—Ah!
Jin buried her face in his embrace and smiled.
—I thought you’d chosen me so I could take you to Paris. I am telling you this now, but I was taken aback at how you had memorized the names of so many Parisian streets.
—I knew of no other way to tell you how I felt.
—I love you.
Victor, once again, was unable to say the words that hovered over his lips. Do you love me? Whenever he felt tempted to ask her that, ever since their days in Korea, he told her he loved her instead.
“Gillin!” Jin whispered his Korean name and placed her face on his chest again. Victor’s mustache tickled the curve of her ear. The harder earned the love, the more passionately it burns. Victor slipped off the shoulder straps of her Korean nightdress. In bed, Jin always wore the nightdress the woman Suh had made for her as if Jin was determined never to forget her. Victor was swept up in a fit of desire whenever Jin whispered his Korean name. He knelt above her and lovingly cupped her face in his hands. Then, he slowly slipped into Jin’s body. The more his body fell into a rhythm like rough waves, the more Jin found herself being conscious of the cat Quasimodo. Soon, Victor buried his face in her breasts. Jin lifted an arm and stroked his back. She could feel his drops of sweat. As she caressed his face, she asked him a question.
—What made you love me?
Victor lay down again and put his arm under the nape of her neck.
—Your eyes drew me in.
—My eyes?
—Yes. Your dark eyes. When my gaze first met yours on that bridge in the palace, I thought my world had gone white. I was astounded when you said bonjour to me. Then, when I saw you dance, I thought my soul had left my body. You were like a butterfly, like a bird. You are the only one who does not know how seductive you are. Did not Planchard and Maupassant fall in love with you at first sight? Even Guimet. That’s not all. Even Vincent is at your every beck and call.
Jin giggled. She had met Emile Guimet through Hong Jong-u, who had secured work at Guimet’s museum. Victor probably referred to the deference Guimet had shown her during that meeting.
—Monsieur Guimet is not really interested in me but in the fact that I am from the East. Like any spectator would be.
—Hong Jong-u is infatuated with you as well.
—Him?
—You’re the only one who does not notice. He is deeply enchanted with you.
—Are you serious?
—Ever since Korea.
—Ridiculous . . . he treats me like a foolish woman. He would’ve had nothing to do with me if I didn’t speak French. He takes every opportunity to mock me for putting on Parisian airs when I’m a Korean woman.
—That’s how he expresses his interest. Does he not espouse the need for a royalist reformation, even as he lives here in a republic? Think of how you would seem to such a man. You and he are the only two Koreans in Paris, but it upsets him to think that you are forgetting Korea.
Hong Jong-u is infatuated with me? The idea struck Jin speechless. How long had Victor thought this? Why had he let them continue to meet to discuss the translation and twice a week at that?
Victor spoke in a low voice.
—About those four days. Why don’t we visit those places in Paris in the order that you spoke of during our first night?
—You remember the order?
—I do.
—Say it for me.
—The Louvre . . . Notre Dame . . . Bois de Boulogne . . . the Latin Quarter . . . the opera . . . Luxembourg Garden . . . the Champs-Élysées . . . Les Invalides . . . the Île de la Cité.
Victor thought of when Jin had said, “Take me to the Louvre,” with sadness, resignation, and perhaps a touch of hope in her clear voice. He stroked the full length of her black hair.
—I can’t believe you remember that in order.
He hadn’t tried to. He had memorized it naturally. Perhaps love was like that. Victor pulled her to him as if to grasp a bird that was trying to fly away and kissed her neck and breasts.
The face of one asleep after lovemaking is one of happiness.
But Jin was still awake after Victor had fallen into a deep slumber. She regretted each passing minute of the night. She slowly sat up. Quietly, she gripped her nightdress to herself and slipped out of the bedroom. Her foot was on the first step of the staircase leading down when Quasimodo walked into her path.
—Shh!
