Читать книгу The History of Korea - Homer B. Hulbert - Страница 23

Table of Contents

Kung-ye … antecedents … revolts. … Ch‘oé Ch‘i-wŭn … retires. … Wang-gön … origin. … Kung-ye successful … advances Wang-gön himself King. … Wang-gön again promoted. … Sil-la court corrupt. … Kung-ye proclaims himself a Buddha … condition of the peninsula. … Wang-gön accused … refuses the throne … forced to take it. … Kung-ye killed … prophecy. … Wang-gön doesdoes justice. … . Ko-ryŭ organized. … . Buddhist festival. … . Song-do. … Ko-ryŭ’s defenses. … Kyŭn-whŭn becomes Wang-gön’s enemy … wild tribes submit. … China upholds Kyŭn-whŭn … his gift to Wang-gön … loots the capital of Sil-la. … Ko-ryŭ troops repulsed … war. … Wang-gön visits Sil-la … improvements. … Kyŭn-whŭn’s last stand … imprisoned by his sons … comes to Song-do. … Sil-la expires … her last king comes to Song-do. … Wang-gön’s generosity.

Kung-ye was the son of King Hön-gang by a concubine. He was born on the least auspicious day of the year, the fifth of the fifth moon. He had several teeth when he was born which made his arrival the less welcome. The King ordered the child to be destroyed; so it was thrown out of the window. But the nurse rescued it and carried it to a place of safety where she nursed it and provided for its bringing up. As she was carrying the child to this place of safety she accidentally put out one of its eyes. When he reached man’s estate he became a monk under the name of Sŭn-jong. He was by nature ill fitted for the monastic life and soon found himself in the camp of the bandit Ki-whŭn at Chuk-ju. Soon he began to consider himself ill-treated by his new master and deserted him, finding his way later to the camp of the bandit Yang-gil at Puk-wŭn now Wŭn-ju. A considerable number of men accompanied him. Here his talents were better appreciated and he was put in command of a goodly force with which he soon overcame the districts of Ch‘un-ch‘ŭn, Nă-sŭng, Ul-o and O-jin. From this time Kung-ye steadily gained in power until he quite eclipsed his master. Marching into the western part of Sil-la he took ten districts and went into permanent camp.

The following year another robber, Kyŭn-whŭn, made head against Sil-la in the southern part of what is now Kyŭng-sang Province. He was a Sang-ju man. Having seized the district of Mu-ju he proclaimed himself King of Southern Sil-la. His name was originally Yi but when fifteen years of age he had changed it to Kyŭn. He had been connected with the Sil-la army and had risen step by step and made himself extremely useful by his great activity in the field. When, however, the state of Sil-la became so corrupt as to be a by-word among all good men, he threw off his allegiance to her, gathered about him a band of desperate criminals, outlaws and other disaffected persons and began the conquest of the south and west. In a month he had a following of 5,000 men. He found he had gone too far in proclaiming himself King and so modified his title to that of “Master of Men and Horses.” It is said of him that once, while still a small child, his father being busy in the fields and his mother at work behind the house, a tiger came along and the child sucked milk from its udder. This accounted for his wild and fierce nature.

At this time the great scholar Ch‘oé Ch‘i-wŭn, whom we have mentioned, was living at of Pu-sŭng. Recognizing the abyss of depravity into which the state was falling he formulated ten rules for the regulation of the government and sent them to Queen Man. She read and praised them but took no means to put them in force. Ch‘oé could no longer serve a Queen who made light of the counsels of her most worthy subjects and, throwing up his position, retired to Kwang-ju in Nam-san and became a hermit. After that he removed to Ping-san in Kang-ju, then to Ch‘ŭng-yang Monastery in Hyŭp-ju, then to Sang-gye Monastery at Ch‘i-ri San but finally made his permanent home at Ka-ya San where he lived with a few other choice spirits. It was here that he wrote his autobiography in thirteen volumes.

