The Court Dancer

by Kyung-Sook Shin

  Lady Attendant Lee came for Jin before she had time for breakfast.

  Despite her weary dodging of Father Blanc the night before, Lady Attendant Lee’s expression had warmed up somewhat. She did not scold Jin or rush her as she would on other days when Jin dawdled over breakfast. Instead, she seemed to have something to say as she took in the presence of Yeon and Father Blanc.

  —Have you decided to stay here?

  Blanc, at the lady attendant’s unexpected question, stopped his work. Suh answered the question for him, her face suddenly tense.

  —They plan to stay here for the time being. Why do you ask, my lady?

  —Will you be holding mass here?

  Suh, uncertain, glanced at Blanc, who stood still next to the fence.

  —What could you mean by that?

  Lady Attendant Lee hesitated. Then, as if having decided something, she pulled out a gourd case from her sleeve, the kind made with a removable lid. She handed it to Blanc. When he opened it, he saw a cross, rosary beads, and a handwritten copy of the Lord’s Prayer.

  Secrets cannot stay secret unless, perhaps, the one who is passed the secret dies. Lady Attendant Lee, looking as if her heart were heavy with secrets, began to speak.

  —They belonged to my mother. Please do not ask me about them. That is all she left me in this world, which is the only reason I’ve kept them. I was always fearful of having them with me, and I am still fearful. But as she left them to me, I could not bear to throw them away.

  —. . .

  —Please take them for me, Father. That way, even if they’re not in my hands, my mother will not be disappointed.

  Caught in the moment of Lady Attendant Lee’s wish, Blanc was unable to hand back the gourd case filled with the holy relics. He could only stare at the case. It was familiar, much like those that hung from the rafters at the houses in Subunli where he had visited Father Ridel. The persecution that had left so many without home or family had ended, but they were still unable to bring themselves to openly display their instruments of faith.

  —Please keep them for me.

  He could not imagine how her mother must have suffered for the young woman to fear to keep her rosary beads with her. Lady Attendant Lee’s situation seemed to foreshadow how difficult his mission in Korea would be.

  —I shall, my lady.

  Lady Attendant Lee found calm again, but Blanc’s expression had darkened.

  Yeon and Blanc stood beside Suh as they watched Jin leave hand in hand with Lady Attendant Lee. Whenever Jin glanced back, Yeon waved. During the day while Jin was at the palace, Blanc, with Yeon in tow, went around Banchon’s mud-wall houses among the alder and chestnut trees. Yeon gazed at the cuts of meat hanging at the butcher’s and into the woods where Jin had said there were deer. An ox laden with vegetables and kindling eyed Blanc as it passed. Blanc approached people with a kind expression, but the people moved quickly away from him. The women by the well scampered off, the buckets perched on their heads only half-full, and the straw-sandal seller and other merchants with their bundles avoided him as he passed. If he happened to visit any homes, they hurriedly left by their low, thatched gates or shut their doors to him. This didn’t bother Blanc, who simply stood outside some other gate of a house where mugwort, thistle, and silver grass grew.

  When the sun set, Yeon leaned against the bridge over the water and waited for Jin.

  As soon as he spotted Lady Attendant Lee and Jin, his eyes filled with happiness. Normally a calm child, Yeon always broke into a run when he saw Jin. He would run and stand behind her, then next to her. Each time, Lady Attendant Lee turned back for the palace instead of seeing Jin all the way to Suh’s yard. The fear she had showed when she first saw Father Blanc eventually melted away. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies, thou anointest my head with oil, my cup runneth over . . . Sometimes, she remained silently standing in the courtyard, listening to Blanc as he read aloud a psalm.

  Neither Jin nor Yeon could remember who had reached for the other’s hand first, but they were soon walking home hand in hand. Summer was passing. They would come through the thatched gate with their linked hands swinging in the air, and Suh would smile at them from the kitchen. As autumn approached, Yeon would play his flute nearby while Jin learned French from Blanc. Whenever the lesson ran late, Yeon used Blanc’s lap as a pillow and fell asleep. Autumn deepened.

  It was the middle of the night in November. Gyeongbokgung Palace, which the Regent had spent seven years restoring to promote the authority of the throne, was on fire. Black smoke filled the air. Jin had been held back by the Dowager Consort Cheolin, who was particularly reluctant to send her home that evening, and so she was spending the night at court for the first time.

  The once silent palace was swept up in chaos. Rank was thrown into disarray, doors slid open and shut without permission. Jin had followed the dowager consort’s attendants as they fled the flames, but at one point fell back and stood alone in the flickering chaos. Sparks flew as the flames seem to creep toward the Dowagers’ Chambers. Jin ran toward the Queen’s Chambers, remembering the comfort of the Queen who had fed her the pear. Later it was said that it was the Queen’s Chambers where the fire had started.

