth, and her modest, gentle air, he was filled with pity
for her. He would even have commanded that she should be taken back
again to her father, but to this Sim Ching would not consent.
“No,” said she. “I have come here to do a certain thing. I have
promised, and I do not wish to break my word. All I ask is to be assured
that the bags of rice will certainly be sent to my father, and that at
once.”
“Let it then be as you desire,” said the merchant. “And be assured that
my part of the bargain shall be kept as faithfully as yours.” He then
ordered that one hundred and fifty bags of rice should be loaded on as
many mules and sent to the blind man at once, that Sim Ching might
herself have the comfort of seeing them set forth.
This was done, and after the train of mules had departed, Sim Ching was
taken to a chamber where magnificent robes and veils and jewels had been
laid ready for her. Her attendants dressed her and hung the jewels on
her neck and arms, and when all was done, she was so beautiful that even
the attendants wept to think she must be sacrificed.
A barge had been made ready and hung about with garlands, and in it sat
musicians to make sweet music while the rowers rowed to where the
sacrifice was to be made.
And now Sim Ching would have been afraid, but she fixed her thoughts
upon her father and on how he would now be saved from the cruelty of the
priest, and then she became quite happy and was no longer frightened.
When the barge came to the place under which the Water Spirit lived, Sim
Ching leaned over the side of the boat and looked down into the water.
It was very deep and green, and it seemed to her that beneath she could
see shining walls and towers, as though of some great castle, and that
the spirits of the water were beckoning to her to come. Lower and lower
she leaned, until, as though drawn by some power beneath, she sank over
the side of the vessel and down and down through the water until she was
lost to the sight of those above her.
Then the rowers took the barge back to the shore and told the merchant
the sacrifice had been accepted.
The merchant was glad that now again his ships might sail in safety; but
at the same time he felt pity for Sim Ching, believing she had been
drowned.
But such was not the case. After she had sunk down and down through the
waters for what seemed to her a long distance, she came to the land
where the Water Spirit is king. All about her were things strange and
beautiful. There were water weeds so tall they were like trees waving
high above her, and through them, like birds, darted the shining fishes.
There were water flowers of colors she had never seen before, and
shining shells, and before her rose a castle made of mother of pearl and
studded with precious stones that shone and glittered like stars in the
light that came down through the water.
While she was looking at it, the doors of the castle swung open, and a
train of attendants came out to meet her. These attendants were all
dressed in green, and many of them would have been very handsome except
that they themselves were green. Their faces, their hands, their hair,
and eyes,--everything about them was green.
They spoke to Sim Ching in a strange language, but soon she understood
them and knew they had come to bring her before their King who was
waiting for her.
Sim Ching felt no doubt but that this King was the Water Spirit himself,
and she was very much frightened, but still she did not hesitate, but
went with them willingly, for it was for this purpose she had come
hither.
The attendants led her through one room after another, until they came
to the place where the Water Spirit sat upon a crystal throne, and he,
too, was green, but his crown was of gold, and his garments were set all
over with pearls and precious stones.
The King looked at Sim Ching kindly and bade her have no fear. “I intend
you no harm,” said he, “and indeed I wished for no sacrifice. My only
wish was to punish the rich merchant for his pride, and so it was that I
set him a task that I thought impossible for him to perform. But because
of your dutifulness and your love for your father, he has been able to
make the sacrifice. Now you must stay here patiently for a year and
teach the sea-maidens the ways of the world above, and at the end of
that time you shall return to the earth, and receive the happiness you
deserve.”
Sim Ching listened to him wondering, and when he had made an end of
speaking, she gladly agreed to serve for a time in the palace and to
teach the sea-people all she knew. So for a twelvemonth Sim Ching stayed
there and was very happy, for though the ways and manners of the
sea-people were strange to her, they themselves were kind and gentle, so
that she soon lost all fear of them.
At the end of the twelve months, the King sent for Sim Ching, and when
she had come before him, he said, “Sim Ching, for a year you have served
us both faithfully and well, and now the time has come for you to return
to the upper world. But in that world there are many dangers, and you
have no one to protect you. I have, therefore, caused a great flower to
be prepared for you. When you enter into this flower, the leaves will
fold about you and hide you, so that none may suspect you are within it.
The leaves will afford you food and drink as well as shelter. In this
way you can live protected and in safety until fate sends you a husband
to love and guard you.”
[Illustration: The King bade her step into the flower. She did so, and
at once the leaves closed about her. _Page 193_]
After speaking thus, the Water Spirit led Sim Ching into another room
and there showed her the flower that he had caused to be prepared for
her. This flower was very large and of a beautiful rose color, and the
leaves were of some rich, thick substance that had a most delicious
smell and was good to eat. The juice of the leaves also afforded a
delicious drink. Sim Ching, as she examined it, knew not how to express
her wonder and admiration.
The King bade her step into the flower. She did so, and at once the
leaves closed about her, so that she was completely hidden, and at the
same time the most delightful music breathed softly from the flower. It
now floated softly up and up, through the roof of the palace, and
through the waters above, until it reached the surface of the sea. There
it rested, rocking gently with the motion of the waves.
Now it so happened that the place where the flower floated on the sea
was not far from the palace of the young King of that country. The
morning it arose through the waters, the King was looking from a window
across the sea toward a pleasure island where he sometimes went.