In 896 Kung-ye began operating in the north on a larger scale. He took ten districts near Ch‘ŭl-wŭn and put them in charge of his young lieutenant Wang-gön who was destined to become the founder of a dynasty. We must now retrace our steps in order to tell of the origin of this celebrated man.

Wang-yŭng, a large-minded and ambitious man, lived in the town of Song-ak. To him a son was born in the third year of King Hön-gang of Sil-la, A.D. 878. The night the boy was born a luminous cloud stood above the house and made it as bright as day, so the story runs. The child had a very high forehead and a square chin, and he developed rapidly. His birth had long since been prophesied by a monk named To-sŭn who told Wang-yŭng, as he was building his house, that within its walls a great man would be born. As the monk turned to go Wang-yŭng called him back and received from him a letter which he was ordered to give to the yet unborn child when he should be old enough to read. The contents are unknown but when the boy reached his seventeenth year the same monk reappeared and became his tutor, instructing him especially in the art of war. He showed him also how to obtain aid from the heavenly powers, how to sacrifice to the spirits of mountain and stream so as to propitiate them. Such is the tradition that surrounds the origin of the youth who now in the troubled days of Sil-la found a wide field for the display of his martial skill.

Kung-ye first ravaged the country from Puk-wŭn to A-sil-la, with 600 followers. He there assumed the title of “Great General.” Then he reduced all the country about Nang-ch’ŭn, Han-san, Kwan-nă and Ch‘ŭl-wŭn. By this time his force had enormously increased and his fame had spread far and wide. All the wild tribes beyond the Ta-dong River did obeisance to him. But these successes soon began to turn his head. He styled himself “Prince” and began to appoint prefects to various places. He advanced Wang-gön to a high position and made him governor of Song-do. This he did at the instigation of Wang-yŭng who sent him the following enigmatical advice: “If you want to become King of Cho-sŭn, Suk-sin and Pyön-han you must build a wall about Song-do and make my son governor.” It was immediately done, and in this way Wang-gön was provided with a place for his capital.

In 897 the profligate Queen Man of Sil-la handed the government over to her adopted son Yo and retired. This change gave opportunities on every side for the rebels to ply their trade. Kung-ye forthwith seized thirty more districts north of the Han River and Kyŭn-whŭn established his headquarters at Wan-san, now Chŭn-ju and called his kingdom New Păk-je. Wang-gön, in the name of Kung-ye, seized almost the whole of the territory included in the present provinces of Kyŭng-geui and Ch‘ung-ch‘ŭng. Finally in 901 Kung-ye proclaimed himself king and emphasized it by slashing with a sword the picture of the king of Sil-la which hung in a monastery. Two years later Wang-gön moved southward into what is now Chŭl-la Province and soon came in contact with the forces of Kyŭn-whŭn. In these contests the young Wang-gön was uniformly successful.

In 905 Kung-ye established his capital at Ch‘ŭl-wŭn in the present Kang-wŭn province and named his kingdom Ma-jin and the year was called Mut. Then he distributed the offices among his followers. By this time all the north and east had joined the standards of Kung-ye and Wang-gön even to within 120 miles of the Sil-la capital. The king and court of Sil-la were in despair. There was no army with which to take the field and all they could do was to defend the position they had as best they could and hope that Kyung-ye and Kyŭn-whŭn might destroy each other. In 909 Kung-ye called Sil-la “The Kingdom to be Destroyed” and set Wang-gön as military governor of all the south-west. Here he pursued an active policy, now fitting out ships with which to subjugate the neighboring islands and now leading the attack on Kyŭn-whŭn who always suffered in the event. His army was a model of military precision and order. Volunteers flocked to his standard. He was recognised as the great leader of the day. When, at last, Na-ju fell into the hands of the young Wang-gön, Kyŭn-whŭn decided on a desperate venture and suddenly appearing before that town laid siege to it. After ten days of unsuccessful assault he retired but Wang-gön followed and forced an engagement at Mok-p‘o, now Yŭng-san-p‘o, and gave him such a whipping that he was fain to escape alone and unattended.

