Corea or Cho-sen: The Land of the Morning Calm

In Short

This travelogue is a candid, illustrated account of a visit to Korea in the mid-1890s, offering a rare glimpse of a society on the cusp of modernity. Through sketches and observation, the author documents everything from the intricacies of Korean headgear and paper shoes to the brutal realities of public justice and courtly politics. It has lasted because it provides an unvarnished, firsthand record of a culture that was largely opaque to the West, delivered with a skeptical, observant, and occasionally irreverent voice that refuses to romanticize its subject.

The Story

The narrative begins as the author arrives at the port of Fusan, immediately immersing the reader in the sensory details of a land where the customs seem entirely alien to European sensibilities. From the outset, the journey is defined by a series of encounters with the disparate layers of Korean society. The author travels through the provinces and eventually settles into the capital, Seoul, where he relies on the hospitality and political connections of foreign advisors—most notably Clarence R. Greathouse and General Le Gendre—to gain access to the upper classes and the royal court.

As the author navigates Seoul, his perspective oscillates between the filth of the streets and the quiet, structured elegance of the elite. He describes the city not as a monument of beauty, but as a place of immense historical intrigue and social rigidity. The arc of his stay is defined by his growing reputation as an artist; his ability to capture a likeness in paint becomes a bridge between his Western perspective and the curiosity of the King and his princes. By painting portraits of the nobility, the author finds himself at the center of court life, observing the bizarre intersection of feudal tradition and the King’s nascent, often frustrated, attempts at Westernization.

The narrative moves beyond the palace walls to the broader social fabric. The author examines the rigid gender roles—detailing the harsh, secluded lives of women—and the communal nature of the poor, who rely on strict guild hierarchies to survive. He does not shy away from the darker aspects of the country: the public floggings, the summary executions, the "pandemonium" of forced urban evacuations, and the predatory nature of the local inns.

The climax of his social experiment occurs during a royal banquet, where his inability to match the prodigious appetites of his hosts leads to a tragic-comic physical ordeal, a moment that encapsulates the cultural friction he experiences throughout his stay. As he concludes his travels—exploring Buddhist monasteries in the mountains and observing the resilience of the people in the face of fires and state-mandated chaos—his initial detachment gives way to a begrudging respect. The book ends not with a grand conclusion, but with a lingering meditation on the nature of "civilization." He ultimately argues that while the Korean people may be perceived as "heathen" by Western standards, their capacity for communal charity and mutual support puts the "advertised philanthropy" of the West to shame.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins The arrival at Fusan sets the tone, where the author meets a cast of international drifters and hears stories of past piratical expeditions. He navigates the archipelago, noting the stark beauty of the islands before landing in the nascent, bustling port of Chemulpo.

A portrait of the capital The focus shifts to the sensory assault of Seoul, where the author documents the architecture, the peculiar "ghastly" mile-posts, and the intricate, often uncomfortable, etiquette of the streets. He observes the daily life of the commoners, their paper shoes, and their unusual absence of pockets.

The artist at court The narrative pivots when the author is commissioned to paint portraits of the royal family, providing him rare, intimate access to the King’s circle. He recounts the success of these paintings, the amusing misunderstandings regarding perspective, and the King’s fascination with Western art.

The social architecture The author turns his gaze to the rigid structures of Korean society, from the guilds that govern the laboring classes to the role of the Buddhist monasteries. He contrasts the brutal efficiency of public punishment with the surprising, genuine kindness neighbors show one another in the wake of disaster.

A final reflection The journey concludes in the mountains of Poo-kan, where the author pauses to reflect on the dichotomy between the external "dirt" of the land and the internal "charity" of its people. He leaves with a nuanced understanding of a country that, despite its isolation and poverty, possesses a moral vitality often lacking in his own culture.

The People

The author, an inquisitive and self-described "non-literary" observer, acts as the primary lens, though he is often humbled by the subjects he seeks to capture. His most crucial allies are Clarence R. Greathouse and General Le Gendre, the foreign advisors to the King who facilitate his entry into the royal world. They serve as the author’s translators of custom, providing the context necessary to navigate the complexities of court rank. Young Min-san-ho, the Queen’s nephew, serves as his first significant subject; his initial skepticism of European painting represents the broader, tentative bridge being built between the Kingdom and the outside world. Min-Young-Huan, the commander-in-chief, and the "Bismarck of Cho-sen," Min-Young-Chun, appear as figures of immense gravity, their status complicated by the petty, internal power struggles and the King’s fickle attempts to modernize his palaces. Throughout, the nameless "Mapu" (horsemen) and the common, suffering women of Seoul provide the necessary counterpoint to the elite; their lives of labor and endurance stand in stark contrast to the courtly intrigue, grounding the author’s experiences in the reality of a changing, often cruel, society.

In Its Own Voice

"The real Corean shoe, however, as used every day for walking and not for show, is truly a peculiar one. The principal peculiarity about it is that it is made of paper; which sounds like a lie, though indeed it is not."

(The author describes the surprising materials of common footwear.)

"There is nothing beautiful to be seen in Seoul. If, however, you are on the look-out for quaintness and originality, no town will interest you more."

(The author provides an honest assessment of the capital's aesthetic appeal.)

"The solid charity and generosity of the first is often superior to the advertised philanthropy of the other."

(The author compares the communal support networks of the Korean people to the social systems of his home.)

What It's Really About

At its core, the book is an inquiry into the nature of social order and the reliability of cultural perception. The author is obsessed with the question of what constitutes "civilization." He finds himself constantly correcting his own biases, realizing that the filth and violence he initially sees in the streets are balanced by an internal social contract that is surprisingly humane. The book serves as a critique of Western arrogance, suggesting that the "barbaric" practices of the East are often merely misunderstood traditions, while the virtues of the people—particularly their selflessness in times of crisis—outshine the hollow performative morality of the West.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate the diary-like intimacy of 19th-century travel writing will find this book deeply rewarding. The prose is unpretentious and direct, feeling less like a formal historical analysis and more like a conversation with a sharp-eyed companion who isn't afraid to tell you when a meal was truly repulsive or a sight was truly ghastly. It is a vital document for anyone interested in the pre-colonial history of Korea, capturing the nation just before it was irrevocably altered by global politics.

The reader should be prepared for the author's period-typical biases; he makes broad, often sweeping generalizations about the "Corean character" that reflect the ethnocentrism of his era. His descriptions of poverty and physical violence are unflinching, and the sheer volume of detailed customs can be overwhelming at times. However, the warmth of his personal anecdotes—such as his struggle to eat a royal dinner or his humorous interaction with a mother over a child’s portrait—makes the experience remarkably vivid. It is a book for those who want to see a vanished, isolated world through the eyes of a man who, despite his own prejudices, was willing to be surprised by the humanity of those he encountered.