Chapter IV

When the vapors of intoxication had cleared from Su-Rung’s brain, his first thought was of his captive. He ran to the old woman’s hut where the widow of San-Houni was confined. Great was his astonishment on finding the house empty. In vain did he burst into anger, and shout. No one answered. Breathless from rage, he went to his brother.

“Have you seen these two women?”

“No. I have not seen them since I was here last.”

“They have disappeared, but I know how to find them.”

Su-Rung set out in pursuit accompanied by his brother. The latter feared that Su-Rung in his fury would do harm if he succeeded in coming upon the fugitives and Su-Yeng wished to be present to protect them should the worst come to the worst.

Traveling speedily, the two brothers very soon reached the shores of the lake, of which we have spoken before. Here they saw Yeng-Si’s sandals by the water’s edge and a body floating in the middle of the lake.

Even Su-Rung was moved by the sight and cried:

“The poor woman is drowned.”

“Brother,” replied Su-Yeng, “you would not listen to me and you have been punished. You wished to make this woman your slave and she has escaped from your clutches in spite of your efforts. What a great misfortune for us.”

“You mean to say that it is my fault,” took up Su-Rung, angrily, “You are to blame yourself. Why did you let my prisoner escape?”

The dispute between the two brothers lasted in this manner until Su-Rung’s rage had cooled. Instead of retracing their steps at once they continued on their way to the neighboring village and were the first ones to find the baby which Yeng-Si had left there a half hour or so before. Quite pleased at his unusual discovery Su-Rung took the little being and carried it home with him where he confided it to a nurse, instructing her to take the greatest care of the little boy.

Several times Su-Rung questioned his brother concerning the escape of the two women. Not being successful, however, in learning anything about the matter he dismissed the entire subject from his mind.

The murderer of San-Houni gave all his time to the education of the child he had adopted. He treated him as if he were his own son. It must be said that the little fellow gave him abundant cause for satisfaction. He was good to look upon, extremely intelligent and grew up rapidly. One day he asked Su-Rung:

“Father, where is my mother?”

“Your mother,” replied Su-Rung, very much embarrassed by the question, “your mother died a short time after you were born.”

Su-Rung was in the habit of accompanying his adopted son to school. The young scholar was not long in distinguishing himself among his comrades who could not witness his success without a show of jealousy and hate. To obtain revenge they could find nothing better to do than to taunt him about having no parents.

“No parents,” shouted the indignant boy. “Why, I have a father and it is not my fault if I lost my mother before I was able to know her. I do not see why I deserve your reproaches.”

“That shows that you really do not know anything about yourself. Su-Rung is not your father. He is only a thief and a robber. He found you on a street corner and brought you up.”

This revelation troubled the child very much and he made it known to Su-Rung.

“Don’t be troubled about that, my child,” replied the latter. “These boys are jealous of you and they invent these stories to anger you. They are not worth bothering about at all.”

Yeng-Si’s son was somewhat reassured by this. But other circumstances aroused his suspicions. He accidentally discovered the name of San-Syeng tattooed on his arm. Additional evidence was furnished him when he found a ring one day while rummaging among some old books and papers. He hid this precious object in his pocket, saying to himself:

“I believe what the fellows told me was true after all.”

From this day on, San-Syeng was constantly preoccupied with thoughts as to who his parents might be. In order to more easily solve this problem he determined to travel through the country, thinking that some day he would be able to discover those to whom he owed his birth.

When he had reached his seventeenth year, San-Syeng asked Su-Rung for permission to make a trip through Korea in order to finish his education. Su-Rung made no opposition, although he preferred that his adopted son take a traveling companion. Nevertheless, he did not insist but gave his consent for San-Syeng to travel alone on a journey that would consume perhaps two years.

San-Syeng had been gone several weeks when he came to a beautiful little village where he counted upon remaining but a short while. Until now, his voyage had been uneventful. But the time for adventure was at hand. The first incident was somewhat distasteful. San-Syeng had stopped for a moment in the street where some children were playing. He was watching their antics with pleasure when he received a shock. He had just heard one of the gamins ask one of his comrades.

“Do you know that robber, Su-Rung?”

“By name, yes, but I have never seen him. Why do you ask me that? He’s a wicked man.”

“Because they tell a remarkable story about that fellow. One of my friends was at school with the son, or rather the adopted son, of this thief. It seems, in fact, that Su-Rung found the child abandoned by the roadside and took him home and raised him. Thanks to his robberies, the man is very rich. He has just sent his son on a long trip. That’s what my friend told me.”

San-Syeng had not missed a word of this conversation. His curiosity was aroused to the highest pitch, so he approached the youngster who had spoken, and asked,

“Pardon me, friend, would you tell me your name? Do you know Su-Rung?”

“Sir, I know this man only through having heard tales of him.”

