Chapter 11 …
Mozart in Joseon
The Third Courtyard
First Meeting (1)
“Yaaawn.”
“Did you fail to get enough sleep, young master?”
As I sat on the wooden floor yawning, the head servant of the quarters approached, greeted me, and asked.
“Yeah. I was studying.”
Grandfather must have been busy—he stopped by briefly last night and then left again.
He did assign homework, but it was all memorization, so once I finished that, I had plenty of time left.
Thanks to that, I’ve been freely studying Joseon music.
The problem is that every music book Grandfather owns is purely theoretical, all insisting that upright music flows from an upright heart, making it difficult to find the kind of information I actually want.
I plan to ask various questions of the performer I’m meeting at noon today.
“Head servant.”
When I turned my head, I saw him staring intently at my hand.
“…What are you doing?”
“Whenever there’s a moment, you keep moving your fingers like that. Are they itchy or something?”
“Ah.”
Finger independence exercises must look strange to him.
For a musician, they’re essential training. To play any piece, all ten fingers must be able to move independently.
This new body is healthy, but it hasn’t undergone such training yet, so it doesn’t move exactly as I want.
For now, I won’t be playing anything complex on the geomungo, but if I ever return to Vienna, I’ll need to play the piano again.
If I wait until then to start training from scratch, it’ll already be too late.
I need to work diligently from now on, so that when I sit in front of the piano again, I can play as I once did.
Besides, I might even be able to obtain such an instrument in Joseon, and finger independence training will be a great help even for the geomungo.
“There’s something like that.”
Since explaining it would be complicated, I brushed it off vaguely. The head servant tilted his head in confusion.
I put on my shoes.
“Heading out again today?”
“Yeah. I’m just going to the rice cake shop.”
“Then I’ll escort you.”
“I’ll go alone.”
The head servant moved closer to my side.
“I said I’m going alone?”
“No matter what you say, I’ll be sticking right next to you, so you might as well give up.”
Just as I was about to leave the house on time for my appointment, the head servant latched on.
It seems he really did hear something from Grandfather.
With no choice, I started walking.
Only after we arrived at the rice cake shop did the head servant let out a long sigh of relief, as if reassured.
He must have thought I was going to Chunmongjae.
“Be honest.”
“About what?”
“You’re worried I’ll go to Chunmongjae, aren’t you?”
It’s obvious—he’s afraid I’ll fall into drink and lewd music at such a young age.
“If you already know, does that mean you’ll stop worrying now?”
“Don’t worry. I’m curious, sure, but I have no intention of doing that yet.”
“Pardon?”
I am curious about the taste of Joseon liquor, but I have no intention of abusing this newly obtained body.
If I were to die young again because of alcohol, nothing could be more unjust.
“Um…”
As we arrived at the rice cake shop and were looking around, a man approached us.
He wore a white dopo robe and a plain gat without any decoration—an unremarkable appearance.
His face was gaunt, but something at his waist caught my eye.
It was an instrument played at the mouth.
Judging by the wooden material, it must be a woodwind, but there was no reed in sight.
“Are you perhaps Master Gap?”
“That would be me.”
“Gap?”
The head servant cut in and shoved him aside.
“I happened to pass nearby and liked the sound, so I asked to meet you. May I ask you a few questions?”
“I’ll answer as best I can.”
“How often do you find work?”
“Lately, almost none.”
“Lately?”
“Yes. Since the alcohol prohibition was imposed, banquets have become scarce, so it’s hard to find engagements.”
That’s not good news.
I thought public performances for commoners might be difficult, so I was aiming for aristocratic banquets—but even those aren’t going well.
“Then how many people usually perform together?”
“There’s no fixed number.”
So solo performances are acceptable.
That works well, since I won’t be able to do anything but solo performances for the time being.
“What instruments do you play?”
“In the silk-string popular category, there are the geomungo, gayageum, hyangbipa, ajaeng, and haegeum. In the bamboo popular category, there are the daegeum, sogeum, and hyangpiri.”