Meanwhile Kung-ye’s character was developing. Cruelty and capriciousness became more and more his dominant qualities. Wang-gön never acted more wisely than in keeping as far as possible from the court of his master. His rising fame would have instantly roused the jealousy of Kung-ye.

Sil-la had apparently adopted the principle “Let us eat and be merry for to-morrow we die.” Debauchery ran rife at the court and sapped what little strength was left. Among the courtiers was one of the better stamp and when he found that the king preferred the counsel of his favorite concubine to his own, he took occasion to use a sharper argument in the form of a dagger, which at a blow brought her down from her dizzy eminence.

In 911 Kung-ye changed the name of his kingdom to Tă-bong. It is probable that this was because of a strong Buddhistic tendency that had at this time quite absorbed him. He proclaimed himself a Buddha, called himself Mi-ryŭk-pul, made both his sons Buddhists, dressed as a high priest and went nowhere without censers. He pretended to teach the tenets of Buddhism. He printed a book, and put a monk to death because he did not accept it as canonical. The more Kung-ye dabbled in Buddhism the more did all military matters devolve upon Wang-gön, who from a distance beheld with amazement and concern the dotage of his master. At his own request he was always sent to a post far removed from the court. At last Kung-ye became so infatuated that he seemed little better than a madman. He heated an iron to a white heat and thrust it into his wife’s womb because she continually tried to dissuade him from his Buddhistic notions. He charged her with being an adultress. He followed this up by killing both his sons and many other of the people near his person. He was hated as thoroughly as he was feared.

The year 918 was one of the epochal years of Korean history. The state of the peninsula was as follows. In the south-east, the reduced kingdom of Sil-la, prostrated by her own excesses, without an army, and yet in her very supineness running to excess of riot, putting off the evil day and trying to drown regrets in further debauchery. In the central eastern portion, the little kingdom of Kung-ye who had now become a tyrant and a madman. He had put his whole army under the hand of a young, skillful, energetic and popular man who had gained the esteem of all classes. In the south-west was another sporadic state under Kyŭn-whŭn who was a fierce, unscrupulous bandit, at swords points with the rising Wang-gön.

Suddenly Kung-ye awoke to the reality of his position. He knew he was hated by all and that Wang-gön was loved by all, and he knew too that the army was wholly estranged from himself and that everything depended upon what course the young general should pursue. Fear, suspicion and jealousy mastered him and he suddenly ordered the young general up to the capital. Wang-gön boldly complied, knowing doubtless by how slender a thread hung his fortunes. When he entered his master’s presence the latter exclaimed “You conspired against me yesterday.” The young man calmly asked how. Kung-ye pretended to know it through the power of his sacred office as Buddha. He said “Wait, I will again consult the inner consciousness.” Bowing his head he pretended to be communing with his inner self. At this moment one of the clerks purposely dropped his pen, letting it roll near to the prostrate formform of Wang-gön. As the clerk stooped to pick it up, he whispered in Wang-gön’s ear “Confess that you have conspired.” The young man grasped the situation at once. When the mock Buddha raised hishis head and repeated the accusation Wang-gön confessed that it was true. The King was delighted at this, for he deceived himself into believing that he actually had acquired the faculty of reading men’s minds. This pleased him so greatly that he readily forgave the offence and merely warned the young man not to repeat it. After this he gave Wang-gön rich gifts and had more confidence in him than ever.

But the officials all besieged the young general with entreaties to crush the cruel and capricious monarch and assume the reins of government himself. This he refused to do, for through it all, he was faithful to his master. But they said “He has killed his wife and his sons and we will all fall a prey to his fickle temper unless you come to our aid. He is worse than the Emperor Chu.” Wang-gön, however, urged that it was the worst of crimes to usurp a throne. “But” said they “is it not much worse for us all to perish? If one does not improve the opportunity that heaven provides it is a sin.” He was unmoved by this casuistry and stood his ground firmly. At last even his wife joined in urging him to lay aside his foolish scruples and she told the officials to take him by force and carry him to the palace, whether he would or not. They did so, and bearing him in their arms they burst through the palace gate and called upon the wretch Kung-ye to make room for their chosen king. The terrified creature fled naked but was caught at Pu-yang, now P‘yŭng-gang, and beheaded.

