Part 11

All the precious things which he had presented to Pak and his wife to make their old days comfortable, and the gifts sent to the bride’s house before her wedding-day, had come by power from the skies. Now, leaving his foster-parents on earth to enjoy their gifts, he must return home to his father, taking his bride with him. Scarcely had he spoken these words than a chariot and horses, silver bright, appeared at the door of the house. Bowing low to his foster-parents, and stepping in with his bride, the pair disappeared beyond the clouds.

From this time forth a new double star was seen in the sky.

SHOES FOR HATS

Many centuries ago when Korea was named Chosen, or the Land of Morning Splendor, the island-kingdom out in the eastern sea, where the sun rises, was called The Land of the Dragon-Fly; which some foolish people call “the Devil’s Darning Needle,” because its body is so slender, its wings so wide and its eyes so big. The Koreans called these islanders “dwarfs,” because they were not tall of stature, though they were very warlike and brave. The isle men had no books or letters, and were very rude in their manners.

Therefore, many kind teachers, filled with the spirit of Great Buddha, crossed the sea, from Everlasting Great Korea, to teach these islanders politeness, and how to read and write, and to build pagodas, and temples and schools.

This is the reason why these islanders, who had no story books or writing before the coming of the Korean teachers, have no ancient history of what happened long, long ago when Korea was a great country. So the grandmothers in the islands used to tell their children the good old fairy tales, which many elderly people know by heart, and can relate without reading, thinking that the kings and queens they talked about were real people, when they were only dreams.

The islanders call their country The Land Where the Day Begins, and there are many fairies in these islands, some good, some bad.

So today, these island people make pictures in books and plays on the stage, and “movies” about these Koreans. They get up tableaux and pageants to tell how first the fairies and the King’s servants from these far off islands, long ago came to Korea. They wanted to learn politeness, how to make and wear the proper kind of clothes, and how to draw and paint, how to make pictures, how to build houses, how to dance and sing, and make music and play on instruments, how to teach and have schools. For the good fairies always like to do pretty things.

Yet instead of being grateful for what they had received from Korea, there was one of these island people, a famous woman, who was envious because she lived in a poor land while the Koreans had a rich and beautiful country. Instead of swamps and grassy plains, with plenty of wild beasts and birds, and only a few people, poor and miserable, Korea was rich in rice fields and orchards full of fruit. Flowers grew in plenty. Birds, deer, and rabbits were numerous in the mountains and the scenery was beautiful.

In the warm waters millions of fat fish swam and were easily caught. So the people had plenty of food to eat. Down along the bottom of the sea were most lovely water plants of rich colors, yellow, purple, green and white, with sea weeds, corals and sponges. In some of the sea caves lurked the giant crabs, cuttle-fish and every sort of marine monster.

Still further down, below, deeper than any line could fathom, dwelt the Dragon King of the World Under the Sea and his Queen, with genii and dragons, and all her attendant maidens. These made sweet music, and here amid the mermaids the fairies had a happy time.

These islanders had priests who went down by the seaside when the tide was low. There they called on the spirits of the deep to grant them a safe voyage, good luck, victory over the Koreans, and safe return. There they stood and watched the rippling waves as the breezes blew over the sea.

The first living thing that poked its nose above the waters was the guardian of the seashore and the tides, called the Salt Water Giant. He came up with his head all covered with clam and oyster shells, sea weed, shrimps and whatever grows in the sand or bottom of the ocean. He had to push aside hundreds of white jelly fish that bumped against him, as the clumsy old chap made his way up to the surface and then waded to the shore.

Now this giant fairy was a grumpy sort of a fellow, and seeing the Queen and her soldiers he growled out: “What do you want?”

Very politely the Queen’s messenger made a soft answer to the big fellow and begged him to announce to his master, the Dragon King of the World Under the Sea, that the Queen wished him to help her.

Would he please order all the great fish and every sea monster to go ahead and pull her ship forward?

Would he also present her with the two sparkling tide-jewels, which govern the ebb and the flood tides? If he would do so, then, in the one case her enemies might be overwhelmed. In the other case, the ships of the Koreans would be left high and dry on the shore. Then she could march through the country and get all the gold and gems, and furs and jewels, and clothes and nice things to eat, and bring them back to her own country.

With the tide jewels in her hand she could certainly conquer.

“And if you please, one thing more,” added the messenger.

“What else do you want?” growled the Salt Water Giant.

