Chapter 07 …
Mozart in Joseon
The First Courtyard
The Minister’s Household, a Prodigy, Gaeddongi (5)
“You little rascal!”
“Waaah!”
While Grandfather struck the floor with a switch, I ate injeolmi and let out occasional sobs.
After repeating this a few more times, I couldn’t hold back my laughter anymore and had to stop the act.
“Listen to that voice—what a booming cry,”
Grandfather said with a broad grin.
“Why do I have to pretend to be punished?”
Every time I put on an act of being scolded, the steward and Yeongcheon-daek wail as if I were dying.
“If you’ve done wrong, you should be punished.”
I kept eating my injeolmi without responding.
“That doesn’t mean I’d actually strike you.”
Grandfather smiled again.
When we were alone, he couldn’t have been gentler.
Everyone in the household feared Grandfather, so at first I thought the same—but after experiencing his “discipline,” I realized it was a misunderstanding.
By “discipline,” I mean household education.
From the time I turned five by the standards of this place, I began learning etiquette, the Thousand Character Classic, and Dongmongseonseup from Grandfather.¹
Because I studied diligently—if only to return to Vienna someday—Grandfather was delighted, saying a prodigy had been born.
Honestly, even if this was a completely different country, what children learned was fairly predictable. Aside from Chinese characters, it was terribly boring.
Still, he occasionally told old stories or played the geomungo, which made it bearable.
“Please have some injeolmi.”
“Just watching you eat is enough to fill me up.”
“That’s not possible. Please, have some.”
“Well, all right.”
Grandfather reluctantly picked up just one piece.
“So you were that curious about the mask dance?”
“Yes. I heard the sound of an instrument I’d never heard before.”
“And how was it?”
“The kkwaenggwari was hard to listen to. The other instruments were simple too—just striking them to make sound.”²
Grandfather met my eyes and waited patiently for me to finish.
“But it was exciting.”
No matter how generously one judged it, the performance of the ttakttaki troupe couldn’t be called excellent.
However, the most important thing in a performance is entertaining the audience.
The ttakttaki troupe made people laugh and feel excited—they were a wonderful theater troupe, or musical ensemble.
“Is that so?”
“Yes. I liked that everyone laughed together. It would be better if the kkwaenggwari player were changed.”
“And why do you think that?”
“He was terrible.”
Among the troupe, the kkwaenggwari player was noticeably the least skilled.
From observing him, I noticed the kkwaenggwari produced three main sounds.
Striking the center, the edge, or somewhere in between all produced different tones.³
By lifting and pressing the hand holding the instrument, one could control the sound.
“The sound was different every time. He didn’t seem used to controlling it with his left hand. If the leading instrument is a mess, how could it sound good?”
“That man makes his living playing the kkwaenggwari. Do you believe you are better than him?”
“Of course.”
The smile vanished from Grandfather’s face.
“Gaeddongi, you must never think someone is inferior to you simply because of their low status.”
I set the injeolmi down.
“Just as there is work for the yangban and work for the jungin, they too have their own roles. If you look down on skills they have cultivated their entire lives simply because you learn quickly, you will never be able to govern justly.”
Grandfather strictly distinguished between yangban, commoners, and the lowborn.
He seemed like a typical aristocrat, yet he never treated the lowborn as mere objects.
Among the Freemasons I once worked with—despite their noble birth—there were people much like Grandfather.
“Now then, today I should tell you a story about my grandfather—your great-grandfather.”
“He was a wonderful man who loved the people.”
“How do you know that about him?”
“Wasn’t that the direction the story was heading?”
Grandfather blinked, then burst into hearty laughter.
* * *
“Hm.”
Minister of Rites Mo Daehwan let out a long groan.
The court was deeply divided, and the relationship between His Majesty and the Crown Prince was dangerously unstable.
On top of that, drought continued, famine struck, and even epidemics spread.
The only comfort he had was his late-in-life grandson, Gaeddongi.
“Minister, I have returned.”
Gangsoe approached, clasping his hands and bowing deeply.
A powerful man with quick feet, Gangsoe was a household servant who served as Mo Daehwan’s bodyguard and handled difficult tasks.
“Did you find out?”
“Yes. It was hard to witness. The dead are scattered outside the capital, and the wailing never stops.”
“Hoo…”
“And also—”
Gangsoe hesitated.
“Speak plainly.”
“They say bandits are active again.”
“What?”
“I’ve heard there are groups harassing farmers and merchants. They’re armed with swords.”
“Does that mean the Sword Sect still remains?”
“I couldn’t confirm the details.”
“Who told you?”
“The ttakttaki troupe. They were attacked on their way into the capital. One person was killed, and all their belongings were stolen.”
That was the same troupe whose sandae-nori Gaeddongi had watched a few days earlier.
Traveling performers moved between regions and needed enough strength to protect themselves from bandits or wild animals.
A troupe as large as the ttakttaki troupe shouldn’t have been easily defeated—yet there was a death.
“Any other victims?”
“Yes. Several people were robbed along the road leading to the capital.”
Mo Daehwan tightly shut his eyes.
With famine, drought, and rampant banditry, he would have to discuss countermeasures with the ministers as early as tomorrow.
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“Very well. Go see Yeongcheon-daek.”
“Thank you.”
Gangsoe prostrated himself in gratitude.
Whenever he returned from an assignment, he was rewarded with white rice and meat soup.
“Wait.”
Mo Daehwan paused as he turned away.
“You said someone from the ttakttaki troupe died?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who?”