Tradition says that this was all in fulfillment of a prophecy which was given in the form of an enigma. A Chinese merchant bought a mirror of a Sil-la man and in the mirror could be seen these words: “Between three waters—God sends his son to Chin and Ma—First seize a hen and then a duck—in the year Ki-ja two dragons will arise, one in a green forest and one east of black metal.” The merchant presented it to Kung-ye who prized it highly and sought everywhere for the solution of the riddle. At last the scholar Song Han-hong solved it for him as follows. “The Chin and Ma mean Chin-han and Ma-han. The hen is Kye-rim (Sil-la). The duck is the Am-nok (duck-blue) River. The green forest is pine tree or Song-do (Pine Tree Capital) and black metal is Ch‘ŭl-wŭn (Ch‘ŭl is metal). So a king in Song-do must arise (Wang-gön) and a king in Ch‘ŭl-wŭn must fall (Kung-ye).”(Kung-ye).”

Wang-gön began by bringing to summary justice the creatures of Kung-ye who seconded him in his cruelty; some of them were killed and some were imprisoned. Everywhere the people gave themselves up to festivities and rejoicings.

But the ambitious general, Whan Son-gil, took advantage of the unsettled state of affairs to raise an insurrection. Entering the palace with a band of desperadoes he suddenly entered the presence of Wang-gön who was without a guard. The King rose from his seat, and looking the traitor in the face said “I am not King by my own desire or request. You all made me King. It was heaven’s ordinance and you cannot kill me. Approach and try.” The traitor thought that the King had a strong guard secreted near by and turning fled from the palace. He was caught and beheaded.

Wang-gön sent messages to all the bandit chiefs and invited them to join the new movement, and soon from all sides they came in and swore allegiance to the young king. Kyŭn-whŭn, however, held aloof and sought for means to put down the new power. Wang-gön set to work to establish his kingdom on a firm basis. He changed the official system and established a new set of official grades. He rewarded those who had been true to him and remitted three years’ revenues. He altered the revenue laws, requiring the people to pay much less than heretofore, manumitted over a thousand slaves and gave them goods out of the royal storehouses with which to make a start in life. As P‘yŭng-yang was the ancient capital of the country he sent one of the highest officials there as governor. And he finished the year with a Buddhist festival, being himself a Buddhist of a mild type. This great annual festival is described as follows:—There was an enormous lantern, hung about with hundreds of others, under a tent made of a net-work of silk cords. Music was an important element. There were also representations of dragons, birds, elephants, horses, carts and boats. Dancing was prominent and there were in all a hundred forms of entertainment. Each official wore the long flowing sleeves and each carried the ivory memo tablet. The king sat upon a high platform and watched the entertainment.

The next year he transferred his court to Song-do which became the permanent capital. There he built his palace and also the large merchants’ houses and shops in the center of the city. This latter act was in accordance with the ancient custom of granting a monopolymonopoly of certain kinds of trade and using the merchants as a source of revenue when a sudden need for money arose. He divided the city into five wards and established seven military stations. He also established a secondary capital at Ch‘ŭl-wŭn, the present Ch‘un-ch‘ŭn, and called it Tong-ju. The pagodas and Buddhas in both the capitals were regilded and put in good order. The people looked with some suspicion upon these Buddhistic tendencies but he told them that the old customs must not be changed too rapidly, for the kingdom had need of the help of the spirits in order to become thoroughly established, and that when that was accomplished they could abandon the religion as soon as they pleased. Here was his grand mistake. He riveted upon the state a baneful influence which was destined to drag it into the mire and eventually bring it to ruin.

In 920 Sil-la first recognised Koryŭ as a kingdom and sent an envoy with presents to the court at Song-do.

THE SOUTH GATE OF NA-JU.

