Chapter VII
The Imperial Son-in-Law
WHEN Yang had looked again carefully and had made sure that it really was not Moonlight, he asked: “Maiden, who are you?”
She replied: “Your servant was originally from Pa-ju. My surname is Chok and my given name is Kyong-hong, or Wildgoose. When I was young, Moonlight and I became covenanted sisters, and because of this close bond of union, she said to me last night: “I am feeling unwell and cannot wait on the Master. Take my place, please, and save me from a reprimand. Thus at the request of Moonlight I came boldly into your lordship’s room.”
Before she had done speaking, Moonlight herself opened the sliding door and came softly in. She said: “Your lordship has won a new and wonderful person to yourself, and I congratulate you. You will remember that I recommended Chok Kyong-hong when we were in the North River District. Is she not equal to my recommendation?”
“She is sweet in face and reputation,” replied he. He looked at her again and behold she was like the young scholar Chok in every feature. By way of inquiry the Master remarked: “The young literatus Chok must be some relative of yours; have you a brother? I regret to say that I saw Chok yesterday acting in a way very improper. Where is he now do you suppose?”
Wildgoose said in reply: “I have no brothers or sisters.”
Then the Master looked at her for a moment and suddenly guessed the whole game that had been played upon him. He laughed and said: “The one who followed me from the side of the way near Hantan was the maiden Chok; and the one who talked across the wall with Moonlight was Chok See also. I wonder how you dared to deceive me in such a disguise.”
Then Wildgoose answered: “How could I ever have ventured to do such a thing were it not that I have had born in me one great and indomitable longing that has possessed me all my life—to attach myself to some renowned hero or superior lord. When the King of Yon learned my name and bought me for a heaped-up bag of jewels, he fed me on the daintiest fare and dressed me in the rarest silk. And yet I had no delight in it but was in distress, like a parrot bird behind cage bars, grieving out its days and longing to shake its wings and fly away. The other day when the King of Yon invited you to his feast, I spied on you through the screen chinks, and you were the man that my heart bounded forth to follow. But the palace has nine gateways of approach, how could I safely pass these? The journey on which you had entered was a thousand miles long, how could I escape and follow for so great a distance? I thought over a hundred ways and means, and then hit on a plan, but I dared not put it into execution at the time of your departure. Had I done so the King of Yon would have sent his runners out to arrest me. When you had been gone ten days or more, I secretly took one of the King’s fast horses and sped forth on my way, overtaking you at Han-tan and making myself known to your lordship. I should have told you at once who I was, but there are so many eavesdroppers about, that I did not dare to speak; so I made myself a deceiver and am guilty of great sin. I wore a man’s dress in order to escape those who might attempt to arrest me. What I did last night was done at the earnest request of Moonlight. Even if you graciously overlook these many faults of mine, the longer I live the more I shall look with amazement on my having been so bold. If your lordship will kindly forgive and forget my wrongdoing and overlook my poor and humble birth; if you will permit me to find shelter under your wide-spreading tree where I may build my little nest, Moonlight and I will live together, and after the Master is married to some noble lady, she and I will come to your home and speak our good wishes and congratulations.”
General Yang said in reply: “My fairest maid, not even Chi-pool the famous dancer was your equal. Not only have you highly esteemed the attainments of this poor prince of Wee, but you desire to follow him for good. How can he remember any fault of yours?”
Then Wildgoose thanked him, and Moonlight said: “Now that Chok See has waited on my lord as well as I, I thank thee on her behalf.” And thus they bowed repeatedly.
Next morning by break of day the General was ready to depart, and said to the two: “There are many who spy and eavesdrop on a long journey, so we may not go together, but as soon as I have completed the marriage awaiting me, you must both come.” Thus he resumed his way.
Once more he reached the capital and reported at the Palace. At this time, too, a letter of submission arrived from the King of Yon, with quantities of tribute, gold, silver, silks, etc. The Emperor, greatly delighted at his success, comforted Yang after the long hardships of the way; congratulated him, and proposed to make him a tributary prince as reward; but Yang, alarmed at this too high favour, bowed low before the throne, asking earnestly to be permitted to decline.
The Emperor, charmed with his modesty, yielded to his wishes and made him only a chief minister as well as Director of the Hallim (College of Literature), besides giving him great rewards. He caused him to be most lavishly honoured by the State, so that history scarcely presents a case of one so markedly distinguished.
After his return, Yang went to pay his respects to the home of Justice Cheung. He and the lady Cheung greeted him with special joy, congratulated him on his high attainments and honour, and were delighted at his being made a minister, so that the whole house was filled with rejoicing.
Yang then went to his quarters in the park pavilion, once more met Cloudlet and renewed the happy relationship with her that had been broken off by his departure.
