Chapter 13 …
Mozart in Joseon
Third Courtyard
First Meeting (3)
“Hohoho. Is there any other way?”
Grandfather asked, laughing.
“I want to do sori.”
“Now I see, you’re interested in the Jangakwon, not the Ministry of Rites.”
“The Jangakwon?”
“Yes. It’s the office in charge of sori and dance. It’s technically under the Ministry of Rites.”
“That’s where I want to be.”
I had thought music was under the Ministry of Rites, but apparently, there was a subordinate office handling it.
“Even so, you must study this first.”
Grandfather placed his hand on my college textbooks.
“Why?”
“Why?…”
He looked at me as if to ask, Do you really not know?
“Do you have to pass the civil service exam to work at the Jangakwon?”
“Of course.”
It seemed unreasonable.
No matter how I thought about it, the civil service exam was inefficient.
Joseon didn’t seem small, yet they only selected thirty-three people nationwide. Passing it would be far from easy.
I was confident in music anywhere, in any country—but Confucian classics were another matter.
“Why study the classics if you want to work in sori?”
“You are half right and half wrong.”
“How so?”
“If you wish to work at the Jangakwon, it is right to be knowledgeable in sori. But as a proper scholar, one must also be proficient in the classics and historical anecdotes.”
“…….”
“The Jangakwon is not simply a place to make music. It performs, educates, and manages music for rituals and banquets, and it researches and records the instruments used. So merely being skilled at instruments doesn’t make you capable of managing the Jangakwon. Playing instruments is the role of musicians and performers—not yours.”
“You call people who play instruments ‘musicians’ and ‘performers’?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t only want to play instruments. I want to coordinate everything.”
In a place with no concept of a conductor, I didn’t know how to explain the role of a conductor or composer to Grandfather.
I didn’t even know the corresponding words in Joseon.
“It seems what you mean is ‘Yul-gwan’ and ‘Jeon-ak.’”
“What’s that?”
“Yul-gwan corrects pitch, and Jeon-ak manages the musicians and performers. Once the Yul-gwan finds the right sound, Jeon-ak leads the musicians to follow it.”
“I see.”
So there is a counterpart to a conductor here, after all.
Grandfather’s explanation suggested that the Yul-gwan and Jeon-ak partly fulfill the role of court musicians in the palace.
Not exactly like European conductors, but someone performs a similar function.
“However, even that is not your duty.”
“What?”
“Yul-gwan and Jeon-ak are chosen through the miscellaneous examination. It is not for yangban to do.”
“Then what do yangban do?”
“They supervise whether rituals are conducted properly, check the organization, attendance, and management of instruments.”
“……I want to do sori.”
“Gaeddong-ah.”
Grandfather called softly.
“I have long known your love for sori. But that is not your duty.”
“It is my duty.”
Grandfather shook his head.
“As the eldest grandson of the Namyang Mo family, there is a proper path you must follow.”
That’s not true.
Settling in Joseon is not my path.
Even now, my wife and two children are waiting for me.
Even if the path to Vienna is more difficult than passing the civil service exam, it’s better than walking a path without a goal.
“I…”
I felt uneasy speaking to Grandfather.
I could not easily say I would leave to a man who truly believed I would live as the eldest grandson of the Namyang Mo family in Joseon.
The time spent under the same roof, eating the same meals, sleeping under the same blankets, and playing the same music…
It had made me truly consider him as my grandfather.
“I will do sori. I will make a sound so loud that no one under heaven will not know my name.”
Grandfather’s face gradually hardened.
“My music will reach not just all eight provinces of Joseon, but China, Wei, Annam, across the whole world.”
I did not avert my eyes.
“That is my fame and success.”
“Your music? What are you saying?”
Anger crept into Grandfather’s voice.
“Did I not just tell you? Sori is not your duty.”
“It is my duty.”
“Do you know what you are saying?”
His voice rose.
“To claim your music means living like a loafer, wandering from entertainment house to entertainment house. How dare you say that in front of me!”
I didn’t know what a pungnyubang was, but judging from context, it was probably like Chunmongjae or such a place.
“I am not a loafer. Sori is my profession.”
“How can that be the duty of a yangban!”
Grandfather’s voice rose further.
“Do you wish to become a performer? That is what commoners do! How can you, born into a yangban family, even say such a thing? Do you know how dangerous that thought is?”
His words pierced me like a blade.
In Europe or in Joseon.
Music is considered a lowly task.