  Already the building was unrecognizable. Countless people had been called to tame the fire, but the flames only reached more boldly for the sky. Jin finally found whom she was looking for, the Queen standing near the Gate of Dualities. The Queen was illuminated by the light of the flames that flickered like the tongues of demons. A court lady repeatedly urged her to flee, but the Queen stood her ground. Jin managed to slip through the crowd toward the Queen, the retinue of lady attendants too dumbstruck by the fire to notice her approach. She tugged at the Queen’s sleeve. Before the senior court lady could stop Jin, the Queen, who had been staring into the flames of her chambers, was already looking down at the little girl. The Queen spoke to her.

  —Look at this. They tried to kill me.

  The Queen gripped Jin’s hand. She gripped it so hard it felt about to break.

  —But I do not die.

  Until the moment the Queen’s Chambers finally collapsed, the Queen stood where she was, holding on to Jin’s hand. Her grip, following the ebb and flow of the feelings in her heart, was strong as a vise one moment and weak enough to slip away from the next. She seemed unaware of whose hand she was holding. The senior court lady continued to urge the Queen to move to a place of safety, but the Queen held her ground. She watched her chambers burning into a handful of ash.

  Even when the King came to her, she looked only at the flames and not at him.

  —We must move to Changgyungung Palace.

  The King’s words were also futile. When his words refused to move her, the King looked down at Jin, whose hand the Queen was holding so tightly. Jin looked back at the King’s face which reflected the undulating light of the flames. The dragon on his tunic danced in the firelight.

  —Who is this child?

  Only then did the Queen look down at Jin. Her eyes were full of the fire before them.

  —A child who will keep me safe.

  This was the first thing the Queen had said to the King.

  —But who is she?

  —Whoever she may be, can I be any less safe than in the hands of your father at Unhyeongung Palace?

  Her voice was cold.

  —Do you think the Regent is responsible for this fire?

  —Do you disagree, Your Majesty?

  —. . .

  —Do you? Is there anyone else in Korea who could start such a fire so deep in the palace?

  —. . .

  —He was trying to kill me.

  —If you are injured standing here, no one will take care of the prince. You must think of the prince.

  —I might already be dead!

  The King’s face hardened. He
avy with concern, he left the Queen as she was. The flames, having consumed the Queen’s Chambers, went on to the Dowagers’ Chambers and burned down eighty sections of the palace compound before dying down at dawn. The chrysanthemums, pomegranate, and peonies of the flower wall, the pattern upon it with the bird sleeping on an apricot branch, had also burnt and crumbled. The Queen, who stood there until dawn, suddenly seemed to come to and look down at what she had gripped so tightly.

  Jin could see the fine capillaries of the Queen’s bloodshot eyes. Tension slid out of the Queen’s body and her arm went limp, finally dropping Jin’s hand.

  —I am grateful you were here with me.

  The Queen turned her red eyes away and began to walk, her back straight. This, despite spending the whole night on her feet. The Queen could not have walked with such a straight posture if she weren’t determined to show she was undefeated.

  Jin tried to follow her but was held back by the junior lady attendants.

  Jin made her way out of the palace alone. Light dawned, and small tongues of fire still flickered in the ruin. She passed the King’s Chambers and the Hall of Thoughtful Rule and came out the Gate of Greeting Autumn. A crowd had gathered along the palace wall. She heard a voice call out, “Silverbell!” Someone was running toward her. Jin, covered in flecks of ash, stared as she saw Yeon running toward her and shouting his name for her. She had never heard his voice before. Yeon ran along the palace wall and did not stop until he stood practically nose to nose with Jin. He seemed to have waited for Jin all night outside the palace as his linen clothes were damp from dew.

  —Did you call my name?

  —. . .

  —You can speak?

  Yeon could only stare back at Jin, eyes wide.

  —Did you not just call me Silverbell?

  Yeon seemed more surprised than she was. He had spent the night watching the flames tower over the palace. The strength in his knees had left him when he thought of how Jin may have perished in the fire. The fear that filled his heart made him breathe faster, and when he saw Jin emerge from the Gate of Greeting Autumn in the light of dawn, he thought he would stop breathing. And that was all he knew.

  Jin gazed at Yeon, who seemed to have retreated once more into silence, and started walking again. This was the first time she was returning to Suh’s house alone. Unlike when Lady Attendant Lee led the way as Jin took in the scenery, she was mindful of where she was going.

  —You know how to talk.

  —. . .

  —I heard you clearly.

  Yeon hadn’t been afraid at first that Jin may never return. He had stood waiting on the bridge until late at night. Even when the woman Suh suggested Jin was spending the night at the palace, he went back to the bridge after dinner to keep waiting for her. It was then when he saw the orange flames in the night. Not thinking it was the palace at first, he only wondered about the fire from afar. He realized it might be the palace when the orange flames persisted. Imagining Jin caught in the smoke, he ran, darting through thickets of reeds and pine groves, and jumping across the river when the footpath didn’t seem fast enough. But once the palace was in sight, he was forbidden to enter. His eyes became as bloodshot as the Queen’s as he stood outside the walls, staring at the flames.

  They could see the woman Suh’s house in the distance.

