by Ilyon
“You tricky fellows persuaded the King not to make my daughter queen,” Kungp'a answered angrily. “Why do you come to me now?”
“It was the other courtiers who said no,” Yomjang explained. “I was absent from that audience. Please do not blame me.”
Kungp'a had the general shown into an inner room, and the two sat face to face. When they were alone Kungp'a asked again, “What has brought you here?”
“I have offended the King,” Yomjang repeated, “and so I have come to seek asylum under your command in order to escape death.”
“You are lucky,” Kungp'a said. “Raise your cup. I drink to your health and your successful flight.”
When Kungp'a was fairly in his cups, Yomjang, suddenly drew the long sword from the scabbard which hung at the rebel's waist and cut off his head with a single stroke. When they heard of this, all of Kungp'a's officers and men prostrated themselves before Yomjang in fear and astonishment.
The general made a triumphant return to Kyongju with Kungpa's head and told the King of the successful completion of his mission. Highly pleased, the King gave Yomjang a large reward and promoted him to the high official rank of Agan (fourth grade senior official.)
48. King Kyongmun (861-875)
The forty-eighth sovereign was King Kyongmun, whose childhood name was Ungnyom. He was admitted into the Hwarang at the age of eighteen, and when he was twenty King Honan, the reigning monarch, invited him to a banquet.
“Young man,” said the King, “you have visited many places of interest in Silla in the course of your physical and mental training, Have you seen any extraordinary events during your wide travels?”
“Your Majesty,” the youth replied, “I was more interested in men than in scenic beauty. I saw three men of noble deeds.”
“Noble deeds!” exclaimed the King. “Tell me your story.”
“The first was a man who gave his seat to another for the sake of propriety, even though he was qualified to take the highest place; the second was a man who wore cotton garments out of frugality, even though he was rich; and the third was a man who would make no display of his dignity even though he was noble and powerful by birth.”
At this the King was moved to tears. “I am glad,” he said, “to find in your person a fine gentleman of high virtue. I have two daughters. Choose whichever you wish for your wife.”
“Oh King,” the youth replied, “I am not worthy of such an honor.” He then withdrew from the palace, and on reaching home told his parents what the King had said.
“That is good luck,” they said. “The elder princess is not very pretty, but her sister is a well-known beauty. Why not choose the younger princess?”
When the monk of Hungnyun Temple who was the head of Ung-nyom's Hwarang group heard the news he hastened to call on the young man and offer his advice. “I hear that the King has offered you one of his two daughters in marriage, whichever you choose. Is this true?” the monk asked.
“Yes.”
“Which one will you choose?”
“My parents told me to take the younger one.”
“If you marry the younger princess I will die in your presence, but if you marry the elder one I can assure you of three good things. Beauty is not everything. Take care.”
“Then I will choose the elder princess.”
A short time later the King chose a propitious day and sent a messenger to Ungnyom to ask which of the princesses he had chosen. He chose the elder, as he had told the monk he would. A date was set and the wedding took place as planned
Only three months later the King became seriously ill. Feeling that death was near, he called the court officials into a royal conference and said to them, “I have no male issue. When I am gone, my heir and successor should be Ungnyom, the husband of my elder daughter.”
The King died the next day, and by the royal will the lucky youth was raised to the throne. One of his first visitors after his coronation was the monk whose good advice he had followed.
“May our King live ten thousand years!” said the monk in formal greeting. “Accept my congratulations on your success in three good things: by your marriage to the elder daughter you have pleased her parents; as a result of your marriage you have inherited the jeweled throne; and now you are King, you can easily take the younger princess for your favorite among the palace women.”
“You have made me very happy,” the King replied. “I hereby promote you to the official position of Taedok (Great Virtue, title of a position in the Buddhist hierarchy) and in addition make you a gift of one hundred and thirty yang of gold.'”
During King Kyongmun's lifetime countless snakes hissed in the royal bedchamber every night, and the frightened court ladies shrieked and tried to chase them away. But the King said, “Do not chase the snakes, but let them come near, for I cannot sleep in peace without the company of snakes.” So when the King went to bed the snakes would cover his bosom, with their long tongues darting out in joy and comfort.