“Have your master, the Dragon King, give our queen power to capture many hundreds of the Korean artists, craftsmen, teachers, and men of books and letters. We shall make these men prisoners and bring them to our country and be civilized.”

“And what will you do in return to me and my master for all this?” roared the Salt Water Giant. His voice was like a booming cannon for he was as mad as fire.

“As soon as we get back safely to these shores, our Queen will build a temple in honor of the Dragon King. We shall burn incense to him, and our people will pay him our devotions.”

“Well then, what else?” roared the Salt Water Giant.

“There will be a shrine also dedicated to you, my lord, and we’ll get the best Korean artists to decorate it it in wave patterns, with drops of foam.”

The Salt Water Giant bowed and disappeared with a tremendous splash. Down, down, down, he went to report to his master, the Dragon King of the World Under the Sea.

It was necessary for the dignity of His Majesty, that the Queen and her soldiers should wait until flood tide; for the Dragon King never appeared except at high water. So the Queen’s servant launched her ship and waited out on the waves for the answer they hoped to get.

No sooner did the tide mark on the sea beach show that the waves had reached the highest point of flood tide, than the sea opened. The white foam curled round the Queen’s ship while all on board held their breath, to see what was coming. They knew they would soon behold a sight to make them shiver, for the great deep was mightily stirred.

First rose into view a terrible dragon’s head, on the helmet of the King. It had eyes that seemed to flash fire. Then His Majesty appeared. In a great sea shell, as big as a bushel and held in both hands, he had the two tide jewels.

These he presented to the Queen and then quickly disappeared beneath the waves. The last thing they saw was the dragon’s head, which, besides the two eyes like lightning, had teeth that could bite a boat in half, even when full of men. This monster could swallow down the whole crew in his mouth, that was as wide as a man-eating shark’s. His enormously long black moustaches were as stout as ships’ cables.

Immediately after receiving the tide jewels, the Queen of the barbarians landed on the southern coast of Korea. After a few weeks, having fought many battles with the Koreans, she made them bring to her their gold, jewels, furs, fans, rice and pretty things.

She and her people cared nothing about slaves, or common prisoners, but whenever and wherever they could find a painter, an artist, a costumer, a maker of pottery, or a man of books, or a priest, they seized and took him along. They carried over with them, to the island, a great treasure of gems, gold, ornaments and pretty clothes. They also took away many seeds of flowers and fruit trees, such as lemons, oranges, apples and pears.

In the islands to which they came, these smart men of skill and knowledge from Korea taught the islanders, who had lived like gypsies or Indians, how to build houses, palaces, and temples, to make fine clothes, to paint pictures, and to be like the Koreans and Chinese who knew all about these things. So the islands became rich in fruit, rice, grain, pagodas and temples. After this the island people wore lovely clothes, and had fine manners.

Now the islanders were great borrowers. They invented very few things themselves, but depended on their neighbors for much of what they had. So they filled both their heads and pockets from what they had brought from Korea. But they often made funny mistakes. When they wanted to learn about fine manners and fine clothes, they asked what, on solemn occasions, and in time of ceremony, they should put on their heads.

The Koreans were greatly offended at these savages from over the sea for invading their country and taking away their artists and craftsmen. So they now resolved to play a trick on the islanders.

So when men from the isles in the ocean sent a company of men to Korea and asked for caps to put on their heads, and be shown how do to things properly, the Koreans in contempt gave them their old shoes, which had strings on them to tie over their feet.

But the islanders, who loved to go about with little clothing on their backs, and usually went barefoot, did not know what these shoes were. They thought these were some kind of head-gear, hats or bonnets.

So they put them on their heads like skull caps and tied them with the white strings down under their chins. These were like tapes and held the caps on around their necks.

So to this day the islanders, when making offerings to the fairies, wear this head-gear and think their shoe-caps are very fine.

THE VOICE OF THE BELL

When Tai Jo, the great general and first King of Korea, founded a new dynasty, he moved the capital near the great river Han and resolved to build a mighty city called Han Yang, or the Castle on the Han. It was to have a high wall around it and lofty gates on each side. However, the people commonly called the city Seoul, or Capital. All the roads in the kingdom lead to it.

Happy was he when the workmen, in digging for the foundations of the East Gate, came upon a bell. It was a lucky omen and they carried it at once to the king. He had it suspended over the entrance to his palace and there it still hangs.

