—You’re making fun of me again.
Jin slipped her arm out of his grip and looked at him sideways.
—But you’re always losing your way when you’re out with Monsieur Maupassant. At the morgue, the Pantheon, and the cemetery at Montparnasse.
—I never get lost with you by my side.
The smile on Victor’s face faded as he gave her a questioning look.
—But why is it that you go to cemeteries so often with Maupassant?
Jin realized he was right. All the places she had been to with Maupassant were related to cemeteries.
—How true. I didn’t realize.
Jin had felt sick at the sight of the girls’ corpses on display at the first morgue she had visited with the author. In the midst of trying to find a place to compose herself, she had gotten lost. Oddly enough, the thought that she was lost made her forget her nausea completely. Jin stood in the middle of the morgue’s maze at first, uncertain of what to do. She looked through the crowd—a woman in white, a young vagabond, an old man from the provinces, tourists, children—but she could not find Maupassant anywhere. Tired of searching through the anonymous corpses, she left the crowd to rest in a ratty underground corridor.
Remembering the fear, she pulled Victor’s arm closer.
Too tired to mount the stairs or even call for help, she had sat in that underground corridor until the morgue was about to close. Maupassant, searching for her, insisted the doorman help him scour the morgue. When the author found her crouched in the dark, his relieved voice shouting “Madame!” was so loud that it rang in her ears.
—What are you doing here?
—I lost my way.
Maupassant crouched down and looked at her for a moment. He gently helped her up and hugged her. He was out of breath. Jin returned his embrace. Supporting Jin, whose legs kept threatening to give way, Maupassant led her to a bench by the Seine and had her sit until she gathered her strength.
—Were you frightened?
—I was nauseous. Why do people look at dead bodies?
—Perhaps they’re arrogant. They want to look at death in the face and think there isn’t much to it after all.
Maupassant had admired the fragrance of the Chinese tea Victor served him the afternoon that he brought her home from the morgue. Since then, Jin served him tea on his visits. His gaunt face broke into a smile as he said he would like to visit her country, Korea, one day. The author seemed to relax his normal cynicism in Jin’s presence.
Once it was their turn to enter, Victor wrapped his arm around Jin’s waist.
The Louvre, standing grandly on the Rue de Rivoli and the right bank of the Seine, was more than just a beautiful façade. Its interior divided into narrow and complex corridors, especially past the Daru gallery and up the stairs where countless rooms extended in all directions. Victor told her that artists and ordinary citizens had lived in the Louvre for a time, after Louis XIV left it for the Palace of Versailles.
Victor led the wide-eyed Jin from room to room, his footsteps echoing in the space.
—No one can see all the artwork in one day.
The sculptures, the paintings, the great chandeliers descending from the ceilings, the accoutrements of the aristocrats in glass display cases . . . Jin passed all of them as she was led through the rooms.
—This is incredible. Are these all French?
—There is far more stored than is displayed.
Victor stopped in front of a hall showing artifacts from Ancient Egypt. He led her to a large granite statue.
—A sphinx. It means monster in Greek.
—The face of a man and the body of a lion!
—The face of the pharaoh. The Greeks thought the sphinx was a monster, but the Egyptians must have regarded them as guardians of their temples.
Jin examined a list of pharaohs’ names posted next to the sphinx.
—Is it not preserved almost completely?
Its large size cowed every other exhibit in the hall. Jin began noticing that there were many other Egyptian sculptures on display beside the sphinx. She walked silently among them, noting that they all had their heads turned to one side. Their feet pointed to the side as well, so much so that Jin found herself looking only at the feet of the statues to confirm this. There were jars with handles, muscular warriors poised for battle, and a small carving of a woman said to have come from a tomb. Jin turned to Victor.
—But why are all these Egyptian things here, Victor?
—Don’t you think they’ll be better preserved here than in Egypt?
—Do you think those pharaohs think the same?
