The Men Rising Their Heads (2)
To be precise, the “latest medicine in Europe” that de Thierry kept talking about wasn’t European at all, nor was it especially new.
Strychnine, a deciduous tree native to India and Southeast Asia, had been used all over the world since ancient times.
Most often it served as a poison that killed animals and humans alike, but the Compendium of Materia Medica also recorded how to take it as medicine, under the name ma-jeon-ja.
Strictly speaking, though, the chemical isolation of strychnine as a refined extract was first achieved in France.
“Dr. Pierre Fouquier, a leading physician and recipient of the Legion of Honour, is also a most respectable gentleman who practices Christian charity. Thirty years ago, he was the first to demonstrate the efficacy of this medicine at the Hospital of Saint John’s Brotherhood in Paris.”
Fouquier had administered strychnine—better known as rat poison—to hospitalized paralysis patients.
When your patients were poor enough to be staying at a charity hospital, there was no trouble afterward if they died.
And so, after the thoroughly modern scientific process of noting the cases that improved for the record, and quietly erasing the ones that did not—or the ones who died—from the charts, Fouquier announced strychnine’s therapeutic effect on paralysis.
The academic world showered him with praise. Because de Thierry was here, I hadn’t realized it, but Fouquier really did receive the Legion of Honour that same year.
The first thought that flashed through the minds of French doctors was simple.
If this medicine can make a paralyzed patient spring to his feet…
Could it possibly make other things spring to life as well?
That was the natural line of thinking for a French physician. As Louis Pasteur, also a Frenchman, said, science knows no borders, but scientists do.
This was the indomitable spirit of inquiry—the foundation of science itself.
It was the driving force behind Europe’s domination of the world.
The same was true for the equally renowned physicians Armand Trousseau and Hermann Pidoux, who also scored major successes.
De Thierry told me about their accomplishments.
“Unfortunately, there was a patient of twenty-five who could show his wife nothing but what one might call sibling love. Once strychnine was administered to the husband, his condition improved at once. When he stopped taking it, he returned to his original state.”
Twenty-five. About the same age as the king, if I remembered right.
So it’s not some permanent cure, just a temporary effect… basically Viagra, then.
Even my modern Korean medical knowledge couldn’t help but be persuaded.
That was nineteenth-century French mainstream medicine for you—what they called clinical pragmatism, a school of thought that smashed all that empty nonsense about the four humors and settled matters through nothing but experiments on the human body.
I paid my respects to modern medicine.
Then, mimicking Prince Heungseon, I said, “I’ll make sure you’re compensated handsomely.”
De Thierry was moved.
How many years had he spent being threatened with cannon fire and punched in the face whenever he tried to raise his prices?
There was a reason missionaries learned medicine first before they went out into the world. When it came to opening up barbarous lands and winning the trust of the natives, nothing beat medical skill.
“The strychnine tree is native to the Indian Ocean region, so it’s easier to obtain here than in Europe. It’s already being used in European settlements across Asia, so I’ll make sure to get some for you.”
Colonial hospitals in the British Empire often took in men like sailors with venereal disease.
Those types had a habit of beating up hospital servants. Since it was the servant getting battered rather than the doctor or the administrators, the matter was usually brushed aside.
Strychnine was always kept on hand for disposing of such troublemakers as “medical accidents.” One might call that a distinctly British use—different from France in every way that mattered.
Even if de Thierry had known that the user of this medicine was the king, he would not have cared.
A king who could not prove his manhood in bed had no right to be king, at least not in France.
That was why Louis XV, the venereal king whom Voltaire praised as the “god of love,” was respected, while his grandson—who supposedly didn’t even know how to do it for seven years after marriage—ended up facing revolution.
For a Frenchman, staking his life on virility was only proper conduct.
Korea would probably be the same.
* * *
Strychnine boosts vitality and stimulates the senses.
That was a firmly accepted “scientific fact,” not only now but well into the early twentieth century.
Western science had invigorated the king.
He visited the chambers of his newly taken concubine, Lady Kim of Gyeongbin, day after day.
Not the Andong Kims, but the Gwangsan Kims. Since concubines could never become queen after Jang Hee-bin, Kim Jwa-geun saw no need to take foolish risks through sheer greed.
So the king could bestow his “favor” without any burden at all.
“Build a pavilion in Changdeok Palace for Gyeongbin and name it Nakseon.”
As a refined gesture showing that he had not forgotten Yi Ha-eung’s contribution, the Nakseonjae plaque was written in the hand of a Qing literatus—the source of the medicine, in fact.
There was no difficulty over the gift of a residence; after all, King Jeongjo had done the same for Lady Subin Park, who bore King Sunjo.
Some people even nodded along, saying that maybe the queen issue had been the real problem all this time, exactly as the king intended them to think.
In any case, if you followed in Jeongjo’s footsteps, everything would work out.
The king did not notice that the father of the queen, Commander-in-Chief Hong Jae-ryong, was becoming displeased.
He had no time for that.