“It was the kkwaenggwari player. The troupe called him Kkangkkang.”
“……”
Mo Daehwan recalled a memory from days ago.
‘It would be better if the kkwaenggwari player were changed. He was terrible.’
“If you give me one day, I’ll investigate further.”
“No. That won’t be necessary.”
After collecting his thoughts, Mo Daehwan opened the door to the study.
Gaeddongi—so precious he hurt to look at—was nodding off over his Sohak.
How could he possibly distinguish sounds he’d never heard before?
The kkwaenggwari, jing, buk, and janggu were often likened to thunder, wind, rain, and clouds—noisy and ever-changing.
For someone hearing them for the first time, distinguishing the overlapping sounds would be impossible.
Mo Daehwan quietly watched his drowsy grandson, smiled faintly, and laid him down under a blanket.
* * *
I woke to the sound of a rooster crowing.
“Good morning.”
I bowed to Grandfather.
“Good. I’ll be busy this morning, so wash up and wait.”
“Yes.”
After a short while, a servant brought water on a tray.
As I washed my face, Grandfather placed the geomungo on his lap.
“You’ve liked the geomungo since you were a baby. You seem to have a keen ear.”
“Of course.”
Grandfather narrowed his eyes.
“Didn’t I always tell you to remain humble?”
He cleared his throat.
“I taught you that benevolence and righteousness are most important. What are benevolence and righteousness?”
“Benevolence is harmony, and righteousness is fairness.”
“Yes. And do you know what is needed to achieve them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ritual and music.”
Grandfather placed a book on the desk.
It read Yegi (Book of Rites).
“The Yegi says ritual clarifies distinctions, and music brings harmony. Do you understand what ritual and music are?”
“Etiquette… and sound?”
I answered after thinking, since Chinese characters were still unfamiliar.
“That’s right. Sound seeks sameness, and etiquette seeks difference. Sameness brings closeness; difference brings respect.”
“Yes.”
“Thus, the people must be guided through sound and ritual. Regulate the heart through proper sound, and behavior through ritual—then people can be made upright. That is why scholars must learn ritual and music.”
In short, Joseon seemed to believe that music could change people.
A nation governed by music.
What a thrilling idea.
“What is proper sound?”
“Jeongeum. Also called jeongak.”
Grandfather brought the geomungo forward.
“Jeongak?”
“Yes. Not the licentious sounds you heard the other day—I will teach you proper sound. Listen carefully and learn.”
Licentious?
Grandfather began plucking the strings.
It was a piece I had heard constantly since being reborn.
“I know this.”
He stopped playing and looked at me.
“What do you know?”
“The piece you just played.”
“Do you know Yeongsan Hoesang?”⁴
“What’s that?”
“Didn’t you just say you knew it?”
“Oh—I didn’t know the name.”
“Hmph. Learning has its proper order. The piece is long and deep, so listen calmly.”
“I really know it. I can play it too.”
Grandfather’s eyes widened as he blinked.
When I stood and approached, he stepped aside as if to say, Go ahead.
The instrument was large, and if placed on the lap like his, my hands wouldn’t reach.
I set it on the floor, squatted, and slipped a finger protector onto my left hand.
“Where did you get that?”
“I said my fingers hurt, so Yeongcheon-daek made it for me.”
“Have you played the geomungo before?”
“It’s the only instrument in the house.”
I followed the geomungo music I’d heard since infancy.
With a relaxed heart, like clouds drifting lazily across a clear sky, I plucked the strings.
I filled the empty spaces between the notes by gently vibrating the strings with my left hand.
The sound of Joseon, first encountered alongside my mother’s lullaby, treated each tone with great care.
But after hearing it repeatedly for six years, it had grown a bit dull.
When I finished and turned around, Grandfather was blinking as if his eyes might pop out.
“H-How could you…?”
“I’m good, right?”
Grandfather only moved his lips, unable to answer.
“But I’ve heard it too many times, so it’s not fun anymore.”
“Not fun?”
“The pieces I compose are more interesting.”
I hesitated, wondering what to play.
All my compositions consisted of melody, harmony, and accompaniment.
A single geomungo couldn’t fully express them—but even arranged as a monophonic piece, it could bring out a different kind of charm unique to the instrument.
The geomungo could richly vary a single note through vibrations and plucking, making it perfect for ornamentation.
If I treated each note carefully and extended the phrasing, the performance would become fuller.
I set aside the wish to play it on a piano someday.
Borrowing the theme from Piano Sonata No. 16 in C Major, 1st movement, I began an improvised arrangement.
Notes
-
In the Joseon period, grandparents were responsible for education.
From the age of five, boys lived in the sarangchae and girls in the anche, learning conduct, the Thousand Character Classic, Dongmongseonseup, Yegi, and Hyogyeong.
Grandparents taught because parents were often occupied with economic activity, and because parents might pressure or overly indulge their children. Grandparents were considered more relaxed and objective educators. -
Mozart was afraid of trumpet sounds as a child.
According to his father’s memoirs, loud sounds often made him cry or panic. -
These are called gwaeongeum (loud tone), byeoneum (altered tone), and pyeongeum (flat tone), respectively.
-
Yeongsan Hoesang
A nine-piece instrumental suite.
Though usually performed as an ensemble including geomungo, gayageum, yanggeum, haegeum, danso, daegeum, sepiri, and janggu, slower movements such as Sangnyeongsan, Jungnyeongsan, and Seryeongsan can be performed as solo geomungo pieces.
Commonly performed in pungnyubang during the Joseon period.
