The words spilled out as if rehearsed. Jin had never heard him say so much.
—If I get the chance, I shall ask. However!
Vincent’s face had brightened like a boy’s at the prospect of his wish coming true and now darkened with apprehension.
—You must give these flowers to Jeanne, Vincent.
—But these are the most beautiful flowers in the market!
—Which is why you should give them to Jeanne.
He blinked his big eyes.
—Because you are fond of her.
Jin smiled. Vincent, shy again, scratched his head with the hand he held his cap with. The two looked more like young friends than mistress and servant. Jin held out the bouquet and gestured, Go on! Blushing, Vincent took the bouquet from her. He was about to leave when Jin stopped him.
—But why do you want to work there? Is the work here too hard? Or the pay too little?
Jin had no idea how much he was paid. Victor took care of such things.
—Not at all, Madame. It is good here, but at Bon Marché, they will move you up if you prove yourself. A department head is as good as a proprietor. It is great work. I wouldn’t envy a king if I worked there! They even give incentives at Christmas.
—Incentives?
—Extra money to sales attendants who sold more over the past year. Isn’t that wonderful? There, even a sales attendant can become a proprietor, Madame.
A proprietor at Bon Marché? Jin couldn’t help being impressed. Was Vincent’s dream, then, not department head but proprietor? She did not think this dream hopeless. Instead, it made her see both Vincent and Bon Marché in a new light.
—To be honest, Madame . . .
In contrast to his confidence a moment ago, Vincent had retreated into shyness again.
—If I become an attendant at Bon Marché, Jeanne would accept my love. That is my biggest reason.
Vincent grinned and hurried back down the stairs. Jin watched him disappear down the hall before sitting down again in front of her letter to the Queen. Her gaze lingered on her feather pen.
People make cities, and cities make people.
Vincent had come up from Plancy, the same village where Victor was from. He was the son of the cheesemonger and had been introduced to Victor by Victor’s mother. His tasks at the house had come to include taking the mail to the post office, calling for carriages, cataloging and maintaining Victor’s collection, submitting forms, and doing handiwork about the house. Victor would have had to give up much of his leisure time if not for Vincent. She had heard Victor, who was not easy to please, praise Vincent on many occasions. Victor trusted him, but here was the boy hoping to become a sales attendant at Bon Marché. Victor would hate to see him go.
The Queen could not have meant that she was curious about Jin when she had asked her to write her letters. What the Queen really wanted to know was the laws these faraway people lived under, their thoughts, and their daily lives. How was Jin to explain Vincent’s ambition to the Queen, about his regard for Bon Marché as the greatest place in Paris to work, a place he was ready to devote his life to? Jin felt overwhelmed at the task and put her pen down over the letter once more.
In the winter, darkness descended by five o’clock.
All she had done that afternoon was an hour’s history lesson with Simone, and yet the day had flown by quickly. Aided by Jeanne, she donned a purple gown, put on a hat adorned with feathers, and sprinkled herself with sandalwood fragrance. The streetlamps were lighting up one by one by the time she had finished preparing. The nights lengthened with the shortening days. Jin watched the scenery go by outside the window of the carriage that Vincent had called. The buildings and the shop fronts glowed in the gaslight of the streetlamps. Jeanne had told her that the “novelty shops” used to close at sunset, but now, thanks to the gaslights, they remained open into the evening. And what were these novelty shops? Jeanne told her that they sold the latest in dresses, fabrics in every color, parasols, shoes, and perfume. Jeanne professed she enjoyed walking by them with their wares displayed in the gaslight, but she was hardly the only woman in Paris who wanted to immerse herself in the spectacle of the latest fashions, the paved streets making it all the more accessible for carriages. She enthused that walking down the storefronts among the new wares made her feel as if she were in another world. Jin had once accompanied her on her evening off, and at one of the fabric stores bursting with goods of every color and texture, she had purchased thick white backing cloth, embroidery floss, a set of needles, fabric scissors, and a measuring tape. Jin then cut the cloth into squares, backstitched the edges, and embroidered a peony in the center of each, and gave away the finished work to the guests at a salon Victor held at their house.