Even Grandfather, who loved and skillfully played the geomungo, sees music as merely lowly.
“Correct sounds make people upright, so I have learned that this country of Joseon is governed by music.”
I swallowed.
“Listening to your Yeongsanhwesaang, I truly felt it could be so.”
That leisurely, lingering piece truly made the heart feel at ease.
“Then why is it lowly?”
“What?”
“If establishing correct sound is so important, how can it be lowly?”
Grandfather glared.
“You’ve been wandering the marketplace and filled your lungs with nonsense!”
Grandfather sprang up and opened the door.
“Servant! Is anyone here?!”
“Yes, Your Lordship.”
“Lock the door! Do not let Gaeddong cross this room without my permission!”
“Yes?”
“Do you understand?”
“Yes, yes!”
Grandfather looked at me.
“Do not think of leaving this room until you realize what you have done wrong.”
“Father, how long do you intend to keep him locked up? It’s already been three days!”
Mo Yongho raised his voice, rare for him.
Even his devotion couldn’t ignore that his only child had been locked in a room for three days.
“Leave him be. He eats two full meals a day. What is there to worry about?”
“Father!”
“Humph.”
“Gaeddong is only six! For any reason, you cannot keep him locked for three days!”
Mo Daehwan swallowed.
He worried for the grandson he had barely seen, but he had to correct a misstep.
“How would he know better? He merely says it because he loves sori! How can you blame him so?”
“Do you not understand the gravity of this matter?”
“What’s so serious?”
“To be born a yangban and wish to do what commoners do is to disrupt the social order. Enough talk—leave.”
“Father!”
“You!”
Mo Daehwan barked.
“You, his father, allowed him to see and learn improper things! It is your fault that Gaeddong turned out this way!”
Mo Yongho trembled.
He wanted to act immediately but restrained his anger.
After a deep breath, he spoke in a calmer tone.
“You cannot pour water into a vessel by squeezing it too hard. This is not something to resolve harshly.”
“Hmmph.”
“Teach him sori.”
“What?”
“He is a child who goes out into the marketplace to find sori. If he learns the wrong sound there, what will you do? It is better that you teach him the correct sound yourself.”
“……”
“While he studies, also teach him correct music. Once he learns that study and music can coexist, he will return to your arms willingly.”
Mo Daehwan calmed and considered.
He could not keep him locked away indefinitely.
And if Gaeddong’s love for sori grew uncontrollably, the heir of the Namyang Mo family would go astray.
It was better to allow him some learning while guiding him in proper music.
“And if he truly wants to become a performer?”
“As his studies deepen, won’t he gradually improve?”
Mo Yongho had a point.
Though now his thoughts seemed fanciful, once he mastered the teachings of sages, he would understand the proper distinctions of social rank.
“…Bring Gaeddong here.”
“Yes.”
Three days had passed since I was locked in the room.
The hall servants and Yeongcheon-daeck mourned as if I were dead.
Father and mother came in turns to soothe and scold me, but I had no intention of apologizing.
I was greatly disappointed in Grandfather.
I had assumed that someone who skillfully played the geomungo would not treat music and musicians like servants—but I was mistaken.
I would not apologize until he came first.
Fortunately, I had no time to be bored.
I drew piano keys on hanji to practice striking them and drew staff lines to compose music I hadn’t been able to create before. Time flew.
While pondering the daegeum part,
Father suddenly burst in.
Startled, I just stared at him, and he sighed deeply.
“I don’t know if you are fearless or just carefree. Were you doodling?”
Following his gaze, I saw the sheet music.
To him, the staff and scales probably looked like scribbles.
“Anyway, I’m glad you’ve been brave and stayed well.”
He hugged me and patted my back.
“Grandfather is looking for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes. Just follow his instructions without saying anything. Understood?”
I didn’t want to, but fighting Grandfather would get me nowhere.
The problem was that he was trying to stop something I could never give up.
What to do?
“Why are you standing there? Get up.”
Father urged me.
I had no choice.
For now, it was best to study as Grandfather wished, but also request a teacher to learn proper music.
If I said I was studying Confucian classics, Grandfather wouldn’t strongly oppose exposure to proper music.
Luckily, I also needed an opportunity to meet Eulji-su frequently, so it worked out.
Being a yangban was not easy.
I used to throw tantrums even in front of archbishops, but age had softened me.
“If only I were ten years younger…”
“What did you just say?”
Apparently, I muttered unconsciously.
“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”