A list of unfamiliar terms spilled out, and I understood none of it.
“Explain in detail—starting with what you mean by ‘silk-string popular.’”
“‘Silk’ refers to strings, and ‘group’ means category. It refers to stringed instruments.”
So sasuk refers to string instruments.
He continued that juksuk refers to instruments made of bamboo.
“‘Popular category’ uses the character for ‘worldly’ and refers to music used in folk or popular contexts, as opposed to court ritual music. So silk-string popular instruments are stringed instruments used in folk music.”
“Then bamboo popular instruments are bamboo instruments used in folk music.”
“Exactly.”
“And what is that called?”
I pointed to the woodwind instrument at his waist.
“This is called a daegeum.”
A woodwind used for folk music.
“Are there separate instruments used for court music?”
“Yes. Instruments used in aak are called abu. Among the silk-string abu, there are the geum and the seul.”
“What about the geomungo?”
Earlier, he had listed the geomungo under silk-string popular instruments.
“My grandfather plays court music on the geomungo.”
“That’s because abu refers only to instruments explicitly listed in the Zhou Rites.”
“By Zhou Rites, do you mean one of the Three Rites?”
Grandfather once showed me the Book of Rites, and the Zhou Rites is one of the Three Rites, along with the Ceremonial Rites and the Book of Rites.
“That is correct. Since the geomungo is not introduced in the Zhou Rites, even if it leads court music, it is not classified as an abu.”
No matter what I ask, he answers immediately.
It seems the woman named Danwol introduced me to a proper person.
“Then what kinds of pieces do you perform?”
In Europe, performers often play popular pieces, but usually they perform works composed by whoever commissions them.
In other words, invite me and you hear my music; invite Haydn and you enjoy Haydn’s music.
“Most commonly gagok, and recently sijo chang as well. We also frequently perform folk music.”
I’ve never heard of gagok or sijo chang, but I’ve heard of folk music several times.
That “lewd” music Grandfather mentioned—it seems all music widely performed among the people is classified as folk music.
“Would it be correct to understand that any kind of sound is acceptable?”
“Yes.”
If performances aren’t limited to fixed pieces, then I have a chance too.
“Head servant.”
“Yes.”
“Let’s have white rice cakes today. Give him a generous portion as well.”
“Yes. Shopkeeper! Shopkeeper, are you there?”
The head servant called out to the rice cake shop owner and ordered a full mal of rice.
That should last until tomorrow.
I turned to face the performer.
“Come to think of it, we haven’t introduced ourselves properly. As you can see, I’m still young, so I use a childhood name. You may call me Gap.”
“Of course. I am Eul Jisu.”
I chose the alias Gap, and he turned out to be Eul.
“Would it be all right if I ask you more questions in the future?”
“Please call for me anytime.”
“Master Yulgaek, please take this.”
The head servant handed over the rice cakes.
It seems performers who play at places like Chunmongjae are called yulgaek.
“This much?”
Yulgaek Eul Jisu’s eyes widened as he received the cakes.
“It’s only one doe.”
“Thank you very much.”
Eul Jisu bowed deeply to me. I waved my hand to tell him not to worry, but as he walked away, he kept turning back to bow again and again.
“He knows a lot, and he’s such a gentle fellow, huh?”
the head servant said.
“Yeah.”
“But when did you even make the appointment?”
“Huh?”
“You were together all day yesterday.”
“The day before yesterday. I made the appointment then.”
“The day before yesterday, too….”
The head servant began to look suspicious. The way he looked at me changed.
“Come on. We need to go back—I have homework.”
“Young master! Young master!”
Just as I was about to leave, Eul Jisu came running toward me from afar, calling out.
Wondering what it was, I saw him pull a book from his robe.
“Please take this.”
I don’t like books.
“What is it?”
“It’s a book where I organized everything I’ve learned and felt so far. You seemed to have many questions—it should help.”