The streets were lit up in a festive mood. The glass doors of the shops shone with brilliant light, and each door had a sign saying, “Controlled Prices.” The waves of lights reached their peak at Bon Marché, catching the eye from afar. In contrast to the plain whitewashed walls of its old building, the new Bon Marché, designed by Eiffel, stood grandly in the midst of the lights. It was seductive enough to lure in any pedestrian for a quick look if they happened to be passing by, the friendly greetings of the attendants aiding this urge.
Jin’s carriage stopped at the busy curb in front of the new department store building. Victor had been waiting to accompany her to the event in the second-floor reading room, and he helped her out of the carriage. He kissed her lightly on the cheek. He didn’t forget to whisper, “My little bluebird,” or to give the carriage driver a tip on top of his fare.
—What is this scent?
Jin raised her eyebrows at Victor’s question.
There is a tree that leaves its scent even on the blade of the ax that strikes it; that tree is white sandalwood.
—What scent?
—This one, coming from you.
—It’s sandalwood . . . do you dislike it?
—Not at all. I could get drunk on it.
Victor remembered the scent of sandalwood from the first night he spent with Jin. How could he ever forget it? To him, it was the scent of the East. It was the subtle scent of not only Jin but also of the ancient Buddha statues he collected from China and Korea. Was it because of the sandalwood? Victor felt an urge to embrace Jin but wrapped his arm around her waist instead.
Jin smiled back at the polite greetings of the shopping attendants and thought, for a moment, about Vincent. Each attendant was so well-mannered and helpful, smiling as if they were born to smile, light-footed in their eagerness to help. But even they couldn’t help stealing glances at the dark-haired, dark-eyed Jin, dressed up like a Parisian woman. The glances followed her as she made her way up the spiral staircase past the displays filled with tempting objects and all the way to the reading room. Planchard greeted them at the door.
—Welcome.
As Jin and Victor said hello, Planchard introduced them to his wife, who was standing next to him. Madame Planchard smiled at Jin, her smile bringing out the fine wrinkles by her mouth. Talk of Victor having returned from the East with a dark-eyed woman was making the rounds amongst her crowd. Madame Planchard tried to treat Jin like any other acquaintance, but it was difficult to do so. Her gaze kept getting drawn toward her. It was fascinating to see an Asian woman speak French so fluently. Her accent was slightly odd, but she gave off an air of being completely at ease. What had made Victor fall in love with her? Curiosity got the better of Madame Planchard as she gave up any pretense of discretion and stared at Jin in earnest.
As the audience went through their greetings, Jin took in her surroundings. There was a green carpet in the middle of the room, a group of people crowding over it. When Boucicaut, the department store’s owner, had proposed building a reading room, even his architect Eiffel had thought it strange. A space not for more displays but for reading, which was not an activity that would help sell things, and in the central hall of the store at that, the busiest point of the entire building? It was o
nly later that people realized the beauty of Boucicaut’s idea when the Bon Marché reading room became the toast of Paris. It was a rendezvous point, a place where children could read as their affluent mothers shopped, and also functioned as a salon for Parisian society. The library had past as well as current newspapers for their patrons’ perusal. Paper with the Bon Marché letterhead, envelopes, pen, and ink were also provided for letter-writing.
—Madame!
Jin turned to see Madame Planchard standing behind her. Victor was farther off, standing in the gallery behind the pillars, talking with Planchard. Was there a perfumery nearby? She could smell scents all around her.
—How is it in Japan? Do they also have department stores like this?
Madame Planchard must have mistaken her for Japanese.
—I have never been to Japan, Madame.
A slight look of consternation came over Madame Planchard.
—I see . . . Are you Chinese?
—No, I am Korean.
—Korea?