  Jin felt tired and hollow, but she quickened her pace. No one looked out when she stepped into the courtyard. A house without anyone waiting in it, no matter how small the abode may be, is larger than the empty sky. Suh, no matter what errands she needed to run, would always be home around the time Jin returned from the palace. Feeling out of place in the emptiness, Jin forcefully slid open the door to the room she shared with Suh. Suh’s sewing things were messily laid about. The guest room where Blanc had taught her French every night was also empty. Even the furnace door was shut tight. She pushed open the door to the backyard. Suh wasn’t in the bamboo grove or by the large earthen jars of preserved sauces. Yeon sat on the porch surrounding the courtyard and watched Jin go in and out of the house looking for Suh and Blanc. Presently, Jin sat down next to him.

  —Where did they go?

  Yeon pulled Jin’s hand toward him and tried to write on it. Jin whipped her hand back.

  —Say it out loud.

  Yeon hung his head. Silence fell between them. Jin held out her palm for Yeon.

  The priest left.

  Jin felt her mind go blank.

  —Where did he go?

  Instead of answering, Yeon got up and went to the guest room. He returned with Blanc’s old French-Korean dictionary. Inside this well-thumbed, dog-eared volume was a letter written in both Korean and French.

  I am very happy to have come to Korea and met you. Keep thinking and keep learning.

  But it was Yeon who had always hung on Blanc’s every word, even as Blanc turned the pages of the dictionary and taught Jin his strange language every night.

  —Why didn’t you follow him?

  —. . .

  —Are you all right?

  Yeon entwined his fingers together and hung his head again. The thought of Father Blanc having left made Jin feel empty inside. The happiness she had felt when the four of them sat around the small dinner table, their utensils clinking against each other’s, already seemed like a distant memory.

  Suh, who had learned late that Gyeongbokgung Palace was burning and had rushed to the site, was returning, bereft, when she glimpsed Yeon and Jin sitting on the porch. She broke into a run. The moment Jin spotted Suh, her face broke into tears. She hadn’t cried at the fire, with the Queen, or with Yeon, but now she started to cry. The sight of Suh made all the fear she had kept at bay wash over her. Jin hugged the French dictionary to her chest.

  If you die, I’ll die too.

  Yeon took her palm in his and wrote again. If you die, I’ll die too.

  —I’m not going to die!

  She shouted this at Yeon but then fell silent. The memory came to her of the Queen’s chilling voice, “But I do not die,” as she gazed at the red flames that engulfed her chambers. The sight of the Queen’s cold face, filled with isolation and rage, was not the same as that of the Queen who had scraped the white insides of a pear as she fed it to Jin. Jin echoed the words to Yeon.

  —I do not die.

  It was a time when France was promoting the metric system, an achievement of the French Revolution, as an international standard of measurement. Germany was bringing out the internal combustion engine, which converted the explosive energy of fuel into movement. And in Korea, a young girl, who had witnessed the burning of the palace of her country that had just begun to open its doors to the world, was clutching a French-Korean dictionary to her chest and crying.

  1

  First Sight

  Your Excellency,

  It is my honor to inform you that I have entered Seoul on June 6 after appropriate preparations since arriving in Jaemulpo on the third of this month. On the very next day, I submitted your request to the proper authority at the Board for Diplomacy and Trade as a representative of the French Republic.

  I remain your honored and obedient servant in the capacities you have invested in my humble person.

  Victor Collin de Plancy

  June 10, 1888, Seoul

  There are encounters that are as brief as the clear dew evaporating from a grove of trees but still last a lifetime in the mind.

  It was a June morning in 1888.

  Victor Collin de Plancy was putting on his dress uniform before a mirror in his quarters at the French legation near Seoul’s Seosomun Gate. A glass window was installed in the room of this house, which was otherwise in the traditional Korean style, and the scene outside showed a courtyard full of flowers and trees. Among the hydrangeas, peonies, and touch-me-nots grew Chinese quince and persimmon trees, and farther back, bush clovers and briers crowded behind crape myrtle trees with branches luxuriously entwined with trumpet creepers.

  Whenever Victor felt tense a
s he made his preparations before the mirror, he turned his gaze outside to the large, green leaves of the phoenix tree swaying in the early summer wind. He had the feeling that Asians loved these trees. There was a phoenix tree in the lawn of the French legation in China as well. When he recognized it here, the Korean interpreter official had told him the phoenix ate only bamboo fruit and nested only upon the phoenix tree. A Chinese official had told him the same. Victor asked the Korean official whether he had ever seen a phoenix. The official replied that seeing a phoenix meant he would live forever, and he hoped Victor would see one while he was in Korea. Victor had received the same answer in China. He mused aloud that China and Korea both planted this tree, but no one seemed to have witnessed the fabulous bird in either country. The Korean official responded that if no one could see one, then it was as good as if he had already seen one. Victor was fascinated by this Eastern way of talking, as if one thing could naturally be another at the same time. It contained the power to make sharp edges round.

  Victor turned from the tree to the mirror again.

  He had heard the following story as soon as he landed in Korea. Thomas Watters, at the end of his long tenure in Korea as the British acting consul-general, had gone to the palace, wearing evening attire instead of his dress uniform, to bid farewell to the King. After being made to wait for two hours, Watters was informed that he was not properly dressed to be presented before His Majesty.