Jin lifted Quasimodo into her arms. The softness and warmth of the cat’s fur seeped through her nightdress. She stroked the underside of his neck and rubbed her cheek against it. Quasimodo, having had enough, wriggled in Jin’s embrace. She shushed him again, and slowly walked down the stairs and opened the door to the salon. She could smell the scent of the wooden Buddha that Victor had brought from China. Aside from the Buddha statue, the salon had a Korean celadon, fans from Japan, and books from China. The exotic atmosphere of the room made visitors look about with awe, like tourists.
—Stay quiet.
Only when they were in the salon did Jin gently put Quasimodo down on the floor. The cat extended his front paws and arched his back in a feline stretch.
Jin walked straight to the table with several drawers that stood in the middle of the salon. In the middle of the table was a feather pen, an inkwell, a fountain pen, and letter-writing paper, ready for whenever they were needed. The table, also from China, was long enough for ten people to sit together, and was used to serve tea during their salon sessions.
People would often visit Victor when they prepared for a posting or a visit to the Far East. They wanted to hear Victor’s stories before embarking on a voyage across the great water. More and more people were supposedly interested in the Far East, but to most of them, that meant China or Japan, not Korea. They would try to pronounce the name of the country once, but for the most part that was all the effort they would muster. Missionaries headed for the East would also seek Victor’s advice. They seemed to be more cautious when leaving for Korea than China or Japan. When Jin asked Victor why that would be, Victor said it was because they still talked of the suppressions in the Year of the Red Tiger and the Year of the White Sheep, which made Korea seem like a dangerous place.
Aristocrats who owned every Western luxury under the sun often turned their interest to Eastern objects, and this group also sought Victor for advice. Chinese books, paintings, calligraphy, and pottery were their favorites. Quite a few came for appraisals. In the spirit of maintaining good relations with the gentry, Victor did the best he could in appraising the Buddhas, lacquered furniture, or celadon that they carefully collected and presented to him. There were those who were disappointed to hear that their wares were Korean and not Chinese. Victor would then ask Jin for help. Some of these well-heeled collectors would be assuaged when Jin carefully explained the symbolism of the flowers and birds on the screens, paintings, or celadon, the different uses of the brushes and inks, or the meanings behind the hanja characters in the books.
Jin opened a drawer and took out the translation manuscript along with Blanc’s French-Korean dictionary, the same one she had thumbed through since she was a child. The manuscript was her final edit of Hong Jong-u’s first draft before it went over to Boex for further revisions. At first, she had taken on the work just to provide a few comments, but soon she became interested in the task of translation itself. Having intended to just skim over it, Jin had found herself reading each line, correcting the obvious mistakes and circling questionable choices, going through the language to make sure it flowed properly. Before she knew it, hours had gone by. Her attention was also arrested by how Hong’s Story of Chunhyang was not the classic in its original form. The translation was replete not with Hong Jong-u’s desire to tell a Korean story but to tell the story of Korea itself.
Jin was so absorbed in the revision work that she did not notice that the sun was rising or that Quasimodo had jumped up onto the table. The cat licked the back of Jin’s hand and stretched out beside the man
uscript.
Dawn is a soulful time.
Jin stroked Quasimodo’s back as she continued to read. Quasimodo flipped over on his back and fell asleep, one of his hind legs pointing in the air, a foreleg curled so tight it looked as if it had been rolled. What was in this animal’s bones that made it so flexible? Jin glanced at Quasimodo whenever the cat curled into a ball or stretched or contorted itself, even in its sleep. It did so freely and effortlessly. Korean dance also required great flexibility. She had to learn how to relax on command instead of using brute force, to conserve enough strength to maintain her positions for the right amount of time. Only when she controlled her breath could she softly flutter like a butterfly, soar like a bird, or hover like the air itself and land as lightly as if to stand on still waters.
Jin broke off her gaze from the sleeping Quasimodo, collated the manuscript spread out before her, and returned it to the drawer. She then took up the feather pen, ink, and letter-writing paper on the desk.