The Emperor was greatly delighted with the rising fame of Yang So-yoo. He frequently summoned him to the inner palace to talk about history and the Classics, as well as other subjects, so that the days went by imperceptibly.
One evening Yang was detained till late in the presence of the Emperor. On his return to his official quarters, the moon shone softly and his feelings of happiness were so great that sleep refused to come. He went alone up into the upper pavilion, and there leaned on the balustrade and looked out upon the scene so softly gilded by the shining moon. Suddenly he heard on the gently passing breeze the notes of a flute, far off, as though from among the clouds, coming nearer and nearer. He could not distinguish the tune, but the sweetness was such as is not heard among mortals.
Minister Yang then called one of the secretaries of the Hallim and asked him, saying: “Does this music come from outside the palace, or is there someone within the enclosure who is playing?”
The secretary said he did not know. The minister then ordered wine to be brought, and when he had taken a glass or two he called for his flute on which he began to play. The sound of it went up to heaven, and soft tinted clouds came out to listen; the phoenix birds called to each other, and two blue storks came flying from the palace and danced to the music; while all the secretaries looked on in wonder, saying: “Wang Ja-jin[27] has come down to earth to share our joys and sorrows.”
The Empress Dowager had two sons and one daughter; the Emperor, Prince Wol, and Princess Nan-yang or Orchid. When Orchid was born, a fairy had come down from heaven to the Empress in a dream, and had placed a jewel in her bosom. Such was the princess. When she was grown up she was graceful in form as a flower and all her ways were according to the highest measure of the genii. No marks of earth were there upon her. Marvellously skilled was she, too, in the character, in needlework and embroidery. The Empress loved her better than all others.
Among the tribute paid at this time there was a white stone flute from the western empire of Rome. The form of it was very beautiful, and the Empress ordered the court musicians to try it, but they failed and no sound was forthcoming. In a dream one night the princess met a fairy and learned from her how to play it. After waking she tried this flute of the far west and the tones were exceeding sweet, agreeing in harmony with the laws of the eum-rul (Chinese music).
The Empress Dowager and the Emperor were greatly astonished at this, but no outsiders knew anything of it. At one time when she played the storks gathered in front of the audience hall and danced to the music.
The Empress said to the Emperor: “In ancient days Prince Chin-mok’s daughter, Nong-ok[28], played beautifully on the crystal flute, and now Orchid plays no less marvellously. Nong-ok found her destined husband by this matchless music of hers. May it be so with Orchid, and may we thus happily settle the question of her marriage.” Though Nan-yang was grown up she had not yet been betrothed.
On this night, Orchid, inspired by the soft light of the moonbeams, played till the storks danced before her, and when she had finished they flew away to the office of the Hallim and danced there likewise; so it became reported throughout the palace that the storks had danced to the music of General Yang. The Emperor heard it, and marvelled as he thought to himself: “The Princess’s destiny evidently rests with this man.”
He then reported to the Empress Dowager, saying: “General Yang’s age is about the same as that of Princess Orchid, and there is no one in the Court his equal in handsome bearing or ability. Never again can we expect to find his like if we search the whole wide realm.”
The Empress laughed, and said: “Orchid’s marriage has not yet been decided upon, and I have been somewhat anxious about it. Now that I hear this, I am sure that Yang So-yoo is God’s appointed mate for her; still, I must have a look at him before I decide finally.”
“That will be very easy,” said the Emperor in reply. “I shall summon Yang one of these days to one of my private audiences, have a talk with him on some literary subject, and then you can peep through the screen and see what kind of man he is.”
The Empress was greatly delighted and so the matter rested.
Princess Orchid’s special name was So-wha, so called because these two characters were found engraved upon the flute. They meant “flute harmony.”
On a certain day the Emperor took his seat in the Hall of the Fairies, one of the palaces of the Imperial Court, and commanded a eunuch to summon Yang So-yoo. The eunuch went first to the office of the Hallim, but learned there that Yang was out. Then he went post-haste to the home of Justice Cheung and made inquiry, but was told that Yang had not yet returned. So he rushed about here and there but could get no trace of him.
At this time Yang, accompanied by Thirteen, had gone to one of the places of amusement, where he had imbibed so freely that he was very much intoxicated. He was happy and having a hilarious time. The eunuch hurriedly rushed in and ordered him to report at once to the palace. Thirteen, alarmed by this call, jumped up and went out. But Yang’s eyes were heavy with drink and his hair was in disorder. The eunuch addressed him so that he got up and changed his dress and then followed into the inner palace, where he appeared before the Emperor, who commanded him to sit down.
There they discussed the history of the past line of kings, their successes and their failures, and Yang, quick as he was asked, gave answer, his words flowing like running water.