But such a bell could only tinkle, while King Tai Jo wanted one that would boom loud and long. He was especially anxious about this, for in Silla, once a rival state, there had hung for centuries one of the biggest bells in the world and Tai Jo wanted one that excelled even that famed striker of the hours. He would have even a larger bell to hang in the central square in the heart of Seoul, that could be heard by every man, woman and child in the city. After that, it must be able to flood miles of hill and valley with its melody. By this sound the people would know when to get up, cook their breakfast, sit down to supper, or go to bed. On special occasions his subjects would know when a king’s procession was passing, or a royal prince or princess was being married. It would sound out a dirge when, His Majesty being dead, all the land must mourn and the people wear white clothes for three years and Korea becomes the land of mourners. The guardian spirit of the city would have its home in the bell.

Word was sent out by messengers who rode on big horses, little ponies, donkeys and bulls to all the provinces, publishing the king’s command to all governors, magistrates and village-heads to collect the copper and tin to make the bronze metal. The bell was to stand ten feet above the ground and be eight feet across; that is, as high and wide as a Korean bedroom. On the top, forming the framework, by which the bell was to be hung, were to be two terrible looking dragons. Weighing so many tons that it would balance five hundred fat men on a seesaw, only heavy beams made of whole tree-trunks could hold it in the belfry, which must be strong enough to stand the shaking when the monster was rung. It had no clapper inside, but without, swung by heavy ropes from pulleys above, was a long log. This, men pulled back and then let fly, striking the boss on the bell’s surface. This awoke the music of the bell, making it toll, boom, rumble, growl, hum, croak, or roll sweet melody, according as the old bellman desired.

So the procession of bullock carts on the roads to Seoul creaked with the ingots of copper. Many a donkey had swallowed gallons of bean soup at the inn stables before he dropped his load of metal in the city, while hundreds of bulls bellowed under their weight of the brushwood and timber piled on their backs to feed the furnaces, which were to melt the alloy for the casting of the mighty bell.

Deep was the pit dug to hold the core and mould, and hundreds of fire-clay pots and ladles were made ready for use when the red-hot stream should be ready to flow. All the boys in Seoul were waiting to watch the fire kindle, the smoke rise, the bellows roar, the metal run, and the foreman give the signal to tap.

When the fire-imp in the volcano heard of what was going on, he was awfully jealous, not thinking ever that common men could handle so much metal, direct properly such roaring flames, and cast so big a bell. He snorted at the idea that King Tai Jo’s men could beat the bells that hung in China’s mighty temples or in Silla’s pagodas.

But when there was not yet enough and the copper collectors were still at their work, one of them came to a certain village and called at a house where lived an old woman carrying a baby boy strapped to her back. She had no coin, cash, metal, or fuel to give, but was quite ready to offer either herself or the baby. In a tone that showed her willingness, she said:

“May I give you this boy?”

The collector paid no attention to her, but passed on, taking nothing from the old woman. When in Seoul, however, he told the story. Thus it came to pass that many heard of the matter and remembered it later.

So when all was ready, the fire-clay crucibles were set on the white-hot coals. The blast roared until the bronze metal turned to liquid. Then, at the word of the master, the hissing, molten stream ran out and filled the mould. Patiently waiting till the metal cooled, alas! they found the bell cracked.

The casting was raised by means of heavy tackle, erected at great expense on the spot, and the bell was broken up into bits by stalwart blacksmiths, wielding heavy hammers. Then a second casting was made, but again, when cool, it was found to be cracked.

Three separate times this happened, until the price of a palace had been paid for work, fuel, and wages, and yet there was no bell. King Tai Jo was in despair. Yet, instead of crying, or pulling his topknot, or berating the artisans, who had done the best they could, he offered a large reward to any one who could point out where the trouble lay, or show what was lacking, and thus secure a perfect casting. Thereupon out stepped a workman from the company, who told the story of the old woman and said that the bell would crack after every cooling unless her proposal was accepted. Anyway, he said, the hag was a sorceress, and if the child were not a real human being no harm could be done.

