Chapter 06 …
Mozart in Joseon
First Courtyard
The Grand Minister’s House, the Prodigy, Gaettongi (4)
Before I knew it, I had greeted my sixth spring.
In the meantime, I had learned to speak fairly well, and I had also come to understand this place a little.
The place where I was reborn is called Hanseong, the capital of Joseon.
Joseon means “the land at the eastern edge where the sun rises.”¹ When I asked my father, “The east of where?” he answered, “China.”²
It was a name I had never once heard in my life.
I asked about other neighboring countries as well, but Joseon’s neighbors—Wa, Mongol, Annam, and the like—were all unfamiliar to me.
Likewise, there was no point in asking whether they knew the countries I knew.
Not only did no one know the great European powers such as the Holy Roman Empire, France, or Spain, but no one had even heard of distant lands like Russia or the Ottoman Empire, which lay far away even by European standards.
Even the calendar system and the way age was counted were different, so I couldn’t even begin to imagine how far this place was from Vienna.
And yet, for someone who had lost all hope, I was eating well and living comfortably enough—thanks to the fact that the family I was born into wielded considerable power in this country.
For someone like me, who had once endured all manner of contempt and humiliation from kings and nobles, it felt strange, but not entirely unpleasant.
Still, it was baffling that a family so distinguished would name their child “Gaettongi” (Dog-Shit).
To think they would take a word I myself had used only as a nickname and make it an actual name.³
I never imagined that, in this far-off land, there would be people with sensibilities like mine.
Compared to European nobles who only pretended to be dignified, the citizens of Vienna who understood humor—and the people here—were far more to my liking.⁴
“Young master, let’s go back now.”
I was in the middle of eating injeolmi when the gatekeeper old man urged me.
“Just a little longer.”
“You shouldn’t do that. If the Grand Minister finds out you came out again today, you’ll be scolded terribly.”
I spread my arms wide.
These were the clothes Yeongcheon-daek had carefully dressed me in when I said I was going out early to play.
A silk bokgeon on my head, a multicolored jeogori on my body, a dark-blue sash around my waist, and taesahye shoes made of cowhide and silk on my feet.
There was no way I could return without letting the people of Hanseong see this splendid appearance.
“Why is that?”
“I look this good.”
“I don’t rightly understand what you mean, sir.”
“I went through all this trouble to dress up—let’s play a bit more before going back.”
Markets are hubs of information.
Whether in Vienna or Hanseong, wherever people gather, stories are bound to circulate.
Merchants, in particular, travel far and wide, so they hear and see many things.
While buying snacks like injeolmi or pumpkin taffy, I might even hear stories about Vienna or Europe.
“Even if the Grand Minister rains down thunder, I won’t know a thing.”
“It’ll be fine.”
As I coaxed the gatekeeper old man along, a loud clamor gradually drew nearer.
“What’s that sound?”
“What sound?”
“Can’t you hear it?”
“I’m not sure.”
“It sounds like metal being struck—really loud.”
“Ah.”
The gatekeeper clapped his hands as if something had just occurred to him.
“They say the Ttakttagi troupe has come—must be the sound of a kkwaenggwari. Yes, that’s a kkwaenggwari.”
“The Ttakttagi troupe?”⁵
“A group that performs sandae-nori from Sajikgol. Since it’s Buddha’s Birthday, they must’ve come.”⁶
Though I had grown fairly accustomed to the Joseon language, there were still many words I didn’t know.
“What’s Sajikgol? What’s sandae-nori? And what’s Buddha’s Birthday?”
“Oh my.”
The gatekeeper explained that Sajikgol was a place name, and Buddha’s Birthday was the day when a man called Buddha was born.
“Sandae-nori is where they wear masks, dance, and sing—but it’s not something a young master should be watching.”
“Why not?”
“It’s something lowly folk do. Why would a young master want to see that?”
“You said they dance and sing.”
I don’t know what remains of noble life if you take away dance and song.
Back then, thanks to nobles hosting banquets every night, I had been able to perform all over the place—but nobles here seemed to be different.
“Anyway, you can’t.”
The gatekeeper waved his hands in refusal.
But I had no intention of turning back.
I still didn’t know the performance culture of this land.
If I was to return to Vienna, I would need to gather as much money as possible, which meant I had to see what kinds of performances Joseon people enjoyed.
This was a rare opportunity.
“Let’s go quickly.”