Wang-gön looked out for the interests of the people in the distant parts of the country as well as for those near the capital. In order to break the force of the attacks of the wild people beyond the Tu-man River he built a wall across the northern border of Ham-gyŭng Province. It is said to have been 900 li long. But there was a still stronger enemy on the south. Kyŭn-whŭn had by this time come to see that he had no hope of overcoming the young kingdom of Koryŭ and so he bent his energies to the securing of his position against the danger of interference, especially in his plans against Sil-la. For this reason he sent a messenger to Song-do with presents and tried to make friends with his old time enemy. His next move was to attack Sil-la. Wang-gön took up the cudgels in support of the king of Sil-la and by so doing secured the lasting enmity of the bandit who from this time determined upon war without quarter against his northern enemy. Wang-gön said to the Sil-la envoys, “Sil-la has three treasures; the nine storey pagoda, the Buddha six times the height of a man, and the jade belt. As long as these three remain intact Sil-la will stand. The first two are in Sil-la. Where is the jade belt?” The envoy answered that he did not know, whereupon Wang-gön blamed him sharply and sent him home. When Sil-la finally fell, the jade belt passed into the hands of Wang-gön.

In 921 the Mal-gal tribe, Heuk-su, made a treaty with Wang-gön. This bears evidence to the rapidly growing power of the young king. The Heuk-su Mal-gal were the most feared of all the semi-savage tribes of the north. The following year the Kŭ-ran, usually called Kitan in Chinese histories, followed the example of the Heuk-su people by sending an envoy with presents. It was not till 923 that Wang-gön thought fit to send an envoy to China to offer his compliments.

When the last king of Sil-la, but one, ascended the throne in 924 important events were following thick and fast upon each other. Sil-la was now so weak that the records say the king had nothing left but his genealogy. Kyŭn-whŭn sent a force to begin operations against Koryŭ, but without success, and in the following year Wang-gön retaliated with such good success that Kyŭn-whŭn was fain to send his son to Song-do as a hostage. He thus bound himself to keep the peace. Having done this he sent to China desiring to secure backing against Koryŭ. The Emperor so far complied as to confer upon him the title of King of Păk-je, thus following the time-honored policy of pitting one power against another.

The year 926 saw the first envoy come from the kingdom of T‘am-na on the island of Quelpart. He arrived at the capital of Koryŭ, where he was well received. The fame of Wang-gön was spreading far and wide among the northern tribes. The Kŭ-ran, or Kitan tribe, having overcome the Păl-ha tribe, made overtures to Wang-gön relative to annexation. These advances were cordially responded to but we are not informed that the union was actually effected.

Kyŭn-whŭn, who was at this time on the island Chŭl-yong-do, sent a present of horses to Wang-gön but a few days later he found a book of prophecy which said that in the year when he should send a gift of horses to Song-do his power would come to an end. He therefore sent a swift messenger begging Wang-gön to return the gift. The King laughed long and loud when he saw this message and good-naturedly sent back the horses.

The last King of Sil-la, Kyŭng-sun, ascended the throne in 927. It happened on this wise; Kyŭn-whŭn was keeping up a double fight, one against Wang-gön and the other, an offensive one, against Sil-la. He was badly defeated in an engagement with Koryŭ forces but had good success in his other venture. He burned and pillaged right up to the gates of Sil-la’s capital, and, while a Sil-la envoy was posting to Song-do to ask for aid, entered the city with a picked band of men. Succor in the shape of 10,000 Koryŭ troops was on its way but came too late. At the hour when Kyŭn-whŭn entered the city the king, his son, the queen and many of the courtiers were feasting at Po-sŭk summer-house. When the unwelcome news arrived, there was no time for preparation. The king and queen fled south without attendants. The palace women were seized and the palace occupied. The king was soon run to earth and was compelled to commit suicide. Kyŭn-whŭn ravished the queen and delivered over the palace women to the soldiery. The palace was looted and the entire band, sated with excess and debauchery, and loaded down with the treasures of the palace, started back on the homeward road. But not until Kyŭn-whŭn had appointed a relative of the murdered king to succeed him.