When I took it and opened it, it was filled with detailed notes from his experiences as a yulgaek.
And it wasn’t in classical Chinese—it was written in easy-to-read Hangul.
This is valuable.
“Are you sure it’s all right to give me something this precious?”
“It’s all in my head already. Read it slowly and return it to me later.”
Eul Jisu smiled with a kind expression.
“I won’t refuse. Thank you.”
“Then.”
After bowing once more, Eul Jisu left.
There were so many unfamiliar words and concepts that I wanted to learn calmly—and I’d just obtained a perfect textbook.
“Oh dear, young master! You mustn’t hop around like that!”
* * *
“Your Highness, Minister of Rites Mo Daehwan requests an audience.”
“……”
“Your Highness.”
“Let him enter.”
“Yes.”
The door opened, and Minister of Rites Mo Daehwan appeared.
As he watched Mo Daehwan prostrate himself in greeting, the Crown Prince lifted one corner of his lips.
“For what reason has the Minister of Rites come?”
“Seeing that Your Highness appears well, it seems my worries were unfounded.”
“Well, you say. Do I truly look well to you?”
The Crown Prince’s eyes twitched.
“Do I truly look well to you right now?”
“Your Highness.”
Mo Daehwan did not retreat in the slightest.
“You must steel your heart even now.”
“For what! What more must I do better!”
“Do you think I truly know nothing?”
“What did you say?”
Mo Daehwan remained silent.
As time passed, the Crown Prince raised a trembling finger and pointed at him.
“Then ask me! Ask me what I know!”
“If you deny it, you will only make matters worse.”
“Are you threatening me right now!”
“A threat only works when only you and I know the matter. One cannot threaten with something everyone already knows.”
“Everyone knows? Knows what?”
“I know that since the New Year, you have been frequenting a place called Chunmongjae. It has already reached the ears of all who would be expected to hear it.”
“……”
“Your Highness.”
Mo Daehwan called to him.
“They say there is not a single merchant who has not extended credit to the Eastern Palace. What do you intend to do if His Majesty learns of this?”
“Enough!”
The Crown Prince shouted.
After glancing around, he suddenly stood and strode toward Mo Daehwan.
Mo Daehwan remained motionless, head bowed to the floor.
“Who did you hear it from?”
“……”
“I asked you who you heard it from!”
“This is no longer a situation that can be silenced.”
Indeed, it wasn’t.
Every time the Crown Prince went out in disguise, he spent vast sums of money, including hush money to maintain secrecy.
Eventually, it exceeded what the Eastern Palace could bear, and promissory notes bearing the Eastern Palace’s name flooded the Six-Coin Street.
Managing a few individuals could no longer stop the rumors.
The Crown Prince began to tremble.
“Your Highness. Even now, you must contain the damage.”
“Say no more!”
The Crown Prince grabbed Mo Daehwan by the shoulders.
“Do not tell His Majesty. Do not report this!”
“Your Highness…”
Mo Daehwan was flustered.
The Crown Prince, once robust and broad-framed, now clung to him like a child throwing a tantrum.
“I will attend lectures diligently, just as you say! I will never go to Chunmongjae again!”
Grabbing Mo Daehwan, the Crown Prince locked eyes with him.
“Master—do not abandon this disciple.”
The Crown Prince’s eyes were filled with anxiety and terror.
Mo Daehwan’s heart felt as though it were tearing apart.
As the Crown Prince’s tutor since childhood, Mo Daehwan felt responsible for how the once-brilliant boy had fallen so far.
“Can you truly keep this promise?”
Footnote
-
The title seonsaeng originally originated in China during the Southern Song dynasty.
It was initially used to refer to officials, later shifting in meaning to denote teachers.
In Joseon, it was a title reserved only for the highly learned.
For this reason, even Yi Hwang (Toegye) avoided being called seonsaeng, and before his death, he personally determined his epitaph inscription out of fear that his disciples might refer to him as such.
In Mozart in Joseon, the title is used for convenience.