One morning when the King awoke, he discovered that his two ears had grown overnight into long furry ones like those of a donkey. His grief and consternation were beyond description, but nothing could be done. He was compelled to cover his head with a sort of turban which he wore waking and sleeping, so that nobody ever knew his secret except the tailor who made the turban. He, of course, was given the strictest orders to tell nobody.
Faithful servant of the King though he was, the tailor was continually tormented by his inability to speak of this strange and unique event. Finally he became ill and was obliged to go for a rest to Torim Temple on the outskirts of Kyongju. One day he came out into the back garden of this temple alone and unattended, peering about him wild-eyed. Seeing that no-one was within earshot, he plunged suddenly into a bamboo grove nearby and shouted repeatedly at the top of his voice, “My King has long ears like a donkey!” Then, having at last won peace of mind, he fell dead on the spot.
Ever afterward, when the wind blew through this particular bamboo grove, the sound it made seemed to say “My King has long ears like a donkey.” This strange phenomenon was relayed from mouth to mouth until at last it reached the King's long ears. He was very angry and ordered the bamboos cut down and palms planted in their place. This was done and the palms grew rapidly. But when the wind blew through them they sang “My King has long ears....”dropping the last three words.
The King died at last and Torim-sa fell into decay. But new shoots grew up from the roots of the bamboos which had been cut down and people took cuttings to plant in their gardens so that they could hear the song they sang, and they did likewise with the palms. In this manner the citizens of Kyungju enjoyed the music of their bamboos and palms singing to the wind “My king has long ears like a donkey....My King has long ears...”
During this King's reign four Hwarang—Yowon-nang, Yehun-nang, Kyewon and Sukjong-nang—visited Kumnan, a place of scenic beauty, where they composed three patriotic songs. Moreover they sent a Simp'il-saji (thirteenth grade Silla official) with blank music paper to Taegu-Hwasang, asking this famous monk to compose three further songs, which he did—Hyongum P'ogok, Taedo-gok and Mungun-gok. When these songs were presented to the throne the good King praised the Hwarangs' loyalty and gave them rich rewards. Unfortunately these songs have not survived.
(It is recorded that this monk, together with Wihong Kakkan, Queen Chinsong's lover and husband, compiled a book of these Hyangga (Silla folksongs) using the Idu system of Chinese characters read phonetically so as to record the actual sounds of the Korean language. Twenty-five Hyangga survive today.)
49. The Song of Ch'oyong and the Sea-Viewing Temple
The forty-ninth sovereign was King Hongang (875-886). During his reign houses with tiled roofs stood in rows from the capital to the four seas and not a thatched roof was to be seen. Soft music was heard on all the roadsides. Gentle sweet rain came with harmonious blessings and all the harvests were plentiful.
One day the King went to Kaeunpo (modern Ulsa
n) for a picnic, and on his way back stopped to rest on the seashore. Suddenly a dense fog enveloped the land, so thick that the King could not find his way. The Royal Astrologer reported that the Master Dragon of the Eastern Sea was at play, and due respect must be paid him in order to avoid his anger. Accordingly the King ordered a temple to be erected nearby in honor of the dragon, and as soon as the royal edict was proclaimed the fog dissolved. Hence the King named that place on the seashore Kaeunpo (Port of Opening Clouds).
The Dragon of the Eastern Sea was highly pleased and appeared before the King with his seven sons, praising the monarch's august virtues, playing music and performing dances.
One of the dragon's sons followed the King to the capital and became his faithful servant. The King named him Ch'oyong, conferred upon him the office of “Kupkan” and gave him a lovely woman for his wife.
But her beauty drew the attention of the plague spirit, who, taking the form of a handsome man, had secret love-meetings with her at night while Ch'oyong was away. One night Ch'oyong returned unexpectedly and found his wife sleeping with another man. He thereupon composed the following song:
Under the moonlight of the Eastern Capital
I reveled late into the night.
When I came home and entered my bedroom
I saw four legs.
Two legs are mine,
To whom do the other two belong?
The person below is mine,
But whose body is raping her?