Suddenly, between himself and the island, he saw something glittering in
the sunlight out upon the waters.
He could not make out what the object was, and he ordered that some of
the castle servants should row out to it, see what it was, and if
possible bring it back with them. This was done and when the rowers
returned, they brought the flower with them and carried it in to where
the young King was awaiting them.
When the King saw the flower, he was filled with wonder and admiration.
Never before had he seen such a blossom. He examined it on all sides and
exclaimed over its size and beauty.
“It must be some magic,” said he, “that has created such a flower. A
room shall be built for it, and there I will keep it, and if indeed, it
has been made by magic, as I suspect, it may be that in time some fruit
will come from it that will be even more beautiful than the flower
itself.”
The room that was now prepared for the flower was so magnificent that no
other apartment in the palace could compare with it. The walls were of
gold, overlaid with paintings and hung with silken embroidered hangings.
The floors were set with precious stones. There were fountains, and
couches heaped with soft cushions, and from the ceiling hung seven
alabaster lamps that were kept burning both night and day.
When the room was finished, the King caused the flower to be carefully
carried into it and placed in the center upon a raised dais covered with
embroidered velvet. After this no one was allowed to enter the room
except himself, and he carried the key of it hung on a jeweled chain
about his neck. Every day he spent long hours with the flower admiring
its beauty, enjoying its delicious perfume, and listening to the
delicate music that sometimes breathed out from among its leaves.
All the while Sim Ching lay hidden in the center of the flower without
the King’s once suspecting it. All day the leaves were closed about her,
and only at night did they open to allow her to come forth.
The first time they unfolded, she was very much surprised to find
herself in a room of a palace, instead of out upon the sea as she had
supposed. Wondering, she looked about her, and then she stepped from the
flower and began, timidly, to examine the apartment to which she had
been brought. The beauty of it delighted her. She rested among the soft
cushions, and bathed in the fountains, and dressed her hair. But toward
morning she reëntered the flower, and the leaves closed about her so
that she was again hidden from view.
For some time life went on in this manner. All day Sim Ching slept in
the flower, and only at night did she come forth, and as the King only
visited the room in the daytime he never saw her, nor even guessed that
a living maiden was inclosed by the leaves of the flower he admired so
greatly.
But it so happened that one night the King could not sleep, and he took
a fancy to visit the flower and see it by the light of the lamps. He
therefore made his way along the corridors, and fitting the key into
the lock, he turned it without having made a sound.
What was his surprise, when he opened the door, to see a maiden of
surpassing beauty sitting beside a fountain and amusing herself by
catching the water in her hands.
When Sim Ching saw the King, she gave a cry, and would have run back
into the flower to hide, but the King called to her gently, bidding her
stay.
“I will not harm you,” said he. “Do but tell me who you are and how you
have come here. It must be you are some spirit or fairy, for no human
being could be as beautiful as you.”
“I am no spirit, nor am I a fairy,” answered Sim Ching, “but only the
daughter of a poor blind beggar, and as to how I came here I know not. I
was placed inside that flower by a Water Spirit, but who has brought the
flower here, or why, I cannot tell.”
The King then told her of how he had seen the flower floating on the
sea, and how he had had it brought to the palace, and had ordered this
room to be built for it, and after he had made an end of speaking, Sim
Ching told him her history from the time her father had become blind and
fallen into the pit, to the hour when the Water Spirit had bade her
enter the flower and the leaves had closed about her.
The young King listened and wondered. “Yours is indeed a strange story,”
said he, “and this mischievous priest shall be sought out and punished
as he deserves. And yet it may be his promises shall all come true, and
you shall indeed be exalted to the highest place in the kingdom.”
He then told Sim Ching he loved her and desired nothing in the world so
much as to make her his wife.
To this Sim Ching joyfully consented for the young King was so handsome
and gracious, and spoke so well and wisely, that she could not but love
him with all her heart, even as he loved her.
All night they sat and talked together, and in the morning he opened the
door of the chamber and led her forth, and called the courtiers and
nobles together, and told them she was to be his bride.
Then there was great rejoicing, and every one who saw Sim Ching wondered
at her beauty and loved her for her gentle and gracious manner.
Soon after she and the King were married, and they loved each other so
dearly that Sim Ching would have been perfectly happy except for the
thought of her old father and his griefs and sorrows.
Immediately after she was married, she sent messengers to the village
where she had lived, bidding them find her father and bring him to her,
but the old man had disappeared, and no one knew what had become of him.
Then the Queen had a great feast prepared and sent word throughout the
length and breadth of the Kingdom that all who were both poor and blind
were bidden to the palace to eat of it. All would be welcome, and none
should be turned away.
Then from far and near the blind and poor came flocking to the palace,
scores and hundreds of them. The tables for the feast were laid in a
great hall, and the young King and Queen sat on raised thrones at one
end of it. All who came to the feast were obliged to pass before this
throne before they might take their places at the table, and as each one
passed, the Queen looked at him eagerly, hoping to recognize her father,
but none of all the multitude was the one she sought. At last every one
was seated; the attendants were about to close the doors, when another
beggar, the last of all, came stumbling into the hall. He was so feeble
and so old that he could scarcely make his way to the throne, but no
sooner did the Queen see him than she knew him as her father.