Victor smiled and led her to the chamber where the sphinx was again. He led her out of the hall and through another maze of corridors, looking for something. Jin stopped in her tracks. Victor looked back to see what had arrested her. She was gazing at a statue of a woman with no arms, the torso slightly turned, an almost undetectable smile upon its lips. Jin, as if called by the statue, walked reverently up to it.
—Venus de Milo.
Jin couldn’t take her eyes off of the armless statue of Venus carved from white marble. The fabric wrapped around her legs seemed ready to slip off at any moment. How could she smile so? Jin’s eyes shone with admiration. The neck supporting the face with the mysterious smile seemed to be soft and hard at the same time. The proud breasts swelling between the broken arms, the lovely curve of the belly and hips. Jin wanted to reach out and touch the goddess. The absence of the arms only accentuated the beauty emanating from the balance of her body.
—A man named Milo carved this?
—Milos is an island and not a man. They call her the Aphrodite of Milos Island as well. No one knows who sculpted her. She was discovered by a farmer who was tilling his land near a temple.
—Is Milos a French island?
—No, it’s in the Aegean.
—Then why is this here?
Victor looked into her wide, inquiring eyes. He felt as lost as if he were trying to stop someone who had taken their shoes and socks off to walk the Seine’s riverbed barefoot. How could he answer this question? He had come to the Louvre many times but had never heard anyone ask, “Why were these artworks here?” They belonged to the Louvre, so of course they were here. He cleared his throat.
—At the time, the French navy was docked at Milos. They brought the statue to Paris and gave it to the Marquis de Rivière, who later gifted it to Louis XVIII. That’s why it’s here.
—Does the navy collect sculptures like you collect Korean books?
—I’m not sure.
—And that goddess?
Jin pointed to another statue in the entrance to another hall, a carving of a goddess with an arched back and wings open wide.
—The Goddess of Victory. It was excavated on the island of Samothrace, so it’s called the Nike of Samothrace. The island is also in the Aegean Sea.
Samothrace. Jin did not ask what a goddess of Samothrace was doing here. She had noted the troubled expression that crossed Victor’s face. She knew of the Aegean Sea but not this island of Samothrace. She felt sad for the goddess. Dragged here across the sea to be imprisoned in this palace, she thought.
Victor suggested they move on, but Jin wished to stay beside the Venus de Milo a bit longer.
—There’s a break down her left side. She couldn’t have been like this in the beginning . . .
—I’m sure she was damaged before being buried or was broken when she was dug up.
Jin closely examined the angles of the statue’s broken arms. It looked as though the original statue had only the arms down to the elbows, and it was just the left arm that had broken off. Perfection can be off-putting. The effect from the wounded arms and leg of the beautiful goddess made the viewer more sympathetic to her. Her lack completed her beauty.
—Let’s move on.
Victor gently persuaded her, as he was afraid she wouldn’t move away from the Venus de Milo otherwise. Jin reluctantly followed him whil
e stealing a final look at the Goddess of Victory, who seemed ready to take flight at any moment. Only then did she realize the museumgoers were looking at her. Drawing herself in from the brief feeling of freedom that her immersion in the sphinx, Venus, and Nike had given her, Jin straightened her back.
Having walked past the Rubens, Corots, Rousseaus, and Turners, Victor stopped inside the room where the Eugène Delacroix pieces were.
—These are my favorite pieces in the Louvre. I never fail to drop by here, even if I see nothing else. How do you find them?
Jin examined the paintings that Victor marveled at. The caption read, “Eugène Delacroix, Liberty Leading the People.” Over the bodies of the dead charged a mob led by a woman holding up a tricolor flag. The charging woman’s bared breasts were ample and healthy. A nobleman holding a rifle followed her, as did a young boy wielding two handguns and shouting with what seemed to be delight. Other parts of the canvas were dark, but the goddess was framed by a thin fog and bright light like a halo.
—They’re revolutionaries. Men struggling to establish a republic, stepping over the bodies of their fellows, charging. Exciting, isn’t it?