This happened often here. Jin smiled reassuringly at the disconcerted Madame Planchard.
Sometimes, misunderstandings forge relations.
Naturally, Madame Planchard, when hearing Jin was from the East, would have assumed she was Japanese, and if not that, Chinese. The order may have been different, but no one guessed Korean without prompting. Jin explained to the embarrassed Madame Planchard that Korea was a country situated between China and Japan.
—I’ve never heard of it.
Madame Planchard tilted her head, inquisitive. Jin was at a loss as to how to explain Korea to someone who had never even heard of its name. Even if it did happen to her quite often.
—It is somewhat similar to Italy.
—Italy? Then it must be a grand country indeed.
Jin smiled again. She had said Italy, but in truth, she knew nothing about the country. She had simply heard Victor give this answer once when asked what other country Korea was like. Jin thought that at least Madame Planchard would now have an impression of Korea as a grand country.
—Then was Madame’s dance a Korean one?
She was referring to the Dance of the Spring Oriole that Jin had performed at Planchard’s request during the banquet celebrating Victor’s promotion to the head of East Asian affairs. Because of the boisterous atmosphere of that evening, perhaps due to all the wine, the guests had made it impossible for Jin to refuse them the honor of seeing her Korean dance. Jin hadn’t been ready to present any other dance except the waltz and had no costume with her. And so her first Korean dance on French soil had been performed in her blue dress.
They heard Planchard calling for his wife. Jin turned around toward the sound and gave a start. She had spotted Korean clothes through the pillars. Jin blinked. Was she seeing things? Madame Planchard led the way toward the gallery. Jin wasn’t hallucinating; her eyes fixed upon a man in white Korean robes and a wide-brimmed, black-horsehair gat hat, standing tall and firm. A person in Korean clothes, this far away from home!
—Hello.
The man in Korean clothes greeted her in Korean. How long had it been since she’d heard Korean spoken?
—Have you forgotten me already?
—. . .
—It is I, Hong Jong-u!
Jin came over to him. Victor gave her a worried look.
—You said you would go to Paris, and here you are.
—Indeed, my lady. I arrived before you did. I thought we would run into each other one of these days. Let me introduce my companions. This is the painter Félix Régamey. And Monsieur Boex, editor and translator at Dentu.
Before Jin could say hello, Hong began to introduce Jin to the men in stilted French.
—This is the wife of Monsieur Collin de Plancy, who leads East Asian affairs at the Foreign Ministry. She is also Korea’s finest court dancer.
So Hong had known of Victor’s recent appointment. Had he always been this tall? Jin examined him closely. Despite his odd French, he spoke with no hesitation. To see a man wearing a Korean gat hat in Paris, at the ultra-modern Bon Marché no less! Jin carefully hid her surprise and went to stand by Victor.
Hong looked Jin up and down.
He seemed to regard her as someone who had carelessly and unthinkingly thrown away her old clothes for new.
—You look more Parisian than the Parisian women, Madame!
Hong gave a strange laugh. He had that same disapproving expression he wore in Korea whenever he had seen Jin with Victor. He was mocking her! Jin stared back at him. The clothes of the only two Koreans in Paris stood in stark contrast. Planchard, who had been watching from the side, interrupted their conversation.
—How fortunate we are to have not one but two Koreans in the same place. Well, the reading is about to begin. We shall save the rest of our greetings for later. But I do have the feeling that the evening will be full of more happy surprises.
—Are you feeling unwell?
Victor whispered this as he held her waist again. Jin only smiled. The audience gathered around a desk in the middle of the room. The author had not arrived yet, so the chair behind the desk stood empty. Jin saw Planchard and his wife standing underneath an arch across the room. She wanted to see where Hong Jong-u’s party was but then she would have to look about the room. Jin kept her arm entwined in Victor’s and did not turn her face. She wondered if Hong was also looking around for her.
—Are such events common?