“Ah—young master! Young master!”
I quickened my pace.
In a wide square, people were gathered in a circle.
I looked around for a place selling tickets, but saw nothing of the sort.
“What are you looking for so hard?”
“A place to pay.”
Since I didn’t know how to say “ticket” in Joseon words, I spoke indirectly.
“Money?”
“They’re going to charge money, right?”
“Well, if you keep watching, they’ll walk around with a bowl. If you want to give something, you can do it then.”
So instead of selling tickets, it was an open performance supported by donations.
In Europe, too, unless a noble hosted a performance, there were troupes and storytellers who made a living this way.
“Let’s see.”
I couldn’t see the front.
“Ahem.”
After hesitating, I tried clearing my throat, imitating my grandfather.
The people who hadn’t budged turned around in surprise.
“Young master.”
“What brings you here?”
“How are you, sir?”
Too many people approached at once for me to deal with them individually.
“I heard there was something entertaining to see, so I came.”
“Pardon?”
The crowd looked flustered.
“I’d like to watch for a bit.”
They exchanged glances, then slowly closed ranks and made space for me.
“Thank you.”
I told the gatekeeper to hand out rice cakes to those who had given up their spots, then settled in.
On one side, people wearing masks that were comical, grotesque, or cute were gathered together.
My heart raced.
mark
Gisan Kim Jun-geun, Pal-talp’an⁷
* * *
The Sajikgol Ttakttagi troupe, having come to Hanseong for the fourth day of the fourth month—Buddha’s Birthday—smiled even as they caught their breath.
They were butchers, pallbearers, and former ruffians—despised even among commoners—but in the courtyard, they were freer than anyone.
Malttugi adjusted his mask and spoke.
“Everyone ready?”
The whole troupe nodded.
“Let’s play like mad today and shake off all the bad luck stuck to us.”
Malttugi stepped into the center of the yard.
“Hey! Get us some lodging!”⁸
He shouted loudly.
“What’s this racket? Who comes into someone else’s workplace yelling like that?”
Soettugi followed up, playing along.
“Hey, Soettugi! Good to hear your voice!”
“Ha! Good to see you, Malttugi!”
“It’s been a long time. You sick anywhere?”
“Ah, my wretched fate. Every joint aches.”
“I’ve got a problem.”
“Then why ask?”
“I’m no physician—what can I do? I’ve heard enough.”
“Fine, fine. So what’s the trouble?”
“The nobleman I serve was on his way to take the state exam, but he got so caught up watching this ruckus nearby that he ordered me to find lodging.”
“Ha! He’s so distracted by the spectacle that he makes someone else find him a place to stay? You’ve got it rough. Fine—I’ll look into it for you.”
Soettugi circled the stage near the audience, then his eyes widened.
A noble family’s young master was sitting there.
In a place meant for mocking nobles, there sat a boy wearing a silk bokgeon and a multicolored jeogori—Soettugi’s thoughts froze.
“Ah, this fellow’s taking forever!”
Thinking quickly, Malttugi urged Soettugi on as if it were part of the script.
“All right, the lodging’s settled!”
Left with no choice, Soettugi delivered the next line.
“How did you settle it?”
“I drove a post roughly into the ground, tied a belt around it, and left the door up top.”
The house built for serving a nobleman sounded exactly like a pigsty.
When Soettugi mimicked a pig’s squeal, the crowd burst into laughter.
“Hahaha! That’s exactly like the cheap tiled houses nobles build these days!”
“Th-that’s right! A very fine tiled house indeed!”
When Soettugi responded with something so off the mark instead of playing along, Malttugi thrust his masked face close.
“Fine?”
Soettugi glanced around nervously.
Having called a noble’s house “fine,” the audience—who had been waiting for noble-bashing—grew tense.
Soettugi squeezed his eyes shut and continued.
“Ah, have you ever seen a pigsty this grand? This is fine indeed!”
“That’s right! Exactly!”
The audience clapped and chimed in.
“Then to enter our noble lords’ tiled houses, they’ll have to do handstands!”
“That’s right! Exactly!”
“Hey, there’s a scholar standing outside—let’s go bring him in.”
Malttugi said.
“Why me?”
Soettugi spread his hands.
“With all the bonds we share, shouldn’t you help me out?”
“Fair enough. I’ll do it for your sake.”
Soettugi led the way, while Malttugi cracked his whip toward the scholars, husbands, and young masters.