—I think the focus is on the goddess and not the revolutionaries. She looks as if she’ll jump out of the painting. Full of passion. Nothing can contain her.
Jin followed the goddess’s palpable movement with her eyes. To her, she was almost dancing. She found herself unconsciously lifting her arm in a similar fashion but discreetly reached for Victor’s arm instead.
—And so, the strong possess the Venus and the sphinx.
Victor didn’t hear what she had mumbled to herself. Jin felt conscious of the emptiness of her hands and held on tighter to Victor’s arm. Why this sudden urge to resist the grandness of the Louvre?
—Is Delacroix a French artist, Victor?
—He is. From Saint Maurice. His father was a diplomat.
—A diplomat like you?
Victor grinned.
—He attended a public art school and visited the Louvre often. They say you could see him copying Rubens or Géricault all day long. This museum was like his playground.
—So his paintings are where they’re supposed to be.
Victor gave Jin a look that seemed to ask, What do you mean?
—You said the sphinx came from Egypt. The Venus came from the island of Milos, and the Goddess of Victory from the island of Samothrace in the Aegean Sea. I meant that Delacroix is at least in his proper country, as he was French.
Victor looked disconcerted, as if he found it difficult to answer her. Jin, feeling awkward, changed the subject.
—You were right. One can’t see the Louvre in a day. I think I shall come here often, so let’s stop here for now.
—Would you like that?
Jin nodded, giving Liberty Leading the People one last look, imagining she could hear the shouting of the crowd.
—Let’s leave by the Seine entrance and not the boulevard. The sun will set soon. Let’s go to one of the many beautiful bridges over the river.
They had to go through another maze of rooms to exit the museum. Jin held on to Victor, fearing she might lose her way as she had with Maupassant. Why do I keep getting lost in Paris? she wondered. She remembered how she had lost her way in the palace as a child and met the Queen for the first time. She laughed bitterly.
—What made you laugh just now?
—It’s a secret.
—A secret?
Victor reached out and playfully tugged at Jin’s nose.
—You said this place used to be a palace. I just remembered losing my way in the palace as a child at court. That’s why I’m holding on to you so tightly.
Many people walked along the river at sunset. Parisians seemed to prefer being outside than staying in. Jin saw aproned women selling flowers from their baskets. A young man buying a rose to push into his buttonhole gave Jin a look. Dogs and children were also out by the river. The bridge that connected the Louvre to the other side of the Seine was the Pont des Arts; she could hear the accordion music of the buskers on the other side of the bridge. They walked down the bridge’s walkway, which was made of wood, refreshing to the eye. There were potted plants and wooden benches. The bridge was known for buskers and painters. There were few such people on the Pont Neuf, where each pillar was elaborately carved, but the modest Pont des Arts had an artist every few steps. The artists at their easels were hard at work painting the Seine. Some painted Les Invalides, Notre Dame, or the Eiffel Tower. Jin and Victor walked among the other flaneurs. The people on the bridge were different in what they wore but the same in their leisurely pace. They were also the same in how, if they happened to glance at Jin, they turned around to stare at her, whether musician, painter, or flaneur.
A beautiful scene can invoke hidden thoughts. Jin stopped in the middle of the Pont des Arts and leaned against the railing as she looked out onto the Seine. Paris at sunset was a city poured with gold. Birds flew up toward the stunning rose window of the Notre Dame and the top of the Eiffel Tower, the latter visible from everywhere in Paris. Jin was wrapped up in her thoughts as she gazed upon the scene before her until she presently called out Victor’s name. A shadow darkened her eyes.
—I was wondering about something.
Victor looked into her eyes, which now seemed filled with despair.
—What is it?
—I heard that in the Year of the Red Tiger, Korean books from the Oegyujanggak archive at Ganghwa Island were brought here by Admiral Roze. Are those in the Louvre as well?
—No, they’re in the National Library.
Victor waved toward the north.
—You just follow this river. It’s forty minutes on foot, fifteen by carriage. They’re safe there.