What shall I do? Thus he sang and danced, and then turned to leave, But the plague spirit rose from the bed and fell on his knees before Ch'oyong, saying, “I admired your wife for her beautiful person and now I have despoiled her. When I perceived you were not angry with me, I was struck with wonder and admiration. Hereafter when I see even the picture of your face I swear I will not enter the house.”
Believing this, all the people began hanging Ch'oyong's picture on their gates as protection against disease. (Ch'oyong means “dragon's son.” This story obviously records a folk belief.)
On returning to his palace the King had a scenic spot selected on the eastern side of Yongch'u-san (Holy Eagle Mountain) and there erected a temple called Manghae-sa (Sea-Viewing Temple) or Sinbang-sa (Temple of the Bridal Chamber) for the dragon as promised.
On another occasion the King went on a picnic to P'osok-jong (Pavilion of Stone Abalone). While His Majesty was merrily drinking wine surrounded by his court ladies, the spirit of South Mountain suddenly appeared before him and performed a dance. The King danced, too, as did the ladies, who sang sweetly, but the mountain spirit was visible only to the King. When the dance was over the King ordered his sculptors to portray it in stone for the edification of posterity. This sculpture is called Sang-yom-mu (Frosty-Bearded Dance).
Again when the King was traveling through Kumgang-nyong (Diamond Pass) the spirit of the northern peaks came and danced before him. The King called this dance Ok-do-ryong because it was performed with a jade sword and a jade ring. (Ok means “jade.”)
One evening when the King was making merry at a court banquet the goddess of the earth and the mountain spirit appeared and danced before him, singing “Chi-ri-da-do-pa,” which means, “Many wise men flee the court; the metropolis will fall to ruin.” This was a warning from the guardian deities of the earth and the mountains foretelling the fall of Silla, but the foolish King and his entourage regarded it as a happy omen and gave themselves up to revels and debauchery while the kingdom tottered to its fall.
(The Mountain Spirit was, and to some extent still is, a prominent feature of Korean folk belief. He is always pictured as an old man with a white beard, usually accompanied by a tiger.)
50. Queen Chinsong (888-898) and Kotaji
The fifty-first sovereign was Queen Chinsong. Her nurse, Lady Puho, together with her husband (Wihong kakkan) and a few favored courtiers, had great influence on the court, and their machinations brought the kingdom to the brink of ruin. Patriots who were deeply worried about the situation began scattering leaflets containing Buddhist spells (Dharani) cursing the corrupt and immoral court.
When the Queen and her favorites tried to read one of these leaflets, they found it was composed of highly technical terms in Chinese, and they could not understand it. In Korean pronunciation it went as follows: Nammu-Mang-guk Ch'alni-Naje P'anni-P'anni-So-P'anni U-U-Sam-Akan Pui-Sap'a-ga.
The perplexed Queen called in her chief interpreter and asked for an explanation. The interpreter said, “Ch'alni-Naje is the Queen, P'anni-P'anni-So-P'anni represents two high-ranking Officials with the titles of Sop'an and U-U-Sam-Akan and Pui is Puho. The first phrase, Nammu-Mang-guk, is self-explanatory: it means, “The ruin of the country.”
On hearing this, several people said, “Who could have written the leaflets if it was not Wang Ko-in? Throw him into prison!” This the enraged Queen did.
While in prison, Wang Ko-in composed and sang this song:
Yentan's bloody tears in the rainbow pierce the sun;
Ch'u-yen's deep sorrow descends in frost even in summer.
My grief is the same as theirs;
O Lord of Heaven, why do you show no sign of saving me?
Heaven heard his cry and rent the prison with a thunderbolt, and the patriotic poet escaped alive.
(Wang Ko-in did in fact oppose the luxury and corruption of the court, and retired to his country estate in disgust. Queen Chinsong had taken the husband of her nurse Lady Puho as her lover in youth, and made him her official spouse after becoming Queen. The two persons named in Wang's poem were figures in Chinese history who found themselves in similar situations.)
The Queen sent Prince Yangpae as her envoy to the T'ang court in China. The voyage was a difficult one, for the sea-passage was blocked by the rebels of Later Paekje (a brief attempt to revive the old Paekje kingdom). Yangpae was therefore obliged to take fifty bowmen with him to repel any attacks on the party.