Your Majesty,
Jin stared at the inky blue Korean script that spelled out Your Majesty. This kept happening. She would be bursting with things to write, but once she sat down to write them, a blackness would descend to block out the words. As if someone had called for her, Jin put down the pen and slid her chair back.
She had intended to take a vigorous turn about the room but found herself throwing her arms in the air and turning her ankle in a dance step. Her Korean nightdress wound around her body. Soon she immersed herself in movement and danced as if she wore her extended sleeves of many colors and the beautiful flower crown. Quasimodo sat up from his languid sleeping position, gathering his soft paws and solemnly watching Jin dance. The Queen had enjoyed her dancing. She would often break the palace rules for her. The young Jin should have entered Jangakwon to properly apprentice with the other court dancers, but the Queen had Jin learn separately in a small wing of the Queen’s Chambers. The Queen also used to have Jin dance in the courtyard of the Queen’s Chambers, to personally track her progress.
To be an apprentice in the arts is to invite the possibility of having one’s talents flourish beyond those of the master.
Whether it was in learning palace calligraphy or embroidery, Jin did not learn in a class but under private instruction, like the daughters of nobility. The Queen also had Jin read aloud to her whenever possible. “So, what have you read today?” She would call Jin to her room late at night and have her read aloud from the book Jin had read that day, falling asleep to the sound of Jin’s voice. When Lady Suh would try to dissuade the Queen, saying the other court ladies were jealous of Jin receiving preferential treatment, the Queen would turn melancholy and say, “If the Princess had lived, she would have been just like her.” Once she asked Jin if she was lonely and had Soa transferred from Jangakwon to room with her. From then on, Soa became Jin’s dancing friend and roommate. Soa . . . I wonder how Soa is doing? Jin, her eyes closed, moved as if in answer to the clack of the bak that announced the start of a banquet, as if the thoughtful, slender face of the Queen were watching her at a distance, as if she could hear the strains of Yeon’s daegeum. In this great city, the memories of Korea, the Queen, Yeon, Soa, Blanc, and Suh were as shapeless as snow when her eyes were open. Only when she closed her eyes did they become clear.
As one who dreams of the new enlightened world but could not step one foot outside of this palace, I envy you.
It seemed like a long time ago when she had, for the last time, performed the Dance of the Spring Oriole for the Queen. Jin’s movements became as light as if she were stepping on white clouds. Her forehead beaded with sweat. She heard the voice of the Queen saying that Jin should break from the chains that bound her and learn new things and live a new life. Jin’s eyes were studded with tears.
The salon was connected to the kitchen. Jin was unaware that the servant girl Jeanne had entered the kitchen to prepare breakfast and was now silently watching her, awestruck. Jin spun round and round in the salon like a gyre of golden sand in the wind.
3
Who Am I
Your Majesty,
I read the newspaper every morning. It tells us of everything that is happening in the country. Political affairs mostly, but also things like how many people gathered at the Grevin Waxworks Museum on the Montmartre, or what the weather will be like the next day. I also read about what performances are being held at the opera and learn what books are coming out without having to visit the bookstore.
You can also hear about other countries. Reading the newspaper is important, as it makes one aware of many different opinions. I think of writing down your letters for you whenever I read the newspaper. I also remember my younger court lady days, rushing to and fro as I delivered the letters in the palace.
They say that not every Parisian read the newspaper at first. Subscriptions were so expensive that only the nobility or the rich could afford them. There was also much censorship and oppression of the press before the Revolution. But since the Revolution, it was declared, “Freely shared communication of thought and opinions is a valuable right of man, and all citizens may freely speak, write, and print.” This made me wonder. What would happen if a newspaper were printed in Korea, one that would show what went on at court? Would that not be good for the country? If everyone in the world knew what they were doing, the Chinese and Japanese would be more careful with how they conducted themselves. Then how would events like the Imo Military Incident be recorded? But I suppose Your Majesty wouldn’t want such a publication in the first place.
July 4, 1892
Jin in Paris
Cities are made of spectators.