When Wang-gön heard of these atrocities, he hastened forward his troops and overtook the army of Kyŭn-whŭn in O-dong forest where a sharp engagement ensued. For some reason, whether it be because the soldiers of Kyŭn-whŭn were more familiar with the locality or because the Koryŭ soldiers were exhausted by their long forced march, the assault was unsuccessful and the Koryŭ forces withdrew. This was doubly unfortunate for it not only did not punish the ruffians for their atrocities at the Sil-la capital but it inspired them with confidence in their own power. Shortly after this Kyŭn-whŭn sent a letter to Wang-gön saying “I became Sil-la’s enemy because she sought aid from you. You have no cause for warring against me. It is like a dog chasing a rabbit; both are tired out to no purpose. It is like a king-fisher trying to catch a clam; when he thrusts his bill into the shell the clam closes it and he finds himself caught”. To this epistle Wang-gön replied “Your actions at the Sil-la capital are so outrageous that I cannot endure the thought of any compromise. Your present course will lead you to speedy ruin”.

Elated over his successful repulse of Wang-gön’s army, Kyŭn-whŭn took the field the following year, with a strong force, and was prepared to assume the offensive. He assaulted and took two Koryŭ fortresses and even, at one time, surrounded Wang-gön in Ch’ŭng-ju and caused him no little anxiety. In the battle which followed Kyŭn-whŭn lost three hundred men and was pushed back, thus freeing the king from an embarrassing position; but before the campaign was over Kyŭn-whŭn scored another victory by capturing the district of Ok-ch’ŭn. In his next campaign he was still successful, and Eui Fortress fell into his hands and he killed the general in charge. Here his successes ended, for Wang-gön awoke to the necessity of using strong measures against him. The following year Koryŭ forces inflicted a crushing defeat upon the southern leader, at An-dong. The fight had lasted all day and neither side had gained any advantage, but that night a picked band of Koryŭ men ascended Hog’s Head Mountain and made a rush downdown upon the unsuspecting camp of the enemy, causing a panic and a stampede in which eight thousand men were killed. Kyŭn-whŭn himself sought safety in flight. This seemed conclusive and all the countryside sent in their allegiance to the victors. A hundred and ten districts in eastern Korea came over to Wang-gön in a body. Dagelet Island, or Ul-leung as the Koreans call it, sent presents to Koryŭ.

The next year after these stirring events, namely 931, Wang-gön made a visit to Sil-la taking with him an escort of only fifty soldiers. The king of Sil-la came out to meet him and they feasted there at the meeting-place together. The king of Sil-la lamented the smallness and weakness of his kingdom and deplored the ravages of Kyŭn-whŭnKyŭn-whŭn. The evils, he said, were beyond estimation; and he broke down and wept. The courtiers did the same and even Wang-gön could scarce restrain his tears. After this they had a friendly talk and the king of Koryŭ remained as a guest for some twenty days. As he left the capital of Sil-la the people vied with each other in doing him honor. Poor old Sil-la had gone out of fashion and the minds of all men were turned Koryŭ-ward.

Wang-gön had a strong predilection for P‘yŭng-yang, the ancient capital of the country. He had already established a school there with professorships of literature, medicine and incantation. He now in 932 conceived the project of moving his capital northward to that place. To this end he erected barracks there for his troops and was making other preparations for the change, when he was dissuaded from it by some evil omens. A great wind blew down some of the houses in P‘yŭng-yang and, so the story goes, a hen became a cock. These portents made it impossible to carry out the plan. It was about this time that he built a guest-house outside the walls of Song-do to be used as a reception hall for envoys and messengers from the wild tribes of the north. Suspicion as to the object of their coming may have made it seem undesirable to allow them to enter the city proper, or it may have been simply to impress them with the importance of the place.