—Like the Venus and the sphinx?
—Jin, if the Venus and the sphinx had stayed unexcavated where they were, we would not have been able to see them today. They might have even been rubble by now. Who would’ve acknowledged their beauty? It’s because they’re in the Louvre that they’re so perfectly preserved.
Jin felt frustrated.
—Why? Why do you think the Venus and the sphinx would’ve perished if not for France?
—I’ve seen with my own eyes treasures being mistreated or neglected. It made me feel very sad. They’re not mistreated anymore once they reach the Louvre. France has the power and the means to bring them here.
—Then you’re the same as the British, the Germans, and the Americans, Victor! Like Japan or China or Russia thinking they’re protecting Korea.
Jin stood up straight. The willow branches along the Seine bowed over the surface of the water, almost touching it.
—People here look at me like they look at the things you’ve collected, Victor.
—What on earth are you talking about!
—I’m no different than the exhibits in the Louvre. Look.
Jin turned her back on the river. An old and rich-looking woman, a servant in tow, slowly walked by as she stared at Jin. The servant girl who carried the old woman’s shawl also stole a glance. Four masked clowns putting on a raucous show looked back at Jin as they passed. A boy in a vest ran toward them and slowed down in front of her, smiling at her in curiosity at first and then openly gaping. This, in a country that preached freedom, equality, and charity in its cathedrals and hospitals. It took several months to assimilate the countless words that she had never imagined existed. Tutors had corrected her French and taught her history, philosophy, and literature. She learned French music and even the cancan in her attempt to embody France in body as well as soul, but on the streets of Paris, all she received for her trouble were stares. It was the same whether she was walking with Maupassant or Jeanne. Jin could not be free of the attention of strangers, whether they were from kindness or curiosity. And without that freedom, there could be no equality.
Jin turned from the onlookers and looked out at the sunset-drenched Seine again.
Someone once said Paris was n
ot a city but a world.
It was easy to feel this way from where she stood, in view of the awe-inspiring Romanesque, Gothic, and Renaissance architecture that surrounded her. Jin felt as if she were standing alone in the middle of Paris. Victor approached her and hugged her shoulders. He thought he might understand the welling despair in Jin’s heart. But he was still worried about her. The river flowed wordlessly underneath. Jin and Victor, after gazing out at the Île de la Cité in silence, finally moved on.
They did not exchange a word as they stepped onto the other side of the bridge.
It was just as crowded as the right bank. Pedestrians passed on either side, stealing glances at Jin. Victor looked down at the fat pigeons that were so used to pedestrians that they didn’t even bother to look up.
—Do you think you are the only one who is stared at?
—. . .
—Have you forgotten what it was like for me in Korea? You were knifed because you were with me. Koreans made a spectacle of me, too. But I didn’t feel hurt by it. I was only uncomfortable.
—But you have power. You can withstand the stares of others.
What was this woman talking about? Victor lowered his arm from her shoulders to her waist.
—If I have power, then so do you.
—Victor, no matter how kind you are, you are a Frenchman, and I am a Korean woman. Your thinking that Korean books and celadon are better off here than in Korea is because of your power, not mine.
—Jin!
—The Queen greatly regretted the loss of the Oegyujanggak books that Admiral Roze stole. Those books were not printed into many copies as books are here. They are each unique. What use are Korean documents and books to France? They’re plunder to you but living knowledge to us. They include records of court rituals.
Victor said nothing.
He was thinking of the time when he laid out, in the legation courtyard, the Korean books he was going to send to the School of Oriental Languages. Jin had wistfully stroked them. He recalled how her expression turned disapproving whenever they touched upon the subject of his collecting Korean celadon and books. One day she asked, “What are you going to do with all that?” She would follow him to the bookseller who sold woodblock-printed books, or to Gwangtong Bridge where they spread out old books for sale, but there was reluctance in her step. Victor had sent his collected books to the School of Oriental Languages when he lived in China as well. He regarded it as one of his diplomatic duties.