This reply hardly satisfied San-Syeng, but, believing that the child had been frightened, he did not pursue his questioning further but walked on.

Shortly afterward, San-Syeng came to the village of Yen-Yu, where he decided to tarry for a few days to recover from the fatigue of his travels.

Before seeking a lodging he took a stroll through the village to see the sights. His attention was drawn to a great mansion surrounded by a vast garden, so he turned in this direction to view it more closely. He came to a pause when he saw in the garden a young girl of marvelous beauty. It was impossible to approach her as the garden was surrounded by a continuous wall. He walked on for a few paces and then, yielding to some indescribable impulse, he retraced his steps. The young girl was still there. She turned a candid look toward the walker, giving the young man a subtle thrill of pleasure. It is true that his eyes had never met such a sight--a bright oval face as fresh as a half ripened peach, eyes that rivaled the stars in their brilliancy. Her hair, which fell down over her shoulders, was as fine and golden as the clouds which disappear behind the mountain peaks in the rays of the setting sun. Add to these attractions a very small hand and a gait as graceful as the flight of a bird. The admiration of San-Syeng could not be restrained. He could not take his eyes away from the vision of loveliness. The girl, walking up and down the garden, now and then cast furtive glances at the youth who was watching her.

San-Syeng was in a veritable daze. For a considerable time he remained in the one spot, even after the beautiful unknown had disappeared. Finally, he decided to find a lodging, hoping also to obtain some information concerning the beautiful girl whose charms still held him. His first action, therefore, on arriving at the village inn, was to inquire:

“To whom does yonder mansion belong that is surrounded by such a beautiful garden? Its owner is doubtless a personage of some importance?”

“Yes, it is the estate of a very rich family, the head of which, Yeng-Yen-Sa, is dead. The only people who live in that large house are his wife and his daughter.”

“Is the daughter married?”

“No, sir, she is scarcely seventeen years old.”

San-Syeng’s curiosity was satisfied for the moment. When alone, he gave himself up to reflection. First, he determined to lengthen his stay in Yen-Yu. He was burning with desire to see the unknown beauty again. Each day for hours at a time he would walk in the neighborhood of the garden where he had first seen the young girl who was constantly occupying his thoughts. Alas! his beautiful stroller of the garden remained indoors. He was sad unto death. One evening, when his sorrow, revived again by the memory of his parents, was more acute than ever, he sought distraction in music. He took his flute, and, stationing himself near the garden, improvised the following verses:

“Homeless am I--I know neither Heaven nor Earth.

I am walking in despair, seeking in vain for those who gave me birth.

In a garden there is a flower of marvelous beauty.

I would like to pluck this blossom, but the branches which bear it
are so high I cannot reach them.

My most ardent desire would be to die and become a butterfly so that
I could hover about this adorable flower.”

San-Syeng then cleverly composed a sweet melody, to serve as an accompaniment to this poetry, which he played upon his instrument with much feeling.

The young girl had heard everything. Deeply perplexed, she asked herself what could be the meaning of the charming words which had come to her ears.

“If this young man,” she mused, “does not know Heaven nor Earth, it means he has lost his parents. If he wants to be transformed into a butterfly to flit around a flower, it means he loves a young girl.”

Very much puzzled, she sent her servant to inquire who could be the author of the verses she had just heard. She wondered if it were not the young man whom she had seen a few days before walking near the garden. Still impressed by what she had heard, she took her own instrument and in turn improvised the following verses:

“The spider spins her web from flower-stem to flower-stem, but the
butterfly does not come.

I have dug a lake in my garden to attract the swans, but in vain are
my labors.

I have planted a tree to serve as a refuge for the swallow, but the
bird remains mute to my call while displeasing birds come a-flocking.

To-day, however, I heard the song of the blue bird. He has at last
arrived and very soon he will be close and dear to me.

The age of sixteen is the fair Springtime of life. If I want to be
happy, I should not wait much longer.”

These words filled San-Syeng with a deep joy for they seemed to be a reply to his own verses and he felt overwhelmed with emotion. He went home, but it was in vain that he tried to sleep.

On her part, the young girl slept with difficulty, as her mind was agitated by what had just taken place. Now it came to pass that her father appeared before her in a dream and said, “My daughter, there is stopping at the inn nearest our home a traveler whose merits I bring to your attention. It is the son of San-Houni, the scholar, one of my best friends. I would like you to marry this young man.”

She objected that she was not even acquainted with the youth.

“Yes, my daughter,” replied her father, “you have already seen him. He comes of a very noble family. Good-bye, my daughter.”

The young girl wished to detain her father, but to her sorrow her efforts were of no avail; the vision faded and she awoke in tears.

“How can I obey my father’s command,” she complained. “I must devise some way to meet this young man. I will go into the garden again this evening and perhaps I shall see the man whom my father has ordered me to marry.”