The Emperor, greatly delighted, said: “I should like to ask whom you regard as greatest among the kings of the past, and whom among the ministers. The Hallim replied: “Among the kings we rank Yo and Soon[29] first, but we need not specially dwell on them. Han Ko-jo wrote an essay called, ‘The Great Wind,’ while Wee Ta-jo wrote one called, ‘The Bright Wind and Shining Stars.’ These come first among the kings. Among ministers are Yi Yung of Sa-kyong, Cho Ja of Up-to, To Yon-myong of Nam-cho, and Sa Yom-eum. These are regarded as the first literary masters. Among the kingdoms Tang is first, and among the Tang kings, Hyon-jong. Among ministers is Yi Tai-baik, who is without a peer in all the world.”
The Emperor said: “Your opinion is assuredly just what mine is. When I read Yi Tai-baik’s ‘Chong Pyong-sa’ and ‘Haing Nak-sa,’ I was always very sorry that I did not live at the same time as he did, but now that I have won your lordship to my side, why should I even envy Yi Tai-baik?”
“I have,” said his Majesty, “in accordance with ancient law, selected ten or more palace women who are specially gifted with the pen and beautiful to see, and put them under a secretary. Now I should like your lordship, following the example of Yi Tai-baik, to write for these women something that they would specially enjoy”; and so he ordered the ink-stone, jade table, and pens to be brought, and placed before the master. The women, delighted that they were to have a sample of his renowned penmanship, brought special paper, silken pocket handkerchiefs, embroidered fans and so forth, on which he was to write.
The Hallim, delighted to show them this attention, wrote with great readiness and rapidity, dashing off his strokes like the wind and clouds or the dazzling lightning. Before the shadows of the evening had begun to fall he had finished the pile of invitations that lay before him. The palace ladies knelt in order, passing writings to His Majesty, who examined them all interestedly. Some were in couplets, some in fours, some again in doubles; all were gems of their kind. There was no limit to the praise the King bestowed upon them. Then he said to the palace maids-in-waiting: “Now that the Hallim has worked so hard and written for you, you must bring him the best wine there is.”
Then the ladies brought choice wine in golden platters, in crystal goblets, and in parrot cups, on green stone tables, and arranged various dainties to accompany the wine. Sometimes kneeling, sometimes standing, they vied with each other to serve him.
The Hallim received each with his left hand and raised it to his lips with the right, and when he had had ten glasses or so his face grew rosy like the springtime, while mists beclouded his vision. Then His Majesty ordered the wine to be removed and said to the women: “The Hallim’s verses are each worth their weight in gold. What will you give him now in return?”
Some of the women drew forth the golden hairpins that were shot through their hair, some unclasped their jade belt ornaments, some took rings from their fingers. Each tried to outdo the other till their gifts were piled up before him. Then His Majesty said to one of the eunuchs: “Take the ink-stone used by the Master, the pens, and the gifts of the palace-maids, wrap them up, and when he goes take them to his house.”
The Hallim thanked His Majesty for his kindness, got up to go but fell over. The Emperor then ordered a eunuch to help him along under the arms as far as the South Gate, where they mounted him on his horse. At last he reached his quarters in the park pavilion. Cloudlet received him, helped him to change his ceremonial dress, and asked in amazement: “Wherever has your lordship been that you have drunk so much?”
Yang, who was very drunk indeed, could only nod his head. Then in a little time there came a servant bearing a great load of gifts from the Emperor—pens, ink-stone, fans, etc., which were piled up at the hall entrance.
Yang laughed and said: “These are all presents that His Majesty has sent to you, Cloudlet. How do my winnings compare with those of Tong Pang-sak?”
The next day the Hallim arose late, and after he had made his toilet the gate-keeper came suddenly to say that Prince Wol had come to call upon him.
Yang gave a start and said: “Prince Wol has come? Something surely must be the matter.’’
He went hastily out to meet him, showed him in, and asked him to be seated. His age would be about twenty. Very handsome he was, with no traces of the common world on his features.
Yang, humbly kneeling, said to him: “Your Highness has condescended to visit my humble dwelling; what orders have you for me, please?”
The Prince answered: “I am an admirer of specially gifted men, even though I have had no opportunity to get acquainted with your Excellency. Now, however, I come with commands from His Majesty, and to convey his message. The Princess Nan-yang has now reached a marriageable age and we have to choose a husband for her. The Emperor, seeing your superiority, and greatly admiring your gifts, has made you his choice, and has sent me to let you know. In a little the Imperial orders will be issued.”