—The readings have been going on for a long time in Paris. Sometimes they read the Bible . . . Once, there was a reading of Rousseau’s Confessions before it was banned. They say it’s the first time Planchard is trying something like this here. They may hold readings regularly if the response is good.
There was a stirring in the crowd near the entrance. The author, wearing a black suit over a white shirt with his curly hair swept back, made his way to the desk in the middle of the room. He was a thin man, about forty, pale, with a mustache. Planchard approached the author and introduced him to the audience as Guy de Maupassant, the most popular writer in all of Paris. The audience applauded. Planchard said a few words about how difficult it had been to bring Maupassant out to such a gathering and that he hoped they would find this precious time with the elusive author fruitful.
—He looks unwell, Victor.
Victor smiled at Jin’s whispered words. Jin pretended to look toward the large clock on the wall as she surreptitiously scanned for Hong Jong-u. Her gaze went over the ornate furnace in the back and spotted him standing nearby next to Régamey. Her eyes darted away. It was easy to find Hong. Many of the people there were looking at him and not Maupassant. Ordinarily, Jin would have been the target of such looks, but tonight all eyes were on him. Hong was impervious to their stares and continued to regard the author with a focused gaze.
The grim-looking Maupassant opened his book and put on round reading glasses. He stated the title of the novel, A Woman’s Life, but said nothing more about it before launching into the reading. It was the part where the aristocratic daughter Jeanne returned home from the convent and was packing up for another trip, mindful of the rain that fell outside.
—Jeanne had left the convent the day before.
She had become a free woman. The happiness she had longed for all her life seemed within her grasp. But then, the weather chose that particular time to take a turn for the worse. If the rains continued, her father might postpone her journey. The anxiety was unbearable.
Maupassant’s reading drew a cloak of silence over the audience. The richness and clarity of his voice were unexpected considering how thin he was. Jin leaned against Victor and let the author’s words wash over her.
Maupassant’s voice continued to demand silence from the others gathered there. Jin closed her eyes and took in his clear, cold, and firm reading. Was it because it was his own work? Jeanne’s entire life seemed to spring from Maupassant’s voice alone. Jin could imagine the sound sliding from the author’s forehead, cheeks, and ar
ms. He interrupted his reading to skip and explain certain parts. Then, after about five parts, he stopped reading. He lifted his head toward the audience.
—I’m afraid my throat is sore.
The audience came out of their reverie to regard the author who sat behind the desk, rubbing his throat. Victor, whose arm was around Jin, and Jin herself, stretched a bit in sympathy. Of course his throat was sore. By then they were fifty minutes into the reading.
—Could one of you take over for me?
At Maupassant’s unexpected request, the audience glanced around at each other. Over their murmuring, Madame Planchard stepped forward from beneath the arch. Her hands were gathered neatly before her, and her voice was full of anticipation.
—We have a lady among us from the land of Korea.
Korea? The murmuring persisted. The people started looking in Jin’s direction.
—Her French is excellent. Shall we ask her to read for us?
Jin, surprised beyond all measure, stared at Madame Planchard. Madame Planchard smiled at her. Jin turned her gaze to Maupassant. Their eyes met. Maupassant pushed his glasses back up on his face.
—I, too, would like to hear Madame read.
Jin glanced at Victor. He seemed as surprised as she was. But he had read the room and whispered to Jin, “I don’t think you can refuse. You will be marvelous!” He encouraged her to accept.
Jin, feeling as if she were walking on water, approached the center of the room. Maupassant gave her the chair and stood next to her as she took her seat. Planchard, just as he had with Maupassant when the reading started, introduced Jin to the audience.
—Madame comes from the faraway land of Korea. A mysterious country situated at the very end of the East. Madame was its greatest court dancer.
The mention of Jin having been a court dancer made the audience murmur again. Maupassant had prepared where he had wanted to read with bookmarks inserted between different pages. He indicated with his finger the scene where Jeanne was giving birth. Jin spread the book in her hands and sat up straight.
The Court Dancer Page 20