The great path of Jeongjo Yi San included Western tools like guns and medicine, so of course he could become an absolute monarch who surpassed Jeongjo.
The East embracing Western implements had begun to stir far earlier than history would allow.
Before spring of that year had ended, Gyeongbin was pregnant.
Of course, there was still no guarantee that the child would be a son.
And as Yi Ha-eung understood well, there was even less guarantee that either the crown prince or Lee Hwan would remain alive until the crown prince came of age.
But that wasn’t the important part to Lee Hwan.
What mattered was that he had proved he could get someone pregnant. He had now become a king of possibility; all he had to do was keep at it until a son was produced.
Then the next step would be military matters. Lee Hwan’s twin-track policy of military force and virility advanced without hesitation.
He had not gone so far as Yi Ha-eung, who wanted to command it himself, but Lee Hwan now knew the name Park Axe as well.
Yi Ha-eung’s plan to seize control of the Bobusang was actually rather good.
Lee Hwan decided to lend it a little support. In a suitably kingly, refined way.
“For some time now, I have had them train with the newly issued guns, and I would now see the results. Organize a large military drill at Manwoldae in Kaesong, and award prizes to those who show proficiency. Discuss it in the State Council and report back.”
* * *
Choe Je-u is an executive officer at the Bobusang Supreme Headquarters in Balgasan Imbang.
In modern terms, he would be a senior employee in the head office’s general affairs division.
Choe Je-u came to see me, as I was drafting plans for the development of the promised land with the money the king had given me.
“At this year’s Balgasan general assembly, it would be wise for you, Commander, to go as well.”
Since I was a Bobusang in name, I understood what he meant.
He was talking about the general assembly and election held by the Bobusang Supreme Headquarters here in Kaesong.
Once every two years, half the representatives from each regional Imbang gathered in Kaesong to elect the equivalent of a grand commander—the Dobansu.
Back then, before the Bobusang had taken on the structure of a state-run quasi-military organization, it would be an exaggeration to say that the Dobansu ruled all Bobusang nationwide. The closest comparison would be the leader of the martial alliance.
Still, just like a martial alliance leader, it was not a position that could be ignored.
If I could take that seat, even nominally, I’d be able to represent the Joseon overland trade industry.
But I tilted my head.
“I’m not the half representative of Ganghwa Imbang. I’m the chief of Ganghwa Imbang Dongmong Office.”
“There isn’t a half representative in Ganghwa Imbang anyway. It’s obvious whose word Ganghwa Imbang follows.”
“Still, no one’s going to vote for a rookie merchant with barely a year or two under his belt to be Dobansu.”
“No one’s asking you to become Dobansu. It’s been quite some time since that position became something the yangban naturally seize for themselves.”
That was the same current Cha Un-hong had once mentioned when she was dealing with that old loan shark, Kim Sang-jun—this whole attempt by the yangban to encroach on merchant power.
From the Bobusang’s point of view, there were plenty of advantages to having a yangban nameplate hanging over the group.
Even today, all sorts of organizations scramble to borrow a celebrity’s name. If the person in question is an official upper-class figure, it goes without saying. In the end, this was just a bargain between both sides.
“In any case, the Dobansu and the guild inner circle are all just assistant ministers at a banquet—names with no real power. But as for the executive seats in the inner circle this time, there is one worth aiming for.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone is keeping their heads down now that His Majesty has announced a major drill at Manwoldae.”
No matter how “elected” it was called, elections in this era were a far cry from full democracy. Usually, the same people stayed in office.
But this time, rumors spread that the king himself would be bringing troops to Kaesong, and most of the existing Dobansu and board members announced they would not run.
If the army came, it would wring an enormous sum out of them; if they paid well, they’d draw the resentment of the Bobusang, and if they paid badly, the court’s blade would come down on them. Of course they’d back away.
But to an ambitious man who wasn’t afraid of risk, it was also an opportunity.
“I’m not saying I still have worldly ambition, but if you become an executive and appoint me as the head of the main office above the executive rank, I can support you much more effectively, Commander. Since the spring and autumn funds are both in the main office chief’s grasp.”
What struck me more than the shameless private appropriation of the guild’s money was the more fundamental problem.
“Wait. Then wouldn’t the whole general assembly be dead in the water? You’re saying nobody’s running for Dobansu?”
“That’s not quite it. Someone you know has stepped forward, Commander.”
“Who?”
“Prince Heungseon.”
Choe Je-u went on, “If you step forward and cast your vote for him, securing an executive seat will be easier than turning over your hand.”
When he finished speaking, Choe Je-u looked flustered.
He had expected me to be pleased, or at least surprised. Like everyone else, he had assumed Prince Heungseon was my patron.
But I gave him neither reaction.
I bared my teeth. No matter how you looked at it, that didn’t resemble a smile.
* * *
Balgasan, as it happens, is not a real mountain.
The actual Imbang office is located on Jaman Mountain in Kaesong. They only call it Balgasan to match an old tale that says Taejo established the Bobusang headquarters there.