She was not disappointed in her hopes. When night had lowered its curtain of darkness she went down into the garden and caught sight of San-Syeng. But instead of going to meet him, she turned and rushed into the house like a frightened kitten.

San-Syeng was stupefied and broken up by her sudden disappearance. Despairing of being able to talk with the girl he loved, he resolved to write to her. So the next evening he returned to the garden with a letter. Again the young girl appeared for a few minutes. He walked in front of her, tossed the letter over the garden wall, and left.

The young girl ran to pick it up, hurried with it to her room, where she read the neat characters:

“Mademoiselle, excuse my boldness. I have but a few words to say.
Do you know what the butterfly is? It is an insect that is fond of
flowers. Nights when attracted by the light of the lamps which it
takes for flowers, it throws itself into the flame and perishes.”

“This is a comparison that applies to me closely,” thought the young girl. “I shall have my answer for this young man to-morrow.”

The next evening when San-Syeng returned to his post by the garden wall he saw the girl raise both hands and point to the moon.

After this graceful and significant gesture she ran into the house.

San-Syeng went home, much perplexed. “She made a sign to me,” he pondered, “but what meaning does this sign have?” He reflected for a long time, conjuring up hypothesis after hypothesis. Finally, he struck his forehead with an exclamation of joy, crying: “I believe I have it. The girl raised both of her hands, she must have meant the number ten. Then she pointed to the moon, that surely means at night. She wanted to tell me that she would meet me to-morrow evening at ten o’clock. That’s it beyond a doubt.”

He awaited with impatience the following evening. Long before the appointed time he was in the garden, worried and anxious as to whether he had not given an erroneous interpretation to the young girl’s gesture. At ten o’clock she came daintily along the garden path, advancing gaily and smiling. She paused to pick a flower which she placed between her lips. One might have thought she was playing the flute, so sweet were the soft, low sounds of song which came from her throat. Picking up a dead branch she amused herself by whipping the leaves which strewed the ground. San-Syeng contemplated the vision with an admiration that held him spellbound. One might have said it was like a cat entrapping a mouse. When she arrived within a few paces of him she stopped as if frightened and seemed about to draw back. Then San-Syeng advanced toward her. “How beautiful she is,” was his thought. So great was his admiration that he could not find a single word to say. The young girl too remained silent. San-Syeng thought, “My first words must express all the love I feel, but my tongue is weak and incapable of it. What is her feeling toward me? Does she have a tender and loving heart, or has wickedness already penetrated this beautiful young soul? Let’s try a little trick.”

The girl saw San-Syeng drop suddenly to the ground. Without an instant’s hesitation she ran to his help. Supporting his head in her hands, and after dusting off his clothes which had been soiled by the fall, she assisted him to arise and led him to a nearby bench.

Then San-Syeng said wearily, as if he were just regaining consciousness, “Pardon me, mademoiselle, I am confused with all the trouble I am giving you.”

“Not at all, sir,” replied the young girl. “I am happy to have been able to render you assistance. I only ask for permission to put one question to you. Where do you live?”

“I live at Nam-Hai and my name is San-Syeng.”

“Has it been very long since you left that town?”

“Almost six months.”

“And have you seen many interesting things on your journey?”

“Yes, many.”

“Your parents are still alive, I suppose?”

“No, mademoiselle, I lost my parents a long time ago. And are your father and mother still alive?”

“My father is dead and I live with my mother. Wasn’t it you who came here playing the flute the other evening?”

“It was I, mademoiselle. And tell me, didn’t you reply on your instrument?”

“Yes.”

“I am very grateful. You have condescended to listen, you have not repulsed me, and this evening you have given me the greatest of pleasures by talking with me.”

“But, sir, were you ill just a while ago?”

“Mademoiselle, I lost my head through love of you. May I in turn ask why you did not reply to my note? You made a sign to me and I imagined that you were inviting me to return this evening at ten o’clock. Was I right?”

“Yes, sir, you divined my thoughts exactly. Do you know you have given evidence of great intelligence. You have captured my heart without the slightest effort, like the fisherman who catches a fish that is surprised to see itself so easily taken. Now you may call me Yeng-So-Yei, for that is my name.”

At these words, San-Syeng seized the hand of the girl and covered it with kisses.

“I have not sought to ensnare you. It was merely my love, my boundless love, which impelled me to act thus. But it is late. Your mother will notice your absence and will become worried. Let us meet again to-morrow at the same hour.”

The young girl nodded her head as a sign of acquiescence and withdrew into the house. In the solitude of her room she thought for a long time of the events of the evening. “I love this young man,” she said, “he is so intelligent and has such a splendid appearance. In giving him my heart I have done nothing but obey my father’s counsel. Therefore, I should have no remorse about my conduct. I shall marry the man I love and accomplish my father’s wish.”