As the nobles entered the pigsty upside down, making oinking sounds, an explosion of laughter erupted.
Then, when the nobles inside the pigsty pretended to read books with utmost dignity, the crowd erupted again.
All the while, Soettugi’s heart pounded nervously.
But when he finally looked back, the noble family’s young master was laughing uproariously.
* * *
I had known it ever since they named their son Gaettongi, but these people truly had a sense of humor.
I myself had created many works that satirized the nobility, but the Ttakttagi troupe’s way of ridiculing nobles genuinely astonished me.
Had a noble been present here, it wouldn’t have ended with mere beatings—the satire was that blatant.
If performances like this were popular, then what kind of works I should write going forward was perfectly clear.
That said, this sandae-nori had very little music and a great deal of dialogue—it was closer to theater than anything else.
How to stage opera in this land would be something to ponder later.
And there was one more thing.
“Gatekeeper.”
No answer.
“Gatekeeper.”
“Yes?”
When I turned around, the gatekeeper was at a complete loss.
“What’s wrong?”
“Ah, I’m done for now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Even if you watched quietly, word would spread all over—but you laughed so loudly. It’s only a matter of time before the Grand Minister finds out.”
“Is it bad if Grandfather knows?”
“If word gets out that a noble young master watched sandae-nori and laughed, even passing dogs would laugh.”
It wasn’t unreasonable—after all, I was a noble laughing at a performance that mocked nobles.
“It’s fine.”
The gatekeeper clutched his chest.
“You don’t know how frightening the Grand Minister is. Just say you were wrong. All right?”
Smiling, I stopped in front of the main gate, and the gatekeeper sent word inside.
As I stepped in, it was like thunder struck.
“Gaettongi, you rascal!”
Grandfather’s voice.
I bowed my head in greeting, while the gatekeeper prostrated himself, trembling like a leaf.
“Where have you been wandering off to!”
“I was looking around the market, and then I watched sandae-nori on my way back.”
“What did you say?”
“And this.”
I took the injeolmi from my bosom and showed it to him.
“You rascal! Where did you learn such tricks! If you’ve done wrong, you should reflect—how dare you try to gloss over it with food!”
“That’s not it.”
“Then what is it!”
“As I was eating such delicious injeolmi by myself, I thought of you, Grandfather, and wanted to give it to you at once.”
“…Is that true?”
“I have not the slightest intention of avoiding your anger with a mere rice cake.”
“Then you have no complaint even if you’re scolded further.”
“Yes. I’ll accept it gladly.”
Grandfather’s face had already bloomed into a broad smile.
Notes
-
Joseon was named “Joseon” because it lay at the eastern edge, where the sun rises.
Source: Sinjeung Dongguk Yeoji Seungnam, Vol. 51, Pyeongyang Prefecture, Military Names:
“朝鮮, 居東表日出之地, 故名朝鮮.” -
In Joseon, “China” was not a fixed country name but referred to the land of the Son of Heaven.
Dynastic names such as Han, Tang, Song, Ming, and Qing were used, but “China” meant the country where the Son of Heaven resided.
Example: Hunminjeongeum: “The language of our country is different from that of China.” -
Mozart gave mischievous nicknames to family and friends.
He called his wife “poop” (Poepel), his sister “asshole” (Arschlöchl), and his students “little poopers.” -
During Mozart’s lifetime, Vienna was famous for irony and satire.
This was called Wiener Schmäh (Viennese humor), which influenced Mozart to incorporate comedic elements into his works.
Additionally, the word “humor” began to take on its modern meaning in the 1680s. -
Ttakttagi troupe: A performance group active in the Seoul-centered Gyeonggi region during the Joseon period, performing sandae-nori.
-
Sajikgol: Present-day Sajik-dong, Jongno District.
-
Gisan Kim Jun-geun, Pal-talp’an, late 19th century.
Not a depiction of sandae-nori itself, but included to aid understanding of mask dance performances. -
The performances of the Sajikgol Ttakttagi troupe were called Bonsandae-nori or Sandae-nori.
This scene is part of the Yangju Byeolsandae-nori, which Yi Eulchuk learned from the Sajikgol Ttakttagi troupe in the 18th century and established in Yangju.
Specifically, it is from Act 7, Scene 1, Uimak Saryeong-nori, adapted and modernized with revisions and omissions.