Yang, greatly alarmed, said: “The grace of heaven coming down to so low and humble a subject means ‘blessing exceeding bounds,’ and where blessing exceeds bounds it becomes disaster. There is no question about it. Your servant is engaged to the daughter of Justice Cheung, and almost a year has gone by since the gifts were exchanged. I beg and beseech your Highness to make this known to His Majesty.
The Prince replied: “I shall certainly report as you say, but I regret it very much, for the Emperor’s love of the highly gifted will turn out a disappointment.”
The Hallim answered: “This matter is of great concern in my world of affairs, and one I dare not deal lightly with. I shall bow before His Majesty and ask for punishment.”
The Prince then bade farewell and returned to the palace.
Yang then went to the apartments occupied by Justice Cheung, and reported to him what the Prince had said. Already Cloudlet had told the lady of the house, so that the whole house was upset and in a state of consternation, no one knowing what to do. Clouds of anxiety gathered on the old Justice’s face and over his eyebrows, and he had no words to say.
“Do not be anxious,” said the Hallim. “The Emperor is good and enlightened and most careful to do exactly what is according to ceremony and good form. He would never set any of the affairs of his minister at naught, and though I am unworthy I would die rather than do the wrong that Song Hong did.”
The Empress Dowager had the previous day come into the Hall of the Fairies and had peeped in on Yang So-yoo. She had been greatly taken with him, saying to the Emperor: “He is indeed a fitting mate for Nan-yang (Orchid). I have seen him, and there is no longer any need for consultation.” Thus she commanded Prince Wol to report to Yang.
The Emperor himself now desired to make the same proposition. He was seated alone in the Special Hall. He was thinking over the wonderful skill that Yang had displayed in the writing of the character, and desiring once more to see what he had written, ordered one of the eunuchs to have the women bring him their compositions. They had each put the writing very carefully away, but one palace maiden took the fan on which Yang had written, went alone to her room, placed it in her bosom and cried all night over it, refusing to eat. This maiden’s family name was Chin, and her given name was Cha-bong. She was a daughter of Commissioner Chin of Wha-joo. The Commissioner had died a violent death, and Cha-bong had been arrested and made a palace maid-in-waiting. All the women loved and praised Chin See. The Emperor himself summoned her to his presence and desired to make her one of the Imperial wives, but the Empress, fearing Chin See’s surpassing beauty, did not consent. “Chin See is indeed very lovable,” said she, “but Your Majesty has had to order her father’s execution. To have close relations with his daughter would break the saying of the ancients, which runs: ‘Enlightened kings of the past put far away women who were related to the households of the punished.’”
The Emperor, recognising that this was true, consented. He had asked Cha-bong if she could read the character, and finding that she could, had appointed her to be one of his literary secretaries and put her in charge of palace documents. Also, the Empress Dowager had made her the literary companion of Princess Orchid, to read to her, and to drill her in the practice of composition. The Princess greatly loved Chin See for her beauty of character and the wonderful knowledge she possessed. She treated her like a near relative and would not let her out of her sight.
On that day she was waiting on the Empress Dowager in the Hall of the Fairies, ready to attend the commands of the Emperor. She was one of the women who received the verses composed by Yang. Yang’s face and form were already deeply imprinted upon her heart. How could she mistake him? Waking or sleeping, she had never dropped him from her memory. She knew him at once, but Yang, having no knowledge that she was alive, and being in the presence of the Emperor, did not dare to lift up his eyes. He simply wrote and passed on what he had written.
Now that Cha-bong had seen him, her heart was all afire, but she stifled her feelings and emotions, and her desire to be known, fearing that she might arouse suspicion. After her return to her room, in distress over the hopelessness of trying to piece together the broken threads of her destiny, she had unfolded the fan and read over what he had written. She opened it again and again, not once putting it down. The writing read:
“This silken fan is round as the moon,
As fair and soft as the hand that holds it,
Over the harp strings its zephyrs play
Till it find its way to the Master’s keeping.
As round it is as the shining moon,
May the soft fair hand ne’er lay it down,
Nor its silken smile e’en once be hidden,
In all the days of the happy spring.”
When Chin See had read the first lines she sighed, saying: “Master Yang does not know my heart. Even though I am in the palace, why should I ever be thought of as the wife of the Emperor?”
She read further and sighed again and said: “Although others have not seen my face, assuredly Master Yang will never forget me in his heart. His verses prove, however, that a foot away may mean a thousand miles. When I think of the willow song that I received when I was in my home I cannot stifle my sorrow.”
The tears dropped upon her dress. She now wrote a verse and added it to his upon the border of the fan, read it over, and sighed again. Suddenly she learned that a command had gone forth from the Emperor to collect all the fans and other things upon which Yang had written. Chin See in great alarm, and with terror entering into her very bones, said: “I am doomed to die, doomed to die.”