It was one more example of the Bobusang’s hunger for authority—along with their history of serving as a traditional government-backed organization and the custom of appointing the Dobansu and executives from among the yangban.
The Cheonggeum Record I was handed on Jaman Mountain was one such example.
The Cheonggeum Record originally meant “blue collar,” a document recording the regulations of students and Confucian scholars.
But this Cheonggeum Record listed the names of guild members and candidates, along with their backgrounds. Like gangsters calling each other President Huang and President Jang.
For people like that, they were naturally sensitive to the highest authority that appeared here.
“Is that His Excellency Prince Heungseon?”
“Is this going to be a windfall or a beating? Why on earth would some distant highborn noble take an interest in merchants’ affairs?”
“Did you say you’re from Pyeongyang, Jo? Maybe you’re out of touch because you came from far away. If it isn’t Park Axe over there, how else could this happen?”
The Balgasan Imbang general assembly was basically a huge marketplace. There were even more guild members coming to secure a good deal than to vote.
So the merchants could look me over without worrying about being caught.
Jo Pyeongyang said, still bewildered, “Park Axe’s name has spread even to Pyeongyang. They say no one can cross the Imjin River without his permission. But does Park Axe have backing in Seoul too?”
“It’s because Park Axe made great contributions fighting off those filthy French barbarians. That’s why the state entrusted him with the volunteer forces. So of course His Majesty is sending a nobleman to commend him and guide him.”
Of course, there were traditionalists here too.
For Joseon people, “nationalization” was a strange enough experience already. Those worried about the Bobusang’s autonomy raised objections.
“If it’s the Dobansu of Balgasan Imbang, shouldn’t it be a local gentry man from Kaesong, even if he’s a yangban?”
But that opinion was immediately shot down.
“If you don’t know, don’t speak. After the vile usurer Kim Sang-jun was wiped out by Park Axe, the seat for the Seonggyungwan Kaesong branch had been empty. This time, His Excellency Prince Heungseon took that seat. He’s an honest-to-goodness Kaesong yangban.”
“W-well, when you put it that way, I suppose so. There’s no way the high and mighty would fail to think that far ahead.”
So if you had any sense at all, there was no way you’d dare run against him.
The Bobusang were finally moved by the thought that the state had at last recognized them.
That was what everyone thought, except for me standing at an angle with the two men who were formally Bobusang—Cha Un-hong and Choe Je-u.
* * *
Choe Je-u, as the head office executive, had business elsewhere too.
Cha Un-hong waited until he had left, thinking of my dignity.
Then she leaned in and whispered to me, “Here—this one says Inspector Yi Sibak. Put your mark down below here.”
To reveal a given name before all these merchants? It was a shocking display. It showed just how badly Yi Ha-eung wanted to win the Bobusang over.
I stared at the paper.
He’s really thought this through.
It was the scenario I had suspected from the moment I first heard Yi Ha-eung’s name.
He’d spread rumors that the king was moving military drills to Kaesong.
Chances were, the drills would never actually happen. That way, the newly elected Dobansu Yi Ha-eung’s achievement would shine all the brighter as the man who had “withheld the troops.”
Once he had the Bobusang under his thumb, he would use them as reserve forces for a coup.
In any case, they were a group that would later be used for a similar purpose by Gojong. By the Bobusang’s own traditions, and by the gains that would fall into my lap, it wasn’t a deal I could dismiss out of hand.
Given the loyalty Yi Ha-eung had received from the Great Peacekeeping Lord, it probably wasn’t a lie that he had prepared enough compensation for me.
But they hadn’t told me that in advance.
Just like those vendors in Korea who never tell you the real terms of the contract until after you’ve signed.
I dragged my brush down over Yi Ha-eung’s name as if blacking it out.
“W-what are you doing?”
There were many people watching me now, so more than just Cha Un-hong was shocked.
While Choe Je-u, who had rushed over late, fumbled to understand what was happening, I took the paper and walked over to Yi Ha-eung.
He was already seated in the position of honored guest.
His attitude was as if he had already been elected, and no one around him seemed eager to deny it.
I wrote my name beside the ink-blackened Yi Ha-eung. It was the only Chinese character I knew how to write.
Then I pressed my mark below it.
Yi Ha-eung didn’t even manage to catch the ballot before it flew toward him. He looked less angry than stunned.
I looked straight at him and said, “I’m running for Dobansu too.”
Author’s Note
1. The story about strychnine was based on Lydia Kang and Nate Pedersen’s The Rise and Fall of the Toxic Medical Mixture. The doctors in this novel, however, were not quacks; by modern standards they achieved a great deal.
2. It is historically true that Heonjong built Nakseonjae for Gyeongbin, and that the Nakseonjae plaque was written by a Qing literatus.
3. The Bobusang system of half representatives leading to a Dobansu has been simplified for ease of understanding. In reality, there were many different titles—such as chubjang, daebang, and dobang—and in regions where native merchants were especially powerful, separate self-governing organizations existed apart from the Imbang.
4. Identifying Balgasan as Jaman Mountain is a fictional invention for this work. In reality, its exact location is unknown.
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