So the baby boy was sent for and, when the liquid metal had half filled the pit, was thrown into the mass. There was some feeling about “feeding a child to the fire demon,” but when they hoisted the cooled bell up from the mould, lo, the casting was a perfect success and every one apparently forgot about the human life that had entered the bell. Soon with file and chisel, the great work was finished. The hanging ceremonies were very impressive when the bell was put in place on the city’s central square, where the broad streets from the South Gate and those looking to sunrise and sunset met together. Suspended by heavy iron links from the staple on a stout timber frame, the bell’s mouth was exactly a foot above ground. Then, around and over it, was built the belfry. The names of the chief artisans who cast the bell and of the royal officers who superintended the hanging ceremonies were engraved on the metal. It was decided, however, not to strike the bell until it was fully housed and the sounder or suspended log of wood, as thick as the mast of a ship, was made ready to send forth the initial boom.

Meanwhile tens of thousands of people waited to hear the first music of the bell. Every one believed it to be good luck and that they would live the longer for it. The boys and girls could hardly go to bed for listening, and some were afraid they might be asleep when it boomed. The little folks, whose eyes were usually fast shut at sunset, begged hard to stay up that night until they could hear the bell, but some fell asleep, because they could not help it, and their eyes closed before they knew it.

“What shall the name of the bell be, your Majesty?” asked a wise counselor.

“Call it In Jung,” said King Tai Jo. “That means ‘Man Decides,’ for every night, at nine o’clock, let every man or boy decide to go to bed. Except magistrates, let not one male person be found in the street on pain of being paddled. From that hour until midnight the women shall have the streets to themselves to walk in.” The royal law was proclaimed by trumpeters and it was ordained also that every morning and evening, at sunrise and sunset, the band of music should play at the opening and shutting of the city gates.

So In Jung, or “Masculine Decision,” is the bell’s name to this day.

But as yet the bell was silent. It had not spoken. When it did sound, the Seoul people discovered that it was the most wonderful bell ever cast. It had a memory and a voice. It could wail, as well as sing. In fact, some to this day declare it can cry; for, whether in childhood, youth, middle or old age, in joy or gladness, the bell expresses their own feelings by its change of note, lively or gay, in warning or congratulation.

At nine o’clock in the first night of the seventh moon—the month of the Star Maiden of the Loom and the Ox-boy with his train of attendants, who stand on opposite sides of the River of Heaven and cross over on the bridge of birds, the great bell of Seoul was to be sounded. All the men were in their rooms ready to undress and go to bed at once, while all the women, fully clothed in their best, were on the door-steps ready, each with her lantern in hand, for their promenade outdoors.

Four strong men seized the rope, pulled back the striking log a whole yard’s distance and then let fly. Back bounded the timber and out gushed a flood of melody that rolled across the city in every direction, and over the hills, filling leagues of space with sweet sound. The children clapped their hands and danced with joy. They knew they would live long, for they had heard the sweet bell’s first music. The old people smiled with joy.

But what was the surprise of the adult folks to hear that the bell could talk. Yes, its sounds actually made a sentence.

“Mu-u-u-ma-ma-ma-la-la-la-la-la-la——” until it ended like a baby’s cry. Yes! There was no mistake about it. This is what it said:

“My mother’s fault. My mother’s fault.”

And to this day the mothers in Seoul, as they clasp their darlings to their bosoms, resolve that it shall be no fault of theirs if these lack love or care. They delight in their little ones more, and lavish on them a tenderer affection because they hear the great bell talk, warning parents to guard what Heaven has committed to their care.

THE KING OF THE SPARROWS

The Korean children are awakened every morning by the twittering of the sparrows. These little birds build their nests among the vines on the roof and along the eaves. The people plant melon, gourd, and mock orange seeds along the sunny sides of their houses in spring time. All through the summer, and until late in autumn, the walls and roofs are covered with the thick green leaves. Here, in these sheltered places, the sparrow mother lays her eggs and the father sparrow finds worms and feeds her, until the hungry birdies open their little mouths for something to eat. After this, both parents are kept busy in raising their brood and teaching them to fly.

The greatest dangers to the birdlings come from cruel snakes that live on the roof and eat up the young sparrows. Sometimes, to help them against their enemy, the parent sparrows call in the aid of larger birds that are not afraid of the reptiles. These peck at the snake until they drive him away. There is always a lively chattering over the victory.

One day, a young sparrow that had hardly learned to fly was almost seized, and might have been devoured by the roof-snake, but was saved by a big, brave bird that flew at the reptile. Although escaped from the snake’s jaws, the sparrow in falling caught its legs in the curtain made of split bamboo, which hung before the verandah of the house, and its limb was put out of joint. There it lay helpless between the splints.