Similar reflections agitated San-Syeng’s mind. “How beautiful and good she is!” he would repeat to himself. “I love her to distraction. I can never wait until to-morrow evening to see her. How long this night and day are going to be!”

The hours rolled around, however, and the time came for San-Syeng to visit the girl once more. She came running to meet him, her face radiant with joy and happiness. After they had exchanged a few words of greeting she said to San-Syeng:

“Let’s go into the house. We can talk better. You can come to my room where no one will disturb us.”

“But don’t you fear that your mother will notice something?”

“My mother is very old and feeble, we have nothing to fear from her.”

San-Syeng followed the young girl. He was much impressed to see with what skill she had arranged her room. He complimented her on her taste and good judgment and added: “How happy you must be!”

“And aren’t you happy, too?”

“Alas, I have lost my parents, and I am alone in the world. Life is no longer attractive to me. You have given me the first pleasure in my life and I am obliged to resume my travels within a few days.”

“But why must you leave? Haven’t you told me that you loved me?”

“Yes, I love you with all my heart and soul. But it is only another misfortune for me because I can never marry you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I can never marry you because you are rich, while I am penniless.”

“Fie, foolish,” teased the girl, drawing him to her. “Don’t you know that I love you and that nothing can prevent me from being your wife and companion? We shall marry. Do not leave me. Remain with me to-night, my mother will not know.”

Their lips were united in one long kiss. At daybreak San-Syeng departed. He regarded himself as the happiest of mortals and promised to spare no effort to make life happy for the girl who had chosen him for her husband.

Every evening the young man went to visit his wife. Now it came to pass one night, that her mother, unable to sleep, arose from her couch and went walking through the house. Passing before the door of her daughter’s room she heard, above the sound of mingled kisses, her daughter speaking with some one. Immediately she fell into a great fury. She tried to open the door, but was unsuccessful. Calling a servant, she said:

“Take a sabre, and place yourself before this door. You are to kill the first person who leaves that room.”

San-Syeng and his wife had not heard these words for they were asleep. The girl had another dream in which she saw her father. “My daughter,” he said, “you are in great danger. Your husband’s life is threatened. Arise and see what is on the other side of your door. Find a way for your husband to escape. Give him my favorite horse so that he can take flight. You may also give him my sword. You will be separated for some time, but you will be united in the days to come.”

Startled by the warning, the young girl softly opened the door where she saw the servant with drawn sabre.

“What are you doing here--and with a weapon, too?” she demanded.

“I am standing guard at your mother’s orders and I am to kill the first person who leaves your room.”

“Why, my mother is mad. There is no one with me. I was just about to call you anyway and send you on an errand. I would like to write and I haven’t a single bit of paper. Will you get me some?”

“I cannot leave this post, mademoiselle.”

“Why not? If you are afraid that my mother’s prisoner will escape, let me have your sabre. I will take your place while you get me what I want.”

The servant was persuaded with little difficulty. Scarcely had he left than the young lady ran to her husband and cried: “Up at once or you are lost. My mother has learned that there is some one with me and has stationed a servant at the door with orders to kill any one who leaves my room. Wait for me in the garden.”

San-Syeng arose hurriedly and descended cautiously and quietly into the garden. The servant returned and received the assurance that no one had left the room which he had been guarding.

“I think I shall take a walk in the garden,” the girl suggested. “This room is too warm for me.”

She went direct to the stables where she led out the horse which her father had mentioned and brought him to San-Syeng. The two lovers embraced and wept bitterly at being forced to part in so abrupt a fashion. The girl had gathered together her jewels and what silver she had at hand and turned them over to San-Syeng together with her father’s favorite sword. San-Syeng, despite his protest, was forced to accept them. He slipped from his finger the ring which he had found among the books long years before and the significance of which he did not even guess.

“Take this keepsake,” he said to his wife. “It is a token of my undying love. As long as I live I shall think only of you and I hope soon to come back for you. I will go to the Capital and shall soon have matters fixed so that I may rejoin you. Good-bye.”

He went away, his head bowed in sadness, while the young girl, tears rolling down her cheeks, followed him with her eyes until she saw him disappear in the black depths of the wood.

“I wish I could burn that forest and then my San-Syeng would have to take the mountain road, and I wish the plagued mountains were at the bottom of the sea,” cried the unhappy girl--“for I would be able to see my husband again.”

She remained for a long time in the one spot motionless as a statue. At last, she decided to go to her room, following in spirit San-Syeng who was galloping briskly toward the Capital. He arrived there when there was great excitement among the people of the city because of the death of the King and the exile of the young Prince to the Isle of Cho-To, events upon which we shall comment in the coming stage of our story.

* * * * *

_Here the fourth stage of our legend cometh to a close._

V