Kyŭn-whŭn’s right hand man came and swore allegience even though, at the time, his two sons and his daughter were hostages in the hands of his former master. When Kyŭn-whŭn heard of it he burned the first son alive and would have treated the second son and the daughter in like manner had they not effected their escape to a retreat where they lay in hiding till his death. This desertion seems to have roused the old man’s ire, and he longed for the din of battle once more. He could still command a considerable force; so he entered upon another campaign and as usual was at first successful. He seized three districts in the east country and set fire to a large number of towns. It was not until the next year that Wang-gön sent an expedition against him. This was under the command of Gen. Yu Gön-p’il, whom the king had banished but had pardoned and recalled because of his lively efforts while in exile to raise a company of soldiers. He never seemed to know when he was beaten. He routed the forces of Kyŭn-whŭn and returned in triumph to Song-do, where he was hailed as the savior of the people. We may judge from this that Kyŭn-whŭn was still considered formidable. In another fight Gen. Yu captured seven of Kyŭn-whŭn’s captains and one of his sons as well.

As things seemed quiet now, the king made a royal progress through the north and west, helping the poor, inspecting fortresses, supplanting unpopular prefects; but when he got back he found his old enemy still active, and at Un-ju he had his last great fight with him. In this struggle three thousand of the enemy were killed and thirty-two fortresses were taken. The year 935 A.D. is another mile-stone in Korean history. It marks the end of a dynasty which lacked but eight years of completing a millennium. But we must relate the events of the year in order. Kyŭn-whŭn had many concubines and more than ten sons. Of the latter the fourth named Keum-gang, was the one he loved the best, a boy of robust body and great intelligence. The old man passed by his other sons and named this one as his successor. This of course made trouble at once. The first son, Sin-geum, led a conspiracy and the old gentleman was seized and imprisoned in Keum-san monastery, the young Keum-gang was put to death and Sin-geum ascended the insecure throne of his father, now doubly insecure, since it had lost the masterly genius which of late years had been its only support. But old Kyŭn-whŭn had not played his last card. After three months imprisonment he succeeded in getting his guards drunk (jolly monks those) and escaped to Ka-ju from which point he had the colossal impudence to send a letter to Wang-gön surrendering and asking for asylum in Koryŭ against his own son. It was granted and soon a ship of war arrived with a high official on board to escort the grey old wolf of the south to the Koryŭ capital, where he was received as a guest, given a comfortable house and plenty of servants and the revenues of Yang-ju prefecture. From that point we may believe that he waited patiently to see the overthrow of his sons.

But these are small events compared with what followed. The king of Sil-la determined to abdicate and hand over the remnant of his kingdom to Wang-gön. When he broached the matter to his officials no man raised his voice. They could not assent and they knew there was no use in demurring. The crown prince urged his father to submit the question to the people and to abide by their decision, but the king was determined and so sent a letter to Song-do offering to lay his scepter at the feet of Wang-gön. The crown prince was in despair, refused to see his father, retired to a mountain retreat and ate coarse food as a token of his grief. He died there of chagrin and sorrow.

Wang-gön answered by sending one of the highest officials to escort the ex-king to Song-do. The royal procession was ten miles long, as it slowly wound its way out of the deserted city amidst the clamorous grief of the people. Wang-gön met him in person at the gate of Song-do. He did not want the ex-king to bow to him but the courtiers had decided that as the country could have but one king this must be done. So the new arrival did obeisance. Wang-gön gave him his daughter to wife and made him prime minister, set aside the revenues of an entire district to his use and conferred high rank upon the Sil-la courtiers.

And so ended the ancient kingdom of Sil-la which had existed for 992 years, from 57 B.C. to 935 A.D. Her line of kings included fifty-six names, which gives an average of about eighteen years to each reign. From that day the capital of Sil-la was called simply by the name Kyöng-ju. We believe that history shows few instances of greater generosity, forbearance, delicacy and tact than are shadowed forth in the life of this same Wang-gön. Does history show a nobler act than that of providing a comfortable home where his old enemy Kyŭn-whŭn might spend his last days in comfort and ease? Does it show more delicacy than was shown by Wang-gön when he took every means to cover the chagrin of the retiring king of Sil-la by treating him as a royal guest?