When Yangpae's ship reached Kokto Island a storm began to rage at sea, and the party was unable to continue its journey for some ten days. Worried about the delay, Yangpae consulted a fortune-teller, who told him there was a dragon pool on the island and sacrifice must be offered to the dragon. When this was done the blue water of the pool leaped ten feet unto the air.
That night an old man with a long beard appeared to Prince Yangpae in a dream and said, “If you leave a good bowman behind on this island you will be blessed with a favorable wind.” When the prince awoke he called the men together and told them of his dream. They agreed that each man should carve his name on a piece of wood. When these were cast into the sea, the one which sank would designate the man who would stay. When this was done only the name of the bowman Kotaji sank to the bottom.
Obedient to his prince's orders the good bowman took his stand upon the shore and sadly watched the ship sail off across the calm sea toward China. As he was choking back his tears the same white-bearded old man who had appeared in the prince's dream emerged from the dragon pool and spoke to him.
“I am a spirit of the Western Sea,” the old man said. “Every morning at sunrise for some time now a grotesque Buddhist monk has descended from heaven and chanted a Buddhist spell (Dharani) which obliges me and my wife and children to rise to the surface of the water. He has pulled out and eaten one by one the livers of my children until now only I and my wife and one daughter are left. Please shoot down this monster.”
“Shooting arrows is my pride,” Kotaji answered. “I will do as you ask.”
After expressing his thanks the old man reentered the pool while Kotaji hid behind a big tree to await the coming of the monk. Sure enough, just as the sun appeared above the eastern horizon the monk descended and began loudly chanting his spell. Kotaji sped an arrow swift and true into his heart, and he changed into an aged fox and fell dead.
Soon the old man reappeared. “You have saved my life,” he said. “In gratitude I offer you my lovely daughter as your wife.”
“That is the best reward an
d the most precious gift you could give me,” Kotaji said. “She is lovely.”
Then the old man instructed him: “I will change my daughter into a flower which you will clasp in your bosom, and I will command two dragons to carry you to the Silla ship on which the envoy is sailing, These dragons will then convoy the ship to the shores of the T'ang empire. Goodbye and good luck to you both.”
Kotaji did as he was bid, and soon the ship lay at anchor at the seaport of Changan. When the people of China saw that the Silla ship was convoyed by dragons they hastened to report this extraordinary event to their Emperor. Remarking that the Silla envoy was an uncommon man, the Emperor invited Prince Yangpae to a special court banquet at which he was seated above all the T'ang dignitaries. Moreover, the Emperor gave him rich gifts of gold-laced brocade to present to the Queen of Silla.
When the party returned home the flower Kotaji was carrying changed into a beautiful woman, and he lived with her happily for many years.
51. King Hyogong (898-913)
During the reign of King Hyogong, the fifty-second sovereign, magpies built nests along the twenty-one kan (about six square feet) on the eastern and western sides of the outer gate of Pongsong Temple, and during the reign of King Sindok (913-917) there were thirty-four magpie nests and crows' nests on an outbuilding of Yongmyo Temple. In March that year frost came twice and in June the water of Ch'ampo Bay flung back the tide and fought it for three days.
(These are signs and portents. The Chinese T'ang Empire was over' thrown in 907 and Silla itself was in decline, ending in 935. The tides on the west coast of Korea fluctuate very widely, in places by as much as forty feet, and tidal bores are not uncommon.)
52. King Kyongmyong (917-924)
During the reign of King Kyongmyong the fifty-fourth sovereign the dogs in the mural painting at the Temple of the Four Deva Kings began to whine mournfully. The monks chanted scriptures for three days, until the dogs stopped, but after a time they again whined for half a day. In February of 920 the shadow of the pagoda at Hwang-nyong Temple appeared upside down on the grounds of the house of Kummo-saji and in October of the same year the strings of the bows held in the hands of the gods of the five directions at the Temple of the Four Deva Kings were mysteriously cut away and the dogs in the mural painting rushed out into the temple courtyard and back into the picture again.