Jin was such a spectator, and spectacles abounded once she opened the front door. She took everything as an opportunity for observation: the architecture, the exhibits, publications, and people. Of course, Jin knew that she herself was also a spectacle for the Parisians. That wherever she went, all eyes fixed on her. Jin was used to being the center of attention since she began the art of Korean dance. But while the gazes of her audiences were tinged with awe, the gazes of the Parisians were only curious. And it was through their curious gazes that Jin understood she would never become truly Parisian. She could wear the latest fashions, but she was immediately categorized as an Eastern woman in Western clothes. Even Jeanne and Vincent had stared at her at first. If it hadn’t been for Jin’s friendliness, they would be staring at her still. But whenever she thought about this, she recalled Victor’s life in Korea. What a spectacle the blue-eyed Victor must have felt like in her country.
Even when they were by the Eiffel Tower or at the Luxembourg Garden, Jin was always stared at. When she stepped off a carriage in front of the Louvre, the lined-up museumgoers treated her like she was their first exhibit of the day. Jin endured their stares in silence as she waited for Victor to get the tickets. When he returned, she wrapped her arm around his.
—Why do Parisians stare at dead bodies when there are so many other things to see in Paris?
—I told you not to talk about that again!
Victor was normally patient with Jin’s endless questions, but he shut down any discussion of the morgues.
—That was the only place where people did not stare at me.
—There’s another place. We’re going to the opera tomorrow. No one will stare at you once the performance begins.
—I’m finally seeing an opera!
—The minister and his wife will be there. Monsieur Planchard and his wife, as well. And Monsieur Guimet, he was the one who invited us.
—Why did you wait to tell me this now?
—I just got the message myself, before we set off from home. I wanted to tell you tomorrow morning . . .
That must have been in the letter Vincent had handed to Victor that morning. Jin smiled. Victor was in the habit of sharing good news in the morning, embracing her as she woke.
—Oh yes, Monsieur Maupassant will be joining us.
This last bit of news widened her smile. Maupas
sant had kept his promise and taken her to the morgues just four days after the reading at Bon Marché. Before setting off to work, Victor had begged her not to go, but Jin said she had promised. The crowd lined up behind the Notre Dame astonished Jin more than the dead bodies themselves. Jin had been stared at ever since she had arrived in the harbor at Marseilles—no, since she had left Korea—but at the morgue, she was free from the attention of others. They were too keen on the bodies to pay her any mind. Jin had seen countless new things since leaving Korea, and a dead body was again a first for her. A display of two drowned sisters, a recent addition, drew the largest crowd. They looked exactly like their picture in the newspaper. Spectators were forbidden from standing before one display for more than five minutes, but viewers tended to linger at that one. Jin unconsciously took Maupassant’s hand. She wanted to be as calm as the other Parisians at the morgue, but it wasn’t long before she slipped out and looked for a ladies’ room. She was afraid of vomiting and soiling Maupassant’s shoes.
A violist played his instrument in the Louvre courtyard where flocks of pigeons took flight.
Jin gazed at the violist’s hands as they played the viola. How might Yeon be doing? The grand boulevards of Paris were bustling with pedestrians, carriages, and street vendors. The buskers brought an extra liveliness to the scene. There were many of them along the boulevard connecting the Champs-Élysées to the Louvre. Even in the clamor of the carriages and the vendors calling out their wares, the buskers calmly played their music. Passersby would sit at one of the outdoor tables of the cafés as they drank coffee and listened, and others walking the boulevard would stop to watch. The boulevard enchanted cashiers, suited aristocrats, and aproned maids alike.
—Keep your arm in mine, don’t get yourself lost like last time . . .
Victor held on to Jin as they waited to enter the Louvre. The former palace filled the eye even on the Champs-Élysées, where there were countless things to see. Victor told her how impossible it was to see all two hundred and fifty rooms of the Louvre in one day, especially after seeing the Place de l’Étoile and the